In Defense of Awe

Imagine this: You walk into the Galleria della’Accademia in Florence, Italy.

This is the first time you’ve been to Italy, and you weren’t sure you would ever get here. You’ve seen the large plaster cast of Michelangelo’s David at the V&A in London, and you’ve seen plenty of incredible Neoclassical, Renaissance, and ancient sculpture in New York, London, and countries in Europe.

You’ve seen lots of photographs of David, and you think you know what it’s like to see great sculpture. You think you know what it will be like to see the David in person.

But that’s why you’re completely unprepared for what it’s actually like when you stand in front of (and below) him.

It’s hard to draw breath. The people around you disappear; all you can see is this heroic, shining man in front of you. You don’t even want to take photographs, because it feels sacriligeous (even though the only religion you could be said to have, if you were to be called religious, is that of man-worship).

In fact, what you feel most powerfully, what you most want while standing there, is to kneel before him.

And maybe, to never leave here.

Just to gaze up at him for eternity, because what else could possibly matter in the face of such… grace?

This was me in February of 2017. I’ll never forget that experience.

This is what I call a Heartbeat Experience, or Heartbeat for short.

In a world where it’s so easy to fall into screens and never come back up, we can lose touch with living with meaning, preferring to curl up in bed and read page-turning thrillers and watch friendly YouTubers traipsing around Japan. It’s so easy and comfortable to just stay home.

But that’s why I find myself wanting — no, yearning — to hold on to experience. To living in the world. To feeling it through all five senses. Being out there in a big way, risking, trying. Filling up on awe. Standing in wonder and letting that feeling wash over me. Witnessing the incredible innovation and great civilization mankind has produced — is capable of producing. Getting back in touch with what’s jaw-droppingly amazing in the world, in all its glorious detail.

Imagine watching the Jacquet-Droz “Draughtsman” automaton draw you a tiny sketch of a dog at a little museum in Neûchatel, Switzerland, and wondering: What must it have been like for the Jacquet-Droz family building these small mechanical marvels as early as the late 1700s? Or better, what was it like for the folks witnessing such a creation for the first time, in their aristocratic parlors, in awe of this new-fangled marvel?

Or what if you could fly high above the Hudson River in a working 1929 biplane? Complete with goofy aviator hat and goggles to protect your eyes? All the while thinking that this must be something like what Beryl Markham, first woman to cross the Atlantic West to East, must have felt flying the Percival Vega Gull by herself, mostly in the dark, across more than 2,000 miles of open ocean.

Or how about sailing away on an historic schooner, sleeping on deck under the stars, hoisting the sails with the crew, and stopping off at Block Island for ice cream and views, celebrating a classic New England summer weekend, just because?

And even walking into St. Peter’s in Rome, wandering the church, with its lavish interior, not being much of a fan of Catholic churches, looking for Michelangelo’s Piéta, knowing it’s there somewhere but not really sure exactly… oh. Coming upon it, suddenly, after walking the whole circuit of the nave, with horizontal lines of people in front of you, between you and the sculpture, and the sculpture itself behind glass, feeling at a distance from it … and then, totally shocked at yourself, bursting into tears.

Spoiler alert: you can. You can have every one of these experiences and more.

I’ve been planning trips based around Heartbeats like these for myself and friends for decades. Wonder is woven into the delicate threads of every trip, not as an incidental after-thought, but with a pure intention to witness the innovation, intelligence, and heart and soul of what Man has created across the ages.

To worship at the altar of greatness, especially (and so importantly), as it struggles to exist in our time.

This is the real foundation of wonder, and it is the girders of Heartbeat Travel.

When I finally got up from the floor at the Accademia and left David behind, I was flooded with a sense of the importance of keeping this feeling with me — I didn’t want to return home and lose it. But the gift shop was littered with lifeless photographs.

And then I saw it — a graphite drawing of just his head, hand, and shoulder. I took it home and framed it in black. It hangs next to my bed.

Every morning, I see David gazing into the distance, poised to strike.

And I remember.