I also knew that I wasn’t alone. In fact, one in four adults in their 40s and 50s are doing “sandwich generation caregiving.” By 2030, all Boomers will be over 65, and even more of us will be taking care of kids and aging parents simultaneously.

But here’s the thing—while it’s true that the time I’ve spent touring memory care facilities for my dad with dementia, driving my mom to orthopedic appointments for her knee replacement, and picking up prescriptions for them at the pharmacy (among so much else) has taken time and attention away from my kids, I honestly believe that caring for elders in this season of life has made me a better parent.

For starters, it’s made me so much less delusional and perfectionist about what I can get done in a day, which makes me a less anxious, hovering parent. Plus, it’s given my kids daily access to their grandparents, which is a win-win for everyone (if only my mom would stop letting the kids watch inappropriate SNL sketches!). 

And there are so many overlapping insights and strategies on care for both generations. Here are just a handful I’ve discovered.

1. Less words, more presence

When I first became a parent, I remember hearing that babies and toddlers should optimally hear about 20,000 words a day. I processed that factoid as gospel.

It wasn’t until I started taking care of my dad, who was suffering from advancing dementia and losing so many words every day, that I started to think in a more nuanced way about how my parenting had progressed. My eight- and 12-year-old daughters were far beyond the golden window of early childhood brain development, and while I loved talking with them both about everything under the sun, I think I was clinging to some idealistic notion of what our interactions were supposed to sound like. My 12 year old, in particular, is a more internal person; she has eruptions of sharing, almost like unpredictable geysers, but much of the time she is quieter.

As I learned to sit with my dad, watching the sunset, long minutes of silence and awe stretching easily between us, I realized that I could do the same with my kids, especially my more internal daughter. These days, we sit and make art side by side in silence or bake something in the kitchen while listening to our song, “All Too Well” (10-minute version), without much direct communication, and I know that’s not a sign that our relationship isn’t healthy or I’m not filling her brain with enough vocabulary.

I know its presence. It’s gentle. And it’s attuned. Taking care of my dad, learning how to spend more and more wordless time with him, taught me that.

2. Grace in public is holy

As my dad’s dementia advanced, it became harder and harder to know where I could take him in public. As I would check out the coffee counter, he might grab a day-old muffin and just start unwrapping it without paying for it. He had lost the circuitry that knew how to function in a capitalistic economy where everything was not up for grabs. The cashier might be horrified and I might be forced to explain what was going on. Some were kind, others acted inconvenienced.

And yes, sometimes our neurodiverse family, friends, and neighbors slow things down, surprise us, or get weird. But if I have learned anything from the way people responded to my dad in these moments, it is that there is a special place in heaven for people who have enough grace to know they can’t possibly know what’s going on with the quirky strangers they meet—whether they appear to be a three year old having a tantrum on the bus or an 83 year old stealing a muffin at the cafe.

Caring for my dad has made me want to teach and model for my kids what it looks like to be a compassionate and humble stranger, more concerned with our collective humanity than efficiency and “normal” expectations. When people “yes and…” neurodivergent people in public of any age, they are often rewarded with a delightful surprise, a laugh, a discovery, a great story. Resistance isn’t just futile and unkind, it’s boring.

3. Needing professionals isn’t a failure

When we decided to take my dad to memory care, our hearts broke a little. We really thought we could create a loving, imperfect village that would be able to handle his progressing dementia—if only we did enough pattern-keeping, communicating, and creative problem solving.

But ultimately it turned out to be too much for even our earnest and enterprising crew. My dad seemed to be suffering despite all of our best efforts. So, we found a community with a beautiful garden full of butterflies, an ethos of elder dignity, and a distinctly Buddhist feel—all of which seemed like a perfect fit for who he was. Once he was there, I learned so much from watching professional caregivers take care of him and honoring their labor with a fair wage and their wisdom with our eternal gratitude.

Family caregivers matter! And we often can’t do it alone. That’s not failure; it speaks to the magnitude of some of the diseases we face (like dementia, which neurologist Bruce Miller calls the “blackbelt of caregiving”) and the limitations of loved ones. Each professional caregiver that now works with my dad meets him as he is now, not lugging all the grief alongside like I do.

The same is true for our children when they go to daycare, school, and even sports. We need teachers, daycare providers, coaches, and others who come with their own expertise, but also who see our kids with new eyes, with more fresh energy, and with less projection.

4. Grief is inevitable

My kids were becoming themselves just as my dad was unbecoming himself—such a wild juxtaposition.

But the truth is, there has been grief in both. Of course I grieve the loss of who my dad was, the long conversations we’d have about faith and ethics, the hours we spent in dark movie theaters together watching films or hiking through the New Mexican desert. But I also grieve the tiny baby my daughter once was, who now has my shoe size and never needs me to hang her upside down to blow dry her neck so she doesn’t make breast milk cheese in her abundant folds. I will never wear my daughters in a baby carrier again, or watch them taste their first food, or take a nap where their entire body fits on my torso.

Even though my children’s trajectory is more “hopeful” than my dad’s, more additive, it is still a trajectory characterized by excitement and grief. And, weirdly, my dad’s trajectory isn’t without excitement if I look at it with enough equanimity. My dad is going to die soon—be released from this body that is no longer functioning the way he needs it to. He will be free, as free as one can get, really. I don’t know much, but I know that, and I’m excited for him.

And I will miss him forever and ever, just as I will miss my babies forever and ever. The evolution of our relationship is always both things—excitement and grief.

5. Shared awe is the whole thing

Some of my favorite recent memories with my dad have been moments when he was mystified by the natural world. We’d be walking around our neighborhood and he would point at a random tree and say, “I have no idea how this got here!” I would laugh, but then think, “Well, I don’t either. I mean I know it was a seed, but I don’t know who planted it. Was it intentional? How long ago was that? What kind of tree is it? How big is it now?”

When you see the world through dementia-colored eyes, there’s a season—at least there was for my dad—when its awe is more available. One time my dad looked out at a wildly bright sunset, streaked with orange and pink and black, and said, “Who did this?” Again, I chuckled, but then realized, that was the right question to be asking. Indeed, Dad, who? It was an extension of the conversations about sacred mysteries that he and I had been having my whole life, but in a less academic or cynical form.

These moments all reminded me of similar exchanges I’ve had with my daughters over the years. There is nothing more delightful than a slow walk with a toddler, who is noticing every little thing along the way and trying to fit it into her rapidly expanding schemas. Even more recently, my kids sometimes take my breath away with a random comment, like a recent car ride home from Target when my nine year old told me matter of factly about her religion, in which there are three gods—one male, one female, and one non-binary. Each has a role each day—one controls her body, one controls her language, and one makes sure the other two are making good choices. There is no boss. They switch roles every day, but one of them always makes sure the other two are making good decisions. Talk about check and balances!

The truth is that all of these lessons are really about reverence for how much is inside of those we care about, and how much it just keeps changing. The more we can evolve with them, not try to pin them down with words and egos and expectations, the more we can all enjoy the heartbreaking, heartbursting co-created adventure of it all.

