Story #030

Awe: The Antidote to Cynicism in Our Third Act

Max J Miller

October 13, 2025

I’d never been so eager for the sun to set. Most nights at Scout camp, “Taps” was the signal to turn off our lights and go to sleep. Tonight it was my cue to take my flashlight and head quietly to the assembly field. A small group of Scouts would gather there to complete our Astronomy Merit Badge.

When we reached our meeting spot we turned off our flashlights. That’s when I noticed that the only lights visible were the dazzling stars in the sky. All the camp lights were out, but we could still see each other, the tree line and the shape of the buildings in our area.

Father Sherman, our star guide, had us make a square with our fingers and thumbs and hold it up toward the sky like a picture frame. “Try to count the stars inside the frame,” he said.

As I stared through my fingers at the sky more and more stars came into view. In that tiny piece of the sky, there were too many stars to count. I felt a wave of emotion arise in my chest.

“Now just imagine,” Father Sherman spoke with a solemn tone, “there are billions of stars that you could see inside that little frame if you had a powerful telescope. Yes, billions.”

It was a transcendent moment. My only thoughts were simple questions: “How?” and “Why?” 

I don’t remember what we actually learned that night, but I’ll never forget the impression that evening left upon my soul. It was the incomparable experience of awe.

Does Awe belong among our collection of Aspirations for thriving in our third act?

Absolutely!

At this stage of life, awe becomes a shield against cynicism. It keeps the magic in life. 

“He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead.” — Albert Einstein

Awe comes more easily at our age as we slow down and notice the natural world. In our third act, we have the time and perspective to embrace this kind of wholehearted attention to wonder.

“When it’s over I want to say, I was the bride married to amazement; I was the bridegroom taking the whole world in my arms.” — Mary Oliver

When we get lost in anxiety and fear, awe lifts us up and fills us with meaning without words. When we question our significance in the vastness of time and space, awe can raise us up in the rapture of being part of the incomprehensible grandeur of all of it.

Like that 12-year-old Boy Scout, I’m still in awe that we are here on this miraculous life-sustaining planet. (If you question this, read the first chapter of Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Everything.)

“How comes the world to be here at all instead of the non-entity which might be imagined in its place? From nothing to being there’s no logical bridge. This question is the darkest in all philosophy. All of us are beggars here.” — William James

At times when human strife threatens to overwhelm us (see Issue [029]), awe becomes a bridge back to our homeland where we are one. 

Out beyond the ideas of right-doing or wrong-doing
There is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn’t make any sense.

— Mowlana Aluddin Rumi,
from The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I still look up at the night sky and try to count the stars. I still can’t. And I’m still filled with wonder that I get to be here, now, part of this incomprehensible mystery. In our third act, may we all pause long enough to frame the infinite with our fingers—and remember how to be amazed.

Shine,

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