Awe and Wonder

An exercise in being alive

We were only 15 minutes into the helicopter ride that would last the hour. I was still gripping the edges of my seat so tightly that my forearms cramped, as I had been since the pilot slowly lifted us from the ground at the airport in Lihue. I don’t enjoy flying under the best of circumstances and riding in a helicopter with the doors off was not on my bucket list or my bingo card. But there I was anyway, trying to breathe my way through the fear while also giving my forearms an excellent workout. 

In the short time since we took off, we’d seen a decommissioned lighthouse, a verdant ridge where they filmed some of Jurassic Park, and something called the “tree tunnel” that I couldn’t find. We then made our way into a valley and as the pilot made a wide right hand turn, the 400 ft Manawaiopuna Falls (also featured in Jurassic Park) came into view. For a moment I forgot about how afraid I was, consumed by the scene in front of me. The low clouds, lush green gorge, and crashing water, all observed from just above, were unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. 

The next 45 minutes were much of the same. More ridiculous waterfalls, deep gorges, remote and inaccessible beaches, and even the crater of a long-dormant volcano. It was quite outrageous, even for mother nature. 

A few weeks before, my mom and I drove to the home of a good friend to watch the eclipse. Neither of us had seen totality and while we’d both read about it, we weren’t sure what to expect. I was a big space nerd growing up, with a poster of the space shuttle Challenger hanging on the wall of my childhood bedroom and a visit to Kennedy Space Center was the highlight of a vacation in Florida that also included Disney World, so the possibility of seeing totality was a Big Deal for the eight year old residing inside of me. 

The chance of clear weather this time of year in the midwest isn’t great, so I hadn’t seriously considered that we might actually get to see the eclipse. But we did. All of the reading in the world couldn’t have prepared me for what we saw as we took off those ridiculous glasses. There are only a handful of times that I’ve felt my mouth drop open in awe and this was one of them. It was everything everyone said it was and more. The whole affair lasted about three minutes. (Which made it a good practice in impermanence too.) Very quickly dusk became daytime once again, leaving us all to make sense of what we just witnessed.  

I find it really easy to access wonder in the day to day. Whether it’s savoring the brief bloom of the tree outside the kitchen window, watching Jack and Lola chase each other in the yard, or marinating in the darkest dark around the winter solstice, I feel very awake to the magic of what surrounds me. But that terrifying helicopter ride and experiencing totality reminded me of the need to occasionally have my socks blown off. Both experiences made me feel acutely, deeply human. Almost more alive somehow, in a way I can’t well describe. 

I don’t have any photos from the helicopter ride, so enjoy this image of Ho’opi’i Falls that I made while on my feet and not in the air.

I love routine almost more than life itself, but I needed the reminder that putting myself in the way of wonder is worth the disruption and hassle. I don’t need or want these kinds of peak experiences often, but it had been too long and as a result I lost some of my humanness. The eclipse and a lush, volcanic island might not be what wakes you up in this way, but something does. If you find your light dimmed and your footsteps flat, consider how you might touch awe. Perhaps include some of your favorite people if possible, if only so they can remind you of how outrageous it really was when your brain tries to forget. 

Until next time, 

Kim