In 2025, we welcomed guests like world-class athlete Abby Wambach, renowned psychologists and love experts Julie and John Gottman, and award-winning poet and author Yrsa Daley-Ward. Together, we dove into questions like: How can we strengthen empathy in polarized times? What role does gratitude play in sustaining mental health? How do we foster hope, creativity, and resilience in ourselves and our communities? Our guests helped us explore these questions, sharing stories and testing science-backed practices in their own lives.

In case you missed them, here are the top five The Science of Happiness podcast episodes of 2025, as determined by downloads:

1. Why Dancing Is the Best Medicine: Lori Arnett, a NASA engineer, tries a month-long dance practice that brings her closer to her daughters and colleagues, offering unexpected moments of calm and joy. Bronwyn Tarr, an expert on the science of dance, explains how moving in sync boosts mood, eases stress, and even raises our pain threshold through the power of endorphins.

2. Our Brains on Poetry: We explore how poetry, one of the oldest art forms, powers our brains, calms our nervous systems, and reduces anxiety by opening doors into our psyche. Yrsa Daley-Ward, an award-winning poet and author, joins Susan Magsamen, a professor of neurology at John Hopkins, to discuss how—whether you’re reading or writing it—elements like rhythm, metaphor, and rhyme improve memory, cognition, and even self-esteem.

3. How Awe Helps You Navigate Life’s Challenges: Embracing awe can uplift caregivers, providing them with tools to nurture themselves while nurturing others. Our guests Noam Osband and Devora Keller share how they found ways to refresh themselves and foster connection with their two young children by incorporating awe through music, nature, and shared experiences.

4. How to Do Hard Things: What happens when the world sees you as a hero, but you feel lost inside? Abby Wambach, a trailblazer in women’s soccer, spent years chasing excellence as a world-class athlete, only to find that winning gold didn’t bring the inner fulfillment she craved. She reflects on addiction, shame, identity, and the hard-earned lessons of self-love.

5. How 7 Days Can Transform Your Relationship: We are joined by renowned psychologists Julie and John Gottman to explore a seven-day love challenge based on decades of their research. From meaningful check-ins and heartfelt compliments to the importance of touch, we uncover how small, intentional actions can create lasting bonds.

Bonus Episode: This year we were nominated for a Webby Award for our 2024 episode, Are You Remembering the Good Times? Our guest, Palestinian-American poet Naomi Shihab Nye, tried a practice to discover the joy-bringing power of recalling her positive childhood memories.

Our favorite parenting books of 2025 provide scientific insights to support the resilience and flourishing of children, teens, and parents. They cover a variety of topics, including coping with racial and cultural stress for teens and young adults of color, having conversations with tween and teen boys, and effecting change for families of children experiencing medical complexity or disability. Our book selections also cover important topics like helping parents to navigate their own emotions, and the power of awe and play for children. Most of these books weave together cutting-edge research and powerful personal stories that can help readers make positive changes in their day-to-day lives.

Empower Yourself Against Racial and Cultural Stress: Using Skills from the REACH Program to Cope, Heal, and Thrive, by Ryan C.T. DeLapp

Empower Yourself Against Racial and Cultural Stress is a workbook intended for teens and young adults of color based on the Racial, Ethnic, and Cultural Healing (REACH) program developed by psychologist and author Ryan C.T. DeLapp. “If you identify as a person of color, this book can help you learn to cope with moments of feeling judged unfairly, mistreated, or denied opportunities based on your racial and cultural background,” writes DeLapp. The workbook helps readers learn to practice empowered coping, which has three steps:

1. Clarify the impacts of cultural stress. Notice uncomfortable emotions, like a lack of control over a situation, and navigate critical thoughts about your race or culture.
2. Think of what you can do. Identify what is still under your control that can help you cope when you’re faced with cultural stress.
3. Make empowered coping decisions. Discover what is best for you in a particular moment and in the future.

The workbook begins with activities to explore your identities, reflect on your experiences with cultural stress, and recognize its impact. It then helps you identify and navigate emotional aspects of cultural stress with strategies like mindfulness and self-compassion. DeLapp provides guidance to boost your sense of agency and control by making change efforts and making resilience efforts. Finally, he addresses identity stress, which involves experiencing negative cultural feedback. He provides activities for identity exploration, identity expression, and identity protection to nurture self-love, self-confidence, and cultural pride. 

Throughout the workbook, DeLapp weaves in the experiences of three fictional characters for readers to learn lessons from. These “empowered navigators” are an 18-year-old Latino man who lives with his family, a 16-year-old Muslim teen who recently immigrated with her family, and a 23-year-old Black man raised in the American South in a very religious family. DeLapp also encourages readers to identify people in their own community who can be their own empowered navigators. This practical and interactive workbook can be an empowering gift for parents to share with their teens and young adults of color to nurture their resilience and flourishing.

Talk to Your Boys: 16 Conversations to Help Tweens and Teens Grow into Confident, Caring Young Men, by Joanna Schroeder and Christopher Pepper

Boys are increasingly struggling and feeling disconnected. “They are underperforming in school and opting out of college, overdosing on drugs, falling under the spell of extremism, and engaging in lethal violence and self-harm—including mass shootings and suicide,” write coauthors Joanna Schroeder and Christopher Pepper. They wrote Talk to Your Boys as a guide for parents, caregivers, educators, and mentors to catalyze a change, because the way we’re supporting tween and teen boys isn’t working well for them or society at large.

Talk to Your Boys puts a spotlight on the power of deep conversations to help boys feel greater connection and practice empathy, compassion, and introspection. Schroeder and Pepper advise parents to embrace the awkwardness and accept imperfection when talking to boys. They provide conversation strategies and practical tips for parents to begin having conversations about 16 essential topics, including masculinity, emotions, dating, sex, pornography, substance use, screen time, bullying, violence, and racism. They recommend parents start with having conversations with boys about communication because it is the foundation for all conversations.

Here are their six key tips for conversations:

1. Don’t interrupt, inquire. Invite boys respectfully to have a conversation.
2. Set the tone. Help boys know in advance what the conversation will be about so they can better handle what’s coming.
3. Take them seriously. Show them that you are actively listening for understanding and eager to have a two-way conversation.
4. Get curious, not furious. Investigate what is getting in the way and seek collaborative solutions rather than getting stuck in disappointment or frustration.
5. Try reflective listening. Pause before responding and paraphrase what you’ve heard to check in about whether your understanding is correct.
6. Talk shoulder to shoulder, not eye to eye. Consider having a conversation while moving together, like playing ping-pong rather than just staring at each other.

 
With a mix of practical guidance from experts on each topic and authentic and insightful voices from a panel of 85 boys, Talk to Your Boys will resonate with parents who are looking for ways to nurture the well-being of boys who will be guided by standing up for what’s right and creating a better world for all of us.

Be Unapologetically Impatient: The Mindset Required to Change the Way We Do Things, by Christina Cipriano

Be Unapologetically Impatient integrates psychologist and author Christina Cipriano’s insights as a scholar as well as her journey as a mother of four children with a vantage point on medical complexity and neurodivergence. She calls for putting joy in the foreground while working to promote justice in the face of discrimination or inequity based on disability, language, income, culture, education, and more. While being mindful of toxic positivity, she challenges reflexive deficit-framing that focuses on what is lacking or wrong rather than valuing different experiences and ways of being to catalyze changes that can improve inadequate systems and people’s lives. 

