If you saw the solar eclipse on April 8, 2024, you surely felt an experience of awe. Even if you weren’t in the path of totality—at my home we were at 96%—it was an awesome experience.

The eclipse could hardly be called unexpected; it had been predicted for hundreds of years. During the weeks before the event, a storm of media attention made it virtually impossible for anyone in its path to be unaware of this awesome event.

So let’s remember, that for every expected experience of awe, there are countless opportunities for unexpected experiences of awe.

If we are open to them.

An unexpected experience of awe on an airplane flight

I was flying home from a conference in Phoenix when I had an experience of awe. No, I didn’t see a breathtaking sunset, the moon’s shadow racing across the earth as an eclipse began, The Grand Canyon, or the dazzling lights of a great city.

Instead, something amazing happened on my seat tray.

November 11, 2005, flying home from a Phoenix conference

The flight attendant didn’t hand me the cup of ice water but put it directly on my tray. As it left her fingers it slid smoothly across the slate blue surface, towards my lap. Simultaneously puzzled and anxious, I reacted instinctively, grabbing the cup an inch from the tray edge. A spill averted, I let go for a fraction of a second, and the cup started to slide again. Fascinated, I flicked the cup lightly with my fingers and found I could control its glide with the lightest of touch.

For a minute I played with my cup as a child, delighted by a mystery I did not understand.

Mystery and play!

Then a moment came when my inner scientist moved into consciousness and asked: “What is going on?”

I lifted the cup, and the mystery collapsed into understanding.

Under the base was stuck a tiny chip of ice.

I put the cup back down on the tray and played some more. But within twenty seconds the ice melted and the cup became ordinary, unmoving. My pants were safe from a spill, but the world had shrunk back to the normal, expected.

But for a minute, my fragile worldview that there are reasons why things happen, even if we don’t know what they are, disappeared. I played in a space of suspended belief.

I had an unexpected experience of awe.

And a tiny slice of wonder made my life a little richer.

Be open to unexpected experiences of awe!

I love moments like this. Have they happened to you? Share them in the comments below!

Parts of this post are adapted from “Mystery and play, and the suspension of belief” which I wrote in October, 2013.

An HT to Olivia Hoblitzelle, who inspired this post!

Photo attributions: Neighbor Cherrie Corey and Flickr user ineffablepulchritude