Every year I wait for the first sign, the first sound and the very first one I hear always brings a smile to my face — I have heard the first cicada of the summer.

The sound of cicadas joins a number of other natural phenomenon that have moved me in a way I hadn’t understood until very recently.

‘Awe …the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current, personal understanding of the world’.

Thus writes Dacher Keltner in his new book ‘Awe’.

I have felt awe, mainly in nature and the arts, since my very first memories and yet have never known how to describe it, until I read Keltner’s book.

For me the very first and most enduring source of awe was thunder and lightening.

Since the age of four years old I have always had a special feeling during thunder storms.

As a small child, I first experienced this in East Africa. The deafening noise, violence, blinding light and torrential rain that made the ground steam and brought giant bull frogs out to feast on the waterlogged, drowning insects.

I hadn’t realised how to describe the feeling thunder storms (and countless other phenomenon) give me, until I had read this book.

I suspect that many of us are aware of this feeling: a tingling spine,
a shudder, the feeling of being so small amid so much vastness, an acknowledgement of being an intrinsic part of something that you can never fully understand.

As Kinga Phillips describes it: ‘And you are distinctly rooted in the present moment and in that space, in that moment, if someone gave you the option to be anywhere else in the world, you would say no, I want to be here.’

We feel awe when we experience things such as vast mountain ranges, a star-crowded night sky, typhoons bending trees, storms at sea, the changing seasons and of course, if you are like me, thunder and lightening storms.

We can also feel awe, and sense the artist’s awe, in many of the world’s great art works, including: Friedrich (Wanderer Above The Sea of Fog),
Van Gogh (Starry Night), Hokusai (The Great Wave off Kanagawa)
and Giorgione (Il Tempesta).

Click image to enlarge

Proof, if needed, that the ability to feel awe, has long affected humanity.

In addition to nature, aspects of culture and the arts, religious experiences, collective human activities and profound emotional experiences can also give rise to feeling awe.

In my case to list a few that immediately come to mind:

The first time I flew from Japan to Europe in winter across the vast expanses of a completely white and seemingly uninhabited Siberia.

Watching a thunder storm approach along the length of the Arno River from the safety of the galleries of the Uffizi Palace in Firenze.

Winter dusk and evensong in the darkening interior of York Minster.

Swimming at night with bioluminescent animals in The South China Sea.

Listening to a string quartet play Bach in a 13th century church in a small village in the north of England while … a summer thunder storm rumbled and flashed outside.

An early morning walk on a deserted beach near my wife’s home town and noticing a black shape appearing and disappearing beneath the ocean swell. On getting much closer (close enough to jump in next to it) finding out it was a quite rare and endangered species of whale hunting for shellfish in the surf.

There is a link to the book here…

At the end of the month we’ll be diving off the coast of Izu Peninsula with Mikomoto Island’s famous Hammerhead Sharks; weather and sharks permitting.

If we are successful and the sharks are there, there could quite possibly more awe than we know how to deal with.

I am not suggesting that we can always leave a lasting impression of awe on our audience when we present to them; that would be a rare and very challenging thing to achieve. However, it is useful to be aware of the idea of ‘awe’ and to see it ultimately as a goal worth aiming for when we communicate (or create for that matter).

After all if you could place the way you communicate on a scale starting at ‘dull’ and progressing through ‘average’ to ‘awe-inspiring’ where, ideally, on that scale would you prefer your performance to sit?

The Dispatch below provides some strategies (a snapshot of some I work through during sessions with my clients) that help to point you in the direction that leads you away from the dull end of that scale and safely in the direction of the awesome end.

To read the full Dispatch click on the image below.

The Dispatch above suggests ways you can make your presentations less abstract, less boring and less complex. Here are links to two of my favourite TED presentations. The first by the late Sir Ken Robinson, on creativity and education and the second by Tim Urban on procrastination.

It is a useful exercise to go through the Dispatch, then to watch the videos and see how many of the techniques mentioned the speakers use to overcome the ABCs.

For all the audiophile readers, as I usually provide a musical offering, I would like to sign off for this month with 3 minutes
and 51 seconds of acoustic awe from eastern Georgia.

Sit back, close your eyes and listen.

Nicholas Raistrick | Communication Strategist, LABtokyo

Nicholas founded LABtokyo 10 years ago with the express commitment to helping people communicate to their highest potential.

We work with private individuals and corporate groups by delivering training and coaching programmes specifically designed to enhance all facets of interpersonal communication.

To see previous Briefs or ones you may have missed, click The Brief

If you are interested in learning more please write to us here or check our website at labtokyo.com.

We are always more than happy to hear from you.