Cipriano spotlights the frustrating obstacles to accessing support for families of children with disabilities, like the refrain of “That’s just the way we do things here,” policies that normalize waiting for children to fail before providing interventions, and the expectation for families to remain patient while waiting for services. She shares personal stories of how she has taken action when encountering challenges around accessibility, such as by asking questions and communicating with organizational leaders, that can serve as models for addressing flaws in the systems readers are encountering.

The book provides concrete suggestions to work to change injustices using “call-ins” rather than “callouts,” the latter of which are often counterproductive in the long term. Cipriano offers five helpful call-in strategies:

1. Strive to ask questions with the intention of hearing the answers. Acknowledge and navigate the intense emotions you’re experiencing about the injustice before you while focusing your questions on the present circumstances, like a barrier or a policy, rather than on a person.
2. Avoid asking why, how, or how could you… do, say, behave, inhibit…. Ask questions about the system, like “Why does the policy discriminate?” or “Why does the device take eight months to be manufactured?”
3. Remind yourself to stay in a curious, nonjudgmental, nonargumentative tone. Be mindful of your emotional experiences and expressions, and when your volume is loud. Focus on the issue and share facts and suggestions for actively addressing the situation.
4. Avoid shoulding people. Be aware that people are not receptive to hearing others’ unsolicited suggestions for what they should have done in a past situation.
5. Avoid asking people if they can do something. Understand that “Can you…” often leads to a defensive response and less openness to a conversation.

Parents will appreciate the empowering message and practical guidance of Be Unapologetically Impatient. “I am not waiting for justice at the expense of my children,” writes Cipriano. “And you don’t need to, either. It’s time to be unapologetically impatient. Let me show you how.”

Raising Awe Seekers: How the Science of Wonder Helps Our Kids Thrive, by Deborah Farmer Kris

“When we seek out awe with our children, and give them a name for the feeling, we help bend their worlds towards wonder.” In Raising Awe Seekers, child development expert Deborah Farmer Kris unpacks a trove of research on awe, explaining the benefits of awe for families and providing parents with practical and accessible ideas for raising children who turn toward wonder. The book positions awe as an antidote to the busyness, scariness, and messiness of modern parenting and a powerful tool for helping both parents and children to slow down and connect. 

Each chapter unpacks the research on a different source of awe, from nature to music to big questions to human kindness. Drawing on interviews with experts in the field, Kris makes the case for why awe-seeking is such a powerful tool—highlighting its ability to reduce cortisol, foster generosity, and strengthen resilience. She then applies the research on the benefits of awe to parenting, providing concrete tips to bring each source of awe into your child’s life, complete with recommendations for awe-inspiring picture books. In the chapter on the wonder of nature, we learn from research that time outdoors experiencing awe can serve as a protective measure and can recharge our attention battery, and Kris suggests an “oh look!” walk or moon-watching with your child.

Kris highlights throughout the book that the first step to bringing more awe into our children’s lives is to become awe-seekers ourselves. Cultivating this way of being for parents supports our own well-being and deepens our relationship with our children. What’s more, awe-seeking parents can help slow down their kids’ childhood, making space for wonder and helping them gain lifelong skills in connection, curiosity, and humility. 

The Way of Play: Using Little Moments of Big Connection to Raise Calm and Confident Kids, by Tina Payne Bryson and Georgie Wisen-Vincent 

For many parents, playing with their children just isn’t intuitive. We might assume that we remember how to play like children do, but our brains don’t work that way anymore. Often there is relearning that needs to be done in order to join our kids in the power of play. In their book, The Way of Play, pediatric therapists and play experts Tina Payne Bryson and Georgie Wisen-Vincent share seven strategies for parents to use play as a tool to support their children’s emotional development and resilience and build a stronger connection with their children. 

For example, one play strategy is to watch for ways to mirror your child’s actions—with your body, your face, or your voice. When children experience this strategy, they receive the message from their parents, “Someone tunes into me, I can tune into others.” Using mirroring in play can help your child build deeper skills to understand their own emotions, supporting their connections with and empathy for others. But how does this happen? The Way of Play breaks down what happens in your child’s brain when you mirror them and also teaches parents how to mirror.

The book is full of stories from Wisen-Vincent’s practice at the Play Strong Institute that show these strategies in action. It also includes copious cartoon-style graphics illustrating and providing scripts to help parents practice each play strategy with their child. 

Bryson and Wisen-Vincent leave us with the reminder that “Play is kids’ primary language, and it’s key to helping them build emotional, cognitive, and relational skills. And most importantly, it’s a way you can build a stronger relationship with them that will reward you both for years to come.” 

Parents Have Feelings, Too: A Guide to Navigating Your Emotions So You And Your Family Can Thrive, by Hilary Jacobs Hendel and Juli Fraga

Parents Have Feelings, Too acknowledges that just as our children have intense emotions, so do parents, but many of us were never taught in school or at home how to navigate these big feelings. “This book teaches you how to identify, name, validate, and work through your emotions,” write coauthors and psychotherapists Hilary Jacobs Hendel and Juli Fraga. “It’s a skill set that nourishes lifelong well-being and robust mental health for you and your children.

The book is divided into three parts. It begins with describing the central role of emotions for a sense of connection and well-being. Hendel and Fraga explain how our emotions are related to our attachment style—secure, avoidant, anxious, or fearful—and its role in the ways we approach parenting our children. They clarify what emotions are and dispel myths like “pushing down emotions makes them go away and has no consequences.” They introduce the Change Triangle, which is a tool to help you skillfully and confidently navigate your emotions toward calm, connection, curiosity, and compassion, which are keys to achieving a state of open-heartedness and authenticity.

The three corners of the Change Triangle tool are:

1. Defense. The various things we do to avoid emotional distress or pain.
2. Inhibitory emotions. Feelings like anxiety, guilt, and shame, which help us follow the rules of society and culture.
3. Core emotions. Feelings like anger, fear, sadness, disgust, joy, and excitement that are key to survival and help us to express our needs, wants, likes, and dislikes.

The fourth component of the Change Triangle is the open-hearted state of the authentic self—when our nervous system is regulated and can help us to take actions that are constructive and promote our well-being.

Parents Have Feelings, Too walks readers through how to use the Change Triangle tool and offers plenty of examples of its application across a variety of both inhibitory and core emotions. Importantly, Hendel and Fraga provide a balanced view of emotions as information and sources of insight that can serve a purpose in our lives. For example, they describe how guilt can prevent us from being dishonest or breaking the law but, when it’s experienced disproportionately, can lead us to harsh self-judgment.

Readers will appreciate the dozens of practical exercises woven throughout the book, like “Dropping Into the Body,” “Tending to Your Sadness,” and “Working With Disgust Caused by Your Child.” “These tools have been game-changing for us as parents and psychotherapists, and we are excited to share them with you,” write Hendel and Fraga.

