Vanishing Point

Let me tell you about a terrifying door.

It stood at the end of a dark tunnel, in a building my parents visited often. Bricks layered at both sides. Ordinary height. Ordinary width. But what waited was, in no way, ordinary.

Beyond, space would stretch endlessly into an enormous amphitheatre carved from mountain. Stone seats descended in curves that seemed to fall forever. Above, infinite sky pressed down. Nature had been hollowed to make space for man, and the hollow was vast.

With every visit, I froze at the threshold. One moment in a narrow hallway, the next at the edge of vastness. A holding hand would eventually pull me through. Terrifying in daylight. Immensely more terrifying at night when seats disappeared into black and floors became walls became sky.

Wind beyond this door moved in ways that felt alive. Sound echoed and returned changed. Terror mixed with excitement. The kind that comes from witnessing something larger than self.

When did you last feel terror and wonder arrive at once?

Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends our current understanding of the world. A night sky. A cathedral. A moral act so courageous it defies comprehension. Moments when our mental structures cannot contain what we are witnessing.

What makes awe distinct from other positive emotions is its ambivalence. Awe can encompass conflicting feelings, mixing wonder with fear, joy with overwhelm. You can feel awe at the edge of a canyon or at the edge of your own life. The emotion does not require safety. It requires vastness.

Neuroscientists have discovered that awe does something unusual to the brain. Experiences of awe reduce activation in the default mode network, the area typically associated with self-reflective processes. This is the neural signature of what researchers call the “small self.” Your concerns, your ego, your sense of being the centre of the universe are temporarily silenced.

These mental shifts produce measurable physical changes. Research on positive emotions found that awe (more than joy, contentment, or pride) predicted lower inflammation markers in the bloodstream. An emotion that reorganizes thought also protects the body.

But the most surprising discovery is what awe does to your relationship with others. Across five studies, researchers found that awe increased ethical decision-making, generosity, and prosocial values. When you feel small before something vast, you become more attuned to the collective.

Awe also distorts time perception. People report having more time than they thought. The present expands. Minutes feel longer.

From here, the experience can take two paths. The moment passes and we carry on. Or transcendence follows. Transcendence is awe transformed into meaning. The reorganisation that comes after interruption.

Transcendence requires reflection. You must sit with what you witnessed. Let it reshape how you see yourself and the world. The vastness becomes a new reference point. What felt urgent may suddenly seem trivial. What felt impossible may now seem worth attempting. The moment of awe fades but the transformation it initiates remains.

Awe lives around us. But how do we stumble into it?

Awe can live in small moments, and you can cultivate it deliberately. This week, seek one moment of vastness. Something that silences thought.

Do not rush to the next task. Sit with what you witnessed. Ask yourself what shifted. Let the vastness become a reference point.

What priorities suddenly seem trivial? What possibilities now seem worth attempting? What concerns no longer deserve you? How does the world look different?

Awe transforms the impossible into something worth attempting. It shrinks the self and expands compassion. The moment, both terrifying and wondrous, carries a powerful reminder: we are not the measure of all things.

^{This publication is a space for exploration and reflection. Nothing in this email is medical, psychological, or therapeutic advice. These ideas are general insights on human behaviour, not treatment or diagnosis. Each reader’s situation is unique and deserves the right kind of support. If you are struggling or in crisis, please contact a licensed mental health professional.}