The Courage to Ask: How Awe Can Bring Us Back to Each Other
A few nights ago, I watched a film called ‘Giants of the Deep’ by Ocean Explorers, featuring James Cameron and Edie Widder. By the way- I need to side track you for something exceptionally special- dear friend Tasha Van Sandt just produced a film called “A life Illuminated” up for an Oscar. Trailblazing marine biologist Dr. Edie Widder—one of the first women in her field and one of the first humans to explore the ocean’s twilight zone—as she descends 3,300 feet into the ocean’s darkest depths.
There’s a moment where Cameron describes watching sperm whales dive into the depths — hundreds of feet below the surface — and then, astonishingly, surface and reunite with one another in what looked like a graceful underwater dance. He’d heard about this behavior, of course, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.
He called it a moment of raw awe. I couldn’t stop thinking about that phrase.
Raw awe. The kind that strips away everything unnecessary and familiar and reminds us of our smallness and our capacity for wonder, wherever and whenever.
Sperm whale - TAGGED !
The Other Side of Awe
In the same week, I watched another film — Amy Winehouse: A Fatal Addiction. It’s about the brilliant artist that Amy was who struggled with addiction, and the story doesn’t shy away from the darkness. What stayed with me wasn’t just Amy’s voice or her pain, but something a narrator said:
“For anyone facing addiction, the battle is never over. It’s an hour-to-hour, day-to-day, week-to-week effort to stay grounded.”
Researchers have shown that one of the most powerful tools in recovery is finding meaning and purpose — a sense of direction that gives pain somewhere to go. It made me wonder about the world we’re living in today and the world Amy had to protect herself from the press and the public best she could, against all those that wanted a piece of her. (pre obsession with social media…it was just ramping up)
Has our fascination with watching others — especially those in the spotlight — stumble or fall somehow become a way to make ourselves feel better? Is our collective suffering softened by comparison, or does it simply make us harder and colder toward those who need our support the most?
When we turn other people’s struggles into entertainment, we lose a little bit of our humanity. As Francis Bacon once portrayed in his haunting “Figures at the Base of the Crucifixion” ( someone shared this with me) , there’s something profoundly degrading about turning another’s pain into spectacle. It diminishes not just them, but us. What a sad part of who we are.
A World of Noise and Numbness
We live in a time of relentless exposure – and it’s a lot. A constant flood of news, opinions, vibrations and images- some real , most not - its hard to tell.. Many of us are addicted not to substances but to the noise itself. It’s an addiction to knowing, to reacting, to consuming tragedy at a pace we can’t possibly digest.
And because we can’t process it all, we often numb out. We reach for that substance. We withdraw. We become spectators rather than participants in one another’s lives. I know, I have been there often. That’s when disconnection creeps in — and with it, the quiet erosion of empathy.
The Antidote: Curiosity
I’ve always believed that one of my greatest strengths- my superpower- is curiosity. I’m genuinely interested in people. I ask questions not because I should, but because I want to know what makes them tick, what moves them, what gives their lives meaning.
That curiosity has opened doors everywhere I’ve traveled — from the Arctic and Antarctic to communities in between and all across Canada. It transforms strangers into friends and moments into memories. It’s what has connected me through story, and it’s one of the most powerful ways I have reawakened my sense of awe.
Because when we listen — really listen — we discover that every person carries a story of resilience, loss, laughter, and love.
My favourite Elders
Top Left: My aunties- Unn Vorwerk & Doris Forbregd, Top Right: Mark Munk- Walter Munk Foundation La Jolla, Calif, Middle Right- Sharon Urdahl, Bottom Left- The legend Jane Goodall, Bottom Middle- Esther Johnson & grandkids, Bottom right: Grandma Joy
The Lesson from Will
When I met legendary polar explorer Will Steger in Minnesota last July, I was stunned when he shouted across the yard “You’re my hero!” I almost laughed out loud — because he was my hero.
Will has a gift for connection. He surrounds himself with younger generations, trading stories, jokes, and lessons. He also gathers his older friends at the same table, creating a beautiful circle of curiosity that blurs the lines of age and experience. That’s what awe does — it collapses distance. It turns “us and them” into we.
As I get older - 64 now and still so so young I’ve noticed how much more often I look back. I used to think the only direction worth facing was forward, but lately, I’ve realized how essential reflection is. When someone asks me for a letter of recommendation or seeks advice, I’m reminded how meaningful it feels to be needed — to have something to offer. Talk about humbling.
That’s the heart of intergenerational connection.
It’s not about age; it’s about exchange. Some of us have a few more wrinkles; others have a little less experience. But every one of us has something to teach and something to learn. Travel has shown me that again and again. Whether I’m sitting on the deck of an expedition ship in the Arctic or Antarctica or sharing tea in a small community in Nunavut, what matters most isn’t where we are — it’s who we’re with, and how curious we are about each other’s stories.
The Courage to Check In
As we move into winter — a season of hibernation for our amazing bears and quite honestly ourselves- I’d like to offer a simple reminder: check in on your people. Ask how they’re doing. Make time for tea. Hold space for a real conversation. You never know what someone might be carrying quietly inside.
I’m not someone who easily shares what I’m going through, unless asked. And to be honest, not many people ask. Maybe that’s something we can all work on — myself included.
So let’s start there.
Let’s get curious again — about the people we think we know, about those we pass on the street, about our families, our neighbors, our communities. Curiosity, after all, is a form of care. It’s how we say, I see you. You matter.
Next Steps- Holding Space
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of exploration, storytelling, and life itself, it’s this: we can’t do it all alone. We’re not meant to. So if anyone reading this ever needs someone to listen — truly listen — I’m here.
I can’t fix everything. But I can promise to hold space, to listen deeply, and to remind you that your story matters. Because when we show up with curiosity and compassion, when we take the time to really hear one another, we reclaim something vital — our shared humanity.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s where healing begins.
xxx Sunniva.
sunniva.hiti@gmail.com xxx