NOTABLE MENTION: We also want to share our own workbook that came out this year, Family Well-Being for the Greater Good: A science-based workbook for people supporting parents. It offers parenting practitioners practical lessons and activities to help you prioritize cultivating your social and emotional well-being while additionally supporting you in sharing these insights and practices with the parents and families you serve. Download it for free.

I’m not alone, either. People commonly experience awe in nature—so much so that researchers often expose people to nature in order to study awe’s effects on their well-being. Feeling awe has been found to provide many benefits, including greater happiness, more humility and curiosity, better health, and kinder, more generous behavior toward others.

Now, scientists are beginning to discover another benefit of experiencing awe, particularly from nature: It makes us more motivated to protect the natural environment. As one recent study found, giving people information about climate change and the potential benefits of renewable energy is not enough to sway public opinion. It could take adding a dose of awe—helping people experience a sense of wonder for our amazing, fragile planet—to get them to change their attitudes toward climate change and make better choices for the environment.

Given the current state of the world, this is good news. Human activity is causing harm to the planet on an alarming scale, hurting our well-being and challenging our very survival. Yet it can be overwhelming to contemplate the extent of the damage, making us feel depressed or powerless to do anything to help. We need to find ways to stay hopeful and focused, to both protect our mental health and help save our planet. That’s where experiencing awe may help.

Experiencing awe inspires ecological consciousness

Much evidence suggests that feeling awe can increase our ecological consciousness—a sense of responsibility to help protect the natural world. For example, in one study, college students were prompted to write about a past encounter with awe-inspiring nature or an awe-inspiring person (or simply an everyday event). Those who wrote about nature experienced awe, which led them to feel a greater sense of connection to nature. As a result, they had a stronger intent to participate in ecologically sustainable behaviors, like recycling or taking shorter showers.

Another recent study found that when people felt awe, it helped them be more attuned to climate change issues. Specifically, participants who were induced to feel awe by watching a nature video felt a greater sense of “oneness” with nature compared to people watching an amusing nature video or neutral video. In turn, they were also more likely to agree with statements like “Human activities are a major cause of climate change” and “The consequences of climate change are visible now,” suggesting they could grasp the import of climate change more readily.


Studies suggest that tourists who experience awe show more support for more environmentally sound behaviors, too. For example, one study found that people experiencing awe by gazing at spectacular scenery in a Chinese national park had stronger intentions to engage in pro-environmental behaviors, like taking their trash with them and getting involved in movements to protect the park. And, as another study found, whale-watchers who listened to whales singing in the wild or to pre-recorded whale sounds experienced awe, increasing their interest in environmental protection.

These effects extend to behaviors, not just attitudes. For example, one study found that professionals working in or near water—such as field biologists or those in water management—made more environmentally friendly work decisions and inspired more conservation efforts in others if they experienced more awe of nature in their work and leisure time. Similarly, another study found that farmers who experienced a stronger connection to nature, which awe induces, were more likely to take steps to protect native vegetation on their farms and engage in restoration efforts.

What makes awe so powerful?

All of this suggests awe promotes more environmentalism. But how?

As many of the above studies suggest, awe seems to increase our sense of connection to nature. In fact, a large-scale analysis of many studies concludes that there’s a robust relationship between our connection to nature and our engagement in environmental protection.

Awe may help us connect to nature and environmentalism by making us feel less self-centric and more self-transcendent. When experiencing awe, we feel as if we’re a small part of something bigger and vaster than ourselves, which inspires us to act more generously and selflessly. So, when people experience a smaller sense of self in relationship to the vastness of nature, it could make them more concerned about protecting it. After all, if you care enough about something (or someone), you’ll want to do what you can to keep them safe and healthy, even if it means doing so at some personal cost to you.

Awe also helps protect our mental health, which may seem less relevant here. But when we are suffering from depression or feeling stressed out, it’s harder to muster the energy to do something constructive—especially if it means forgoing what’s easier (like driving to work) in favor of doing something that takes more effort (like walking or biking to work). Because awe can help us feel less depressed and stressed, though, it’s likely to help us stay true to our environmental values and take necessary action even when it’s inconvenient.

Similarly, according to research, feeling happier means we have more energy for engaging in activism, including that focused on environmental protection. And feeling awe definitely makes us happier, in part by making time slow down, helping us feel absorbed in the present, and encouraging other positive emotions (like compassion, gratitude, and optimism—all tied to happiness).

Awe may also help us be environmental activists through its ability to foster cooperation and social connection. If we can connect better not only with nature but with those who are concerned about its protection, we might engage in more collective action to fight against pollution, climate change, species loss, and more.

In all of these ways, feeling awe may give us the perspective and the fuel we need to be more active in protecting the natural world. And, fortunately, it’s possible to increase our sense of awe in nature with deliberate effort.

How to cultivate awe in nature

One way to foster awe for nature is to go hiking, something I often do myself. Just being out among beauty feeds my soul and makes me feel in awe of nature’s beauty and biodiversity.

You can also enhance your feelings of awe by taking an awe outing, where you slow down and immerse yourself in the sensory details of your environment. By taking deep breaths and noticing what’s around you—the sounds, smells, sights, and more—and taking into consciousness what seems vast, complex, or surprising, you can experience awe and reap its benefits.

If taking an awe walk in nature isn’t convenient or possible for you, though, there are other ways to experience the awe of nature and feel its effects. Watching awe-inspiring videos of nature or simply paying special attention to the natural elements around you in your everyday life (like clouds, stars, or flowers) can also inspire awe, helping you to feel joy and transcendence.

We can also inspire kids to feel awe and reconnect to nature. Children benefit immensely from being outside, which helps protect their mental and physical health. And infusing awe into their experience at home or at school may make those impacts even more pronounced. Instilling a sense of awe in nature for children is one way we can help raise our future environmentalists.

So why not add awe in nature to your repertoire? By letting yourself feel wonder and a sense of being a small part of a vaster and grander natural world, you can enjoy the benefits that awe provides while also becoming part of the concerted movement to help save our planet.

“I’ve been kind of watching for those connections ever since,” Lawrence says.

Lawrence, an adjunct professor in the English department at Brigham Young University, teaches pre-service teachers. Her Ph.D. work left her with an intuitive sense that even a few minutes outdoors could shift something fundamental in her students.

She began guiding her students on “Wonder Walks”—15-minute outings to slow down and notice the world around them. Inspired by Time of Wonder by Robert McCloskey and Wonder Walkers by Micha Archer, Lawrence had included these walks in her children’s literature class for a few semesters. But it wasn’t until she took the Awe in Education course for educators offered by the Greater Good Science Center that everything clicked into place.

“When I got into the awe course, I thought, ‘Oh, awe walks? That’s interesting. It’s kind of similar to what I’ve been doing already,’” Lawrence says.

She encouraged her students to find a connection to nature by going outside, reflecting, and simply being present. At first, some resisted, seeing it as extra work. But once they settled into the stillness, the feedback was striking.

“I started getting responses like, ‘I’ve been really, really stressed this week, that 15 minutes gave me a chance to clear my head,’” Lawrence says. “‘It gave me a chance to just kind of calm down and relax, and then I was able to be refreshed going back into my work.’”

