Awe and Wonder

Making Space for Awe: What Ravel Taught Me on the Morning Commute

This morning, something beautiful happened.

On my usual commute, Spotify gave me an unexpected gift: Maurice Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major, the second movement. I hadn’t heard it before, and to be honest I know very little of Ravel’s music. It wasn’t something I’d consciously chosen, but as soon as it began, I was drawn in.

The music opened with a simple, quiet and haunting piano melody, full of melancholy and grace. I turned up the volume, intrigued by some unusual harmonies and progressions. Gradually, layers of sound were added, woodwinds, strings, subtle harmonic shifts – all building with such precision and feeling. As the piece rose to its final crescendo, the swell of the orchestra filled my ears, and possibly also those of the other commuters waiting at the traffic lights. I felt a surge of emotion—tears stung my eyes, followed by a smile I couldn’t hold back.

In that moment, I was in awe.
Not just of the music itself, but of the genius behind it, Ravel’s ability to craft something so delicately beautiful, and the musicians who brought it to life with such skill. It made me pause for a moment, bathed in the music and, even as I sat waiting at the traffic lights, I felt transported.

And it got me thinking.

Do Our Students Feel This Too?

How often do we, as educators, create space for our pupils to feel this same sense of awe and wonder?

I’m talking about those moments when their eyes widen, when silence falls across the room, when curiosity takes over. When a concept suddenly makes sense. When they hear a story that changes their perspective. When they experience something so powerful, so beautiful, it lingers long after the lesson is over.

As teachers, we live for those moments. They are the magic of education. But in a world of packed timetables, strict curriculum coverage, and assessment deadlines, how often do we actually make room for them? How often do we pause the pace of teaching to lean into wonder?

We have to ask: are we prioritising efficiency over depth? Coverage over curiosity?

Awe Isn’t a Luxury — It’s a Necessity

Recently, I came across a study suggesting that daily experiences of awe can significantly improve mental health. People who consciously sought out moments of wonder reported lower levels of depression and anxiety, and a greater sense of connection and well-being. Awe gives us perspective. It helps us step outside of ourselves, see the bigger picture, and reframe our problems in the context of something more expansive. If you ever want to sense of something bigger than yourself, stand in a dark place and look up at the stars on a clear night! Truly humbling.

In a time when both adults and young people are facing unprecedented levels of stress, anxiety, and burnout, maybe awe isn’t a nice-to-have. Maybe it’s essential.

Because here’s the thing: awe slows us right down, makes us pause. It invites reflection. It fosters empathy. It crowds out self-centered worry and moves us toward a sense of shared experience. And in education, that is deeply powerful.

Wonder in the Everyday

Of course, not every child will encounter their equivalent of my “Ravel moment” through music. But awe is everywhere, if we let it in.

It might be found in:

It might be found in:

• watching a video of space exploration and considering how small we are in the universe
• exploring the intricate symmetry of a snowflake under a microscope
• loking at the beauty of rainbows
• reading a poem that captures exactly how they feel
• hearing the personal story of someone who overcame extraordinary odds

We don’t have to orchestrate grand moments. Sometimes, just asking the right question, “Isn’t that amazing?” , or indeed not saying anything, is enough to open the door.

Making Room for Awe in the Classroom

So how do we build this into our practice?

It doesn’t mean abandoning the curriculum. It means finding moments within it. Taking a breath before we rush on to the next thing. Allowing ourselves and our pupils to feel something—not just understand it. Here are a few small shifts that can help:

• Pause for reflection: Give students time to ponder, to sit with a concept or idea that might be profound.
• Share your own wonder: Model curiosity. If something amazes you, say so. Your awe is contagious.
• Encourage big questions: Let them ask “why” and “how” and “what if.”
• Use the arts and nature: Music, painting, storytelling, a walk in the woods—these aren’t distractions. They’re gateways.
• Celebrate the ‘aha’: When students make a leap in understanding, recognise the moment for what it is—a little spark of awe.

A Duty to Ourselves and Others

In the rush of life, just like in school, we often forget to pause. We stop noticing the little, some would say inconsequential, things – the way the light dapples through the trees, the erratic flight of a bummble bee, the wonder at just how profound an historical event or a scientific discovery was. We can become blind to the wonders around us, so we must actively decide to look out for them.

So this morning, Ravel reminded me: we need to make time. Not just for our students, but for ourselves.

Give yourself permission to be moved.
To stop. To notice. To feel.
And in doing so, to model a richer, more human way of being for the next generation.

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Have you had a moment of awe recently—in or out of the classroom? I’d love to hear about it.

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