One of the more surprising findings of recent research is how commonly awe can be found: in museums, theatres, parks, ponds, while listening to a busker, or even, surprisingly, in micro doses, while watching a commercial or reading a story.

We more readily commiserate with the times when life is like a boa constrictor wrapped around our windpipes, squeezing out breath; like a dark ogre stealing our joy, our purpose and our hope as we sleep; or sometimes just like a thick black airless cave with no apparent exit.

The beach there was unspoiled, untamed, brimming with wildlife. We’d park our cars and run into the black sea, diving and swirling under the moon, watching a silvery, sparkling ribbon of phosphorescence trail behind our limbs. The tiny little sea creatures that absorbed the light of the sun were stirred up by our thrashing; we were streaming

we should force ourselves out of gyms and off machines and into the natural world, knowing, or hoping, that we may stumble upon awe.

‘awe produces a vanishing self. The voice in your head, self-interest, self-consciousness, disappears. Here’s an emotion that knocks out a really important part of our identity . . . I think the central idea of awe is to quiet self-interest for a moment and to fold us into the social collective.’

people who regularly feel awe are more likely to be generous, helpful, altruistic, ethical and relaxed.

Studies of living light proliferated, and attempts were made to measure and harness bioluminescence.

Something happens when you dive into a world where clocks don’t tick and inboxes don’t ping. As your arms circle, swing and pull along the edge of a vast ocean, your mind wanders, and you open yourself to awe, to the experience of seeing something astonishing, unfathomable or greater than yourself. Studies have shown that awe can make us more

A sense of community can also make us more resilient, not only improving our current state of mind but also protecting our mental health in the future.