The science of awe

Awe is often experienced when we are in the presence of something that feels greater than ourselves. It transcends our understanding of what we have come to know about the world. From watching the sun rise, to hearing a song that brings you to tears, to visiting a religious structure, awe is a feeling that encompasses wonder, astonishment, and veneration.

Research finds that awe can reduce stress by lowering inflammation and reducing activation of the sympathetic nervous system. Additionally, it can foster kind and helpful behavior, leading to greater generosity, cooperation, and empathy.

When children learn how to actively experience and appreciate awe-inspiring moments, they begin to think beyond themselves, leading to enhanced cognitive flexibility and curiosity.

“Children are intrinsically curious explorers and hungry for new information,” write researcher Eftychia Stamkou and her colleagues. “Given their developing knowledge across domains, it is sound to assume that children will often encounter things that seem vast in relation to the self and transcend their previous knowledge—two critical ingredients of awe.”

For educators looking to shift toward awe-based education, incorporating moments of awe can transform school culture by fostering deeper engagement, creativity, and emotional resilience among students. When educators create moments of wonder and curiosity, it’s not just about knowledge, but about nurturing connection, well-being, and a sense of belonging in the classroom.

Awe in action

Lawrence’s students, future teachers themselves, began to recognize the value of these small, intentional pauses. They noticed the beauty of the night sky on cold winter nights, made unexpected connections between nature and storytelling, and reflected on how they might bring these experiences into their own classrooms. Some even felt a deep spiritual connection, a sense of belonging to something greater than themselves.


These moments of awe, Lawrence observed, didn’t just support mental clarity and creativity, they opened up new ways of perceiving the world.

“If they are open to the surprises and exciting aspects, even just the everyday aspects, of a different way of thinking . . . it could evoke awe, and that awe could evoke better understanding,” Lawrence says.

For Lawrence, awe is more than a concept; it’s a way of seeing the world. It’s about slowing down and inviting students into moments that transcend their daily routines. It’s also a tool that her future educators can use to foster resilience, curiosity, and connection in their classrooms for years to come.

Even when going outside isn’t possible, Lawrence encourages her students to cultivate awe indoors by growing plants, collecting leaves or acorns, or even watching nature videos.

“This isn’t something you have to stress over every day,” Lawrence says. “You can do 15 minutes once a week if that’s all that works for you, and you’ll start to see something happening.”

Incorporating awe in the classroom

Educator Emily Wilson Brenner has been teaching since 2002 and has worked in various locations, including the Northeast and Southeast U.S., and overseas in Casablanca, Morocco. She moved to San Francisco in 2019, soon before the pandemic, where she now teaches English and Theory of Knowledge, a course focused on epistemology and understanding how we know what we know, at an independent International Baccalaureate school.

Wilson Brenner has always had an interest in psychology and became particularly interested in awe after reading researcher Dacher Keltner’s book Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life and participating in the Awe in Education course.

“I was teaching all day, every day, remotely on Zoom,” Wilson Brenner says. “But there was still something missing, and I really think that was connection and just that real humanity.”

Going back into the classroom post-pandemic, one of Wilson Brenner’s main goals was to help students notice details, be mindful of their surroundings, and express their authentic voices while experiencing and reflecting on moments of awe.

“Notice the sound of the birds in the park despite the whirl of the cars going by,” Wilson Brenner says. “Notice the details and notice the things that aren’t as obvious, the things that others aren’t noticing. And this is awe, but this is also intelligence. This is cognition, right?”

In addition to using journal prompts that encourage her students to reflect on their inner experiences and connect them to themes in literature, Wilson Brenner incorporates awe into her daily teaching by utilizing texts like Frankenstein and other works from the Romantic period that explore the sublime. In literature, the sublime is a theme that evokes awe and reminds us of our smallness, our aliveness, and our connection to something greater.

“There is the awe-some and the aw-ful, you know?” Wilson Brenner says. “When we’re looking at the terrible conflicts that we face as humans, how can we also explore the beauty that we experience as humans?”

Wilson Brenner recognizes that fostering awe in adolescents can be challenging since they often prioritize being indifferent and tend to be naturally skeptical. However, she sees this skepticism as a strength and believes that finding the right approach to engage them is essential.

So how can other educators bring awe into their classrooms? Wilson Brenner says the key is starting with connection, learning about students’ experiences and what moves them.

She not only minimizes technological distraction in her classroom to encourage a sense of community and connection, but she also asks her students about the languages they speak at home and what music they love at the beginning of the year. She then creates a class playlist based on their favorite songs, and plays it as they enter the room.

“When you’re looking at your curriculum, whatever the curriculum is, what are the places where this [awe] can exist?,” she says.

Here are a few practical ways educators can infuse awe into the classroom:

• Nature-based experiences: Outdoor learning, observing ecosystems, or watching a nature documentary are all options.
• Storytelling and literature: Explore myths, legends, and personal narratives that expand worldviews.
• Movies and music: Watch a film or listen to music that gives you that “wow” feeling. Something epic, beautiful, or just deeply moving.
• Classroom rituals: Small awe-inspiring practices, such as “awe journals,” reflective discussions, or sharing ideas.
• Create a playlist: Explore how shared music experiences create a sense of wonder and deepen connections with yourself and others.
• Collective acts of kindness: Recognize how collective generosity creates a sense of wonder and deeper connection with others.

Though our town was about three hours south of the path of totality, a celebratory atmosphere permeated the community. One of my kids spent the afternoon constructing a moveable 3D eclipse model, while the other built a pinhole camera. Many schools dismissed early so kids could make it home in time. Libraries and community groups hosted watch parties.

My family kept it simple and put out lawn chairs and blankets in the front yard. Neighbors wandered over to join us, and a gaggle of kids climbed our Japanese maple tree to get closer to the sun. The birds went silent as we put on our glasses and craned our necks toward the sky.

As the New York Times reported, “For this moment, a wide swath of this country did the same thing, together, happily and in wonder. Our world of divisions and distractions—of TikTok and politics and disasters—fell away, leaving us quiet with our breath held in awe.”

Collective awe on this scale is a rare, newsworthy event. But sometimes we forget that awe can be an everyday emotion, too—something we feel as regularly as happiness, sadness, fear, and anger. And that’s good news because awe has been linked to a host of benefits. The question is this: How can we tap into this wonder more intentionally?

Becoming an awe-seeker

I have spent 25 years invested in one question: How do we help kids thrive? This question has animated my work as a teacher, education journalist, parent educator, and mom to two awesome kids.

In fall of 2021, I stumbled upon a 45-page white paper called The Science of Awe from the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley. The paper summarizes 15 years of research, much of it research from the Center’s founding director, Dacher Keltner.

As I read the report, I got goosebumps—not something I had experienced enough as we slogged through the pandemic. I remember how the light filtered in through the office window that afternoon. My brain whirred, connecting the findings on awe with decades of child development research. I laughed, scribbled notes, and texted the paper to a dozen friends and colleagues. I was awestruck.

Since that afternoon, I have been fully invested in the study of this often-overlooked emotion. As I wrote Raising Awe-Seekers: How the Science of Wonder Helps Kids Thrive, I pushed myself to stay honest and open: “That’s a fascinating piece of research, Deborah. Now what? What does this mean for you?”

Take the research on spending time outside. Nature is perhaps the most obvious source of awe: vibrant sunsets, crashing waves, and streets lined with cherry blossoms. The documented benefits of getting outside for kids of all ages are legion. Time in nature supports cognitive development, stress reduction, creativity, focus, mental and physical health, social skills, gross motor skills, and environmental awareness. As Keltner writes, “It is hard to imagine a single thing you can do that is better for your body and mind than finding awe outdoors.”

For example, researchers at the Medical College of Wisconsin found that “higher levels of neighborhood green space were associated with significantly lower levels of symptomatology for depression, anxiety, and stress,” after controlling for a wide range of factors. They concluded that “greening up” our neighborhoods could be a relatively low-cost, high-result “mental health improvement.”

Similarly, a 2024 NIH study found that young children (ages two to five) who lived near dense green spaces, such as parks or forests, had fewer symptoms of anxiety and depression. According to the lead scientist, “Our research supports existing evidence that being in nature is good for kids. It also suggests that the early childhood years are a crucial time for exposure to green spaces.”

I love the concept of nature as a buffer. Nature might not protect our kids from challenges, but perhaps the awe they experience in it can build a protective barrier, improving their mental health and helping them to navigate life a bit more easily.

One hour in the woods

It’s one thing to know the research, but it’s another thing entirely to apply it. This is the inherent tension that comes with writing a parenting book about awe or any other topic: To what extent do I practice what I preach? How am I shifting my personal habits in response to new learning? When it comes to nature: What do my kids observe about my relationship with the outdoors? Do they see my eyes light up when the neighborhood magnolias bloom, or do they see me checking my phone as I walk the dog?

These questions were on my mind on a sunny November afternoon in Natick, Massachusetts. I was visiting a Montessori school to shadow a nature class, to see how a group of six to eight year olds would respond to spending an hour in the woods in the middle of their school day. As we waited for the kids to arrive, Ms. Janey, the nature teacher, told me she used to make her classes too complicated. These days, her core approach is simple: “Stop and listen. What do you hear? Stop and look. What do you see?’”

When the students arrived, Ms. Janey reminded the kids that they would spend the first 10 minutes of forest time in their “sit spot.” 

“What do you do first when you find your sit spot?” she asked.

“You touch the ground with your hands and take three deep breaths,” a third-grader answered. 


“Then what?”

“You listen, look, see, smell, and . . . I can’t remember the last one,” a first-grader offered.


“Taste!” a second-grader said. “But, like, just taste the air—don’t lick a tree!” Giggles. 


Each student grabbed a small mat and walked into a wooded area behind the school to find a place to sit. A third-grader waved me over. He had found a spot under a giant pine.


“This has been my sit spot since I was in kindergarten,” he whispered. “I know everything about this tree.” His delight reminded me of Maria Montessori’s words: “There is no description, no image in any book that is capable of replacing the sight of real trees, and all the life to be found around them, in a real forest. Something emanates from those trees which speaks to the soul, something no book, no museum is capable of giving.”


I found my own spot to settle down and observe. A couple kids used sticks to draw in the dirt. Many sat quietly and looked around. One swung his arms around and around. Another traced her fingers along the cracks in the tree bark. 


No one talked or looked bored. I began to wonder: When was the last time I simply sat beneath a tree without my earbuds and phone, with no purpose but to be present with nature?

After 10 minutes, the teacher called the students to her with a bird-like whistle and introduced the lesson of the day. “In pairs, trace a square foot on the forest floor. Then make a list of everything you see in your square foot.”

I joined a first-grader and the pine-tree–loving third-grader. “Let’s find a square that includes a dead log,” he suggested. “Dead logs are full of cool stuff.”

They marked the boundary and began their list: pine needles, a centipede, a grub. Then they lifted up a large leaf. “OMG! This is amazing!” the third grader exclaimed. “A frog! Right here! I was so right about the log.”

I was startled to hear the teacher announce that class was ending.  “It’s never enough time,” Ms. Janey told me. “We could spend all day out here.”

It’s important to note that this “forest” is only a couple of acres. Barely enough to catch the eye of a passerby. Yet the sensory difference between sitting inside at my computer and sitting in that pine grove was palpable. That hour in nature was transportive.

Parenting for awe

As we walked back to the school, my new friend—the one who had spent four years sitting under the same tree—said to me, “Thanks for spending time with us. The forest is pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

Yes, but my awe that afternoon was not simply from nature. It also came from watching the kids’ wide eyes and squeals of excitement. They reminded me that young children often do more to pull their parents toward nature than the other way around.

Almost everything is fresh to a five year old: the dandelion growing through the sidewalk crack or the swarm of ants dismantling a dropped cracker. Nature is a sensory feast for kids who largely make sense of the world through their five senses—kids who have not yet become accustomed to living in their heads. 

I remembered those long summer evenings when my kids were preschoolers—when they wanted just “five more minutes” to dig in the dirt, blow on dandelions, hunt for four-leaf clovers, or lick popsicles on the stoop as the sun set. Now that I am the parent of adolescents, we have to be more deliberate about making time to slow down and get outside.

Last week, my son and I went on our first spring bike ride. “I forgot how good it feels to feel the wind in my face,” he told me. This weekend, the first magnolia trees bloomed in Boston. As I drove my eighth-grade daughter to an art class at the museum, I called out, “Tree!” every time I saw one in bloom. She turned to her friend in the car and said, “My mom gets really excited about trees and birds” without a trace of embarrassment. And in my mind I thought, “I love that she knows that about me.”

Researching nature and awe has, unexpectedly, made me less concerned about getting my kids outside for a certain number of minutes each day. There are just so many “shoulds” as parents that everything can start to feel like a quota system. I’m more interested in showing them that clapping in delight over lightning bugs isn’t just for kids. I want them to see, through example, that our connection to nature can deepen and change as we move through childhood and into adolescence and adulthood.

Have you forgotten what it feels like to blow on a dandelion? It’s never too late to remember. Because those wide-eyed goosebump moments that come from awe? Those are good for adults, too.

He instructed Ani to pisi to wrap the world, with the people in it, in his web and let them down to the lower world. Ani to pisi did as he was told and let them down from the upper world through a hole. After the people were lowered from the upper world (spoomootsi) to here below, Ani to pisi explained to them that the web would remain with them so that the Creator would know when to help them. Whenever there is trouble or an emergency, one string of the web would vibrate and this would signal the Creator, who would come to help. Man was told to pattern his life after the web so that they can stay close together and help each other whenever there is a problem, anywhere on the web. When there is no trouble, the web would remain calm; otherwise, it would vibrate and everyone on the web would know and come to help with whatever the problem might be.

This is a condensed version of the Ani to pisi human spiderweb, a significant Blackfoot creation story passed down to Elder Roy Bear Chief by his late brother Clement. The story emphasizes the interconnectedness and interrelatedness of society, which is likened to the intricate web of a spider. Vibrations within this interconnected web symbolize a call to action to address problems and extend help when needed, as well as to gather for celebrations. By honoring and engaging with the Ani to pisi, individuals are invited to connect with the everyday vibrations that resonate within their lives, fostering connections with peers, family, community, and society at large.

Elder Roy Bear Chief, entrusted with sharing this sacred story, highlights its importance as a learning experience. To understand the true meaning behind the Ani to pisi narrative, we set out to create a Human Spiderweb at Mount Royal University in Canada with approximately 300 people. Afterward, participants talked about how impactful the experience was, so we decided to study it further—and found that the practice created an experience of awe.

Creating a Human Spiderweb

To create the spiderweb, we assigned participants a specific location on the web and had student volunteers guide them to their places when they arrived. Once everyone was in position, dignitaries including Elders, drummers, university administrators, and the person directing the movements stood at the center of the web. Through a microphone, they gave directions as to how the movements would unfold, then the event began. The drummers made one drum beat at a time, and the movement director signaled participants when to make vibration movements. After the vibrations, the drummers played a round dance song and everyone in the web joined in the round dance, which took up an entire soccer field.

Humans have a deep tendency to want to sync up with others around us. For instance, when babies see our facial expressions, they instinctively try to mimic them, and when someone smiles, we often smile back. When learning something new, we tend to imitate actions and gestures. This same desire to be in sync with one another happened during the enactment of the Human Spiderweb.

Although this was only a small pilot study, participants reported a sense of collective effervescence—the feeling of unity through simultaneous activity—and feeling awestruck.

People said they felt like they were in the presence of something greater than themselves: for example, “I felt like I was part of something important and impactful. I felt like I mattered in some way.” People shared what it was like to be in a shared experience, “the beating of the drums as we moved in unison, our motions guided each other to make the web happen.”

People also felt like time stood still and wanted the experience to keep going. This coincides with research suggesting that awe alters our sense of time, sometimes driving a desire to stay in the moment. We authors could attest to the fact that people lingered long after the event ended, and we watched people hugging and leaving the space with wide smiles.

People described getting teared up and their eyes widening. They also reported feeling inspiration, belonging, happiness, fulfillment, amazement, and powerful connection. One said they felt “remorse for how Indigenous peoples have been treated by assimilation and Westernizations. However, I felt a strong sense of community and hope for humanity.” Body sensations were described as goosebumps, heart pounding, tears that began with the beat of the drum and seeing everyone together. One person said, “I felt comfortable, I laughed, I felt connected to those around me, chills.” Another said, “My heart was so full and I could not stop smiling.”

The felt experience of being awestruck is an embodied experience. Comments about goosebumps, tearfulness, and heart pumping are all related to the bodily responses to an awesome experience. In addition, the comments about feeling hope for humanity—that, somehow, they mattered and barriers were broken down—say plenty about how immersed people were in the experience.

Beyond these benefits, participants also appreciated the opportunity to engage in a small act of reconciliation, honoring Indigenous history and knowledge. For example, they said, “Being part of this event was an opportunity to show my commitment to reconciliation,” and “I am committed to actioning on my treaty responsibilities as a second-generation racialized settler.”

The emotional experience of a spiderweb

The Human Spiderweb event, which encouraged group synchronicity, created profound social and emotional experiences for those involved.

Awe. According to researchers Dacher Keltner and Jonathan Haidt, awe involves a sense of vastness—something larger than the self—that challenges our typical frame of reference and changes our understanding of the world. We know we are experiencing awe when we feel amazed, transported, and inspired, realizing there are things out in the world far greater than ourselves.

While this recognition of smallness in the world could make us feel insignificant, it instead typically leads to humility and can trigger altruistic actions. There are also physiological effects; the body is implicated as we smile, eyes widen and shoulders lift, we breathe deeper, and these changes link to a shift in our autonomic nervous system. Our study found that participating in the Human Spiderweb brought about feelings of being awestruck through a collective experience.


For some of our participants, the emotional experience of being part of enacting Ani to pisi led to physical and emotional experiences that they had not anticipated. For example, one participant said, “It challenged my appreciation of what human beings are capable of.” This person may have experienced the vastness involved in being awestruck and the belongingness of collective effervescence.

Collective effervescence. According to a 2022 paper, collective effervescence exists when there is a shared emotional experience during a social gathering when people are united for a collective purpose, such as rituals, celebrations, and demonstrations. Such a gathering brings individuals closer together and creates an intimate experience. It takes them beyond their individualistic cares and concerns and elevates their social connections, because “participation in a collective gathering enhances participants’ sense of social belonging.”

As a 2021 paper explains, most people have a desire for belonging, which seems to be a human need that can be cultivated through collective experiences. Belonging “may be just as important as food, shelter, and physical safety.”

The emotions brought on via a collective experience are strong and positive. Collective experiences can create a shared identity and values, at least in that moment, as we co-participate with others. As researcher Shira Gabriel and her coauthors note, “collective bonds can affect well-being even when no relational bonds exist between members.” Even though many of the approximately 300 people who participated in the Human Spiderweb did not know one another, they shared a positive emotional experience.

Savoring. Six months after the Human Spiderweb, 90% of participants stated they could place themselves back in the event and describe the thoughts and feelings they had at the time. We take this as evidence of savoring.

We savor an experience by being present with a positive emotion—in this case, awe. Savoring also involves identifying the emotions we’re experiencing and spending time experiencing the sensations in our body related to the positive feelings. If we pay lots of attention to a positive experience in this way, we’re more likely to be able to remember it vividly and re-experience it later.

This event was like no other on our campus, which likely helped people savor it. Our campus has offered opportunities to participate in talks about Indigenous teachings and smaller group activities, but few involve physically enacting reconciliation principles. This was an opportunity to embody an Indigenous teaching taking place on the land of a treaty. The implications of what people were participating in became clear as the Elders spoke and the enactment began. Engaging in the round dance made everyone feel like they were part of something that had never been done before, and they knew it was special. As one participant stated, “The power of bringing people together for a common goal can’t be matched.”

Awe for the greater good

Being awestruck can boost our mental health, and it is our hope that the Human Spiderweb experience will do so for our participants as they face challenges in the future. People need only think back to a savored experience to allow the emotional and physiological responses to surface once again, reminding people that they do belong and they do matter.

It is important for post-secondary institutions to offer students and faculty opportunities to engage in both individual and collective acts of reconciliation to demonstrate their commitment to the inclusion of Indigenous histories, cultures, languages, and knowledge. The participants in this pilot study emphasized hope for this event to be hosted annually, which would act as an ongoing demonstration versus a one-off event that can be considered performative. It is our hope that by reading this article, others will be inspired to create events such as this.

There are creation stories that have been told throughout history and are specific to particular cultures. Enacting your own creation story is possible if there is the will and commitment to reconciliation. We welcome dialogue about how to embody these commitments in ways that honor Indigenous ways of knowing. Since each nation potentially has different or variations of creation stories, following a template may not work. However, there are likely some common structures that you could follow. Talking these through with Indigenous leaders, as we did with Roy, and conceptualizing in new ways can be exciting, bring about an awe experience, and engage others to act on their own commitments to reconciliation.

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The Connection Award: All We Imagine As Light

The Grand Prize winner at this year’s Cannes Film Festival follows three women who migrated from small Indian villages to work at a busy Mumbai hospital, as they navigate loneliness, longing, and connection.

The main character is Prabha (Kani Kusruti), a nurse who is longing for intimacy from her estranged husband, who disappeared in Germany shortly after their arranged marriage. Her roommate and fellow nurse is the younger Anu (Divya Prabha), who is in a steamy relationship with a Muslim man, which she’s keeping secret from her Hindu family. Finally, there is Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam), who has worked as a cook at their hospital for decades—but she decides to retire alone to her village after being threatened with eviction from her long-occupied apartment in the city.

All We Imagine As Light is interspersed with stunning night scenes of rainy dense Mumbai streets and the voices of migrants we never see, talking in multiple languages, about their relationship with the city of 20 million. As one voice says, “Some people call it the city of dreams. I think it’s the city of illusions. You have to believe the illusion or you’ll go mad.”

In the end, it’s the friendship among the three women that helps them to find the strength to face their challenges. Filmmaker Payal Kapadia shines a tender light on migrant nurses, who are usually invisible in India—and in the process shows us the breathtaking power of connection. — Sahar Habib Ghazi

The Solidarity Award: Anora

It’s hard to say what a healthy work-life balance looks like these days, but Ani clearly doesn’t have it. 

Ani is a 20-something sex worker who lives in Brooklyn. Early in Anora, she is hired by Vanya, the son of a Russian oligarch, and after they have sex a few times, he makes a proposition: He’ll pay her $15,000 to serve as his live-in girlfriend for a week. In effect, Ani goes beyond taking her work home: She moves in with it. 

After a few days, impulsively, she marries Vanya. But it doesn’t take long for Ani’s Cinderella story to collapse. Once word of the marriage reaches Vanya’s parents in Russia, they sic their henchmen on the couple.

The film provides sharp commentary on class and work. While wealthy Vanya spends his days doing drugs, playing video games, and avoiding any responsibilities, the many types of workers depicted in the film, including the henchmen, are “always on,” with few boundaries between their work and private lives. The relationships in the film seem inescapably transactional and exploitative.

This may all sound bleak, and at times it is. But Anora does offer hope for a better way: In the bond Ani forms with Igor—one of the henchmen who, like Ani, is trapped in an often-dehumanizing job that he performs with a mix of playfulness and ambivalence—we see expressions of solidarity and compassion. In their unlikely connection, the film suggests it’s still possible to have relationships based on empathy, respect, and being truly seen. — Jason Marsh

The Purpose, Compassion, and Awe Award: Billy & Molly: An Otter Love Story

I assumed this was a love story between two unbearably cute otters—but I quickly discovered that it’s instead a charming tale of a man falling in love with an otter.

Billy is a waste management worker in the picturesque Shetland Islands, who is troubled by existential angst and a lost sense of purpose. One morning, he discovers a scrawny, helpless otter on his dock and names her Molly. Through care, attention, and an ungodly amount of fish, he nurtures Molly back to health while simultaneously bringing himself a sense of purpose and compassion for another being.

Research shows that awe profoundly impacts the human psyche, and this film delivers it in boatloads. Resplendent scenes of Molly playing both above and below the surface give us a glimpse into her watery world. Watching Billy lovingly build a tiny otter home—complete with shutters and a cozy bed—reminds us of the deep fulfillment that comes from finding purpose and extending compassion to those in need.

As Billy’s wife says, “He was lost for a while, until beauty found him.” — Kia Afcari

The Empathy Award: Daughters

This poignant documentary highlights the lives of girls and their incarcerated fathers who attend a father-daughter dance held in a Washington, D.C., jail. The story focuses on a handful of inmates, including one father named Murdock. “This is called the father-daughter dance,” he lightheartedly says at one point. “What if I don’t know how to dance?”

We discover that both dads and daughters deeply yearn for the small moments in each other’s lives that could nurture the bonds between them. “I miss him being here,” says 15-year-old Raziah. “It don’t feel like home. . . . I come in here sometimes, wanting to talk to him, tell him about my day, and I remember he’s not here.”

It’s hard to fathom not being able to hold our children, but the film explains that in recent years, hundreds of prisons have stopped in-person—“touch”—visits. But hearing incarcerated fathers speak about what it means to be with their children inspires a sense of shared humanity and dismantles dehumanizing stereotypes.

“I got back to my cell and cried, you know?” says Keith after the father-daughter dance. “Just trying to picture her in my mind there in front of me, talking to me, so I could get back in happy spirits.” 

Daughters left me broken-hearted and wondering, “Is this the best we can imagine for far too many fathers and their families?” No, it cannot be. Approximately half of the 1.8 million people incarcerated in the United States are parents, and they are not disposable in the eyes of their children—nor should they be for all of us. — Maryam Abdullah

The Intellectual Humility Award: Heretic

Heretic is more than your run-of-the-mill indie horror flick.

Writer-director duo Scott Beck and Bryan Woods tell a tale of a pair of Mormon missionaries, Sisters Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Paxton (Chloe East) who happen upon the doorstep of Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant).

Barnes and Paxton soon learn that this is no ordinary home visit when Reed traps them in his house and gives them a sort of speed run through arguments in favor of atheism. As the hours pass, it becomes clear that Reed’s fixation with disproving their religion is obsessive and even dangerous.

But what Reed soon learns is that Barnes and Paxton are far from your naïve religious fundamentalists; their religious beliefs are well-considered, and they’re no strangers to doubt. If anything, he might be the zealot among them.

What makes Heretic stand above your typical Hollywood fare is that it takes religious belief seriously. It doesn’t tell the audience to ridicule religion or abandon atheism. Instead, it treats believers and nonbelievers with respect, acknowledging the gray areas between belief and doubt where so many Americans reside.

Intellectual humility isn’t always an easy thing to achieve, but Heretic encourages us to reconsider not only our own beliefs but what we believe about the beliefs of others. — Zaid Jilani

The Gratitude Award: My Old Ass

Elliott (Maisy Stella) is celebrating her 18th birthday with two friends in their idyllic Canadian town by the lake. They eventually saunter off into the woods to experiment with a stash of magic mushrooms.

And that’s how Elliott ends up sitting by the campfire with her 39-year-old self (Aubrey Plaza). Older Elliott dispenses the expected sage observations (wear your retainer; time goes by “so fast”), but also a warning: Avoid anyone named Chad. She leaves her number on her younger self’s phone under the name “My Old Ass,” then disappears.

In Younger Elliott’s last few weeks before heading off to college, she does her best to heed her older self’s advice—playing golf with her brother, actually having conversations with her mom. But when a cute guy by the name of Chad (Percy Hynes White) surfaces, she’s thrown into a tizzy.

In the process, Younger Elliott discovers feelings of gratitude that she didn’t realize she had. But she also isn’t the only one who grows. As it turns out, she has a thing or two to teach her older self, as well. It all comes to a head in one memorable scene, where both Elliotts learn that maybe sometimes it’s OK to be a little reckless—and perhaps youth isn’t always wasted on the young. — Joanne Chen

The Humility Award: Perfect Days

Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) wakes, folds his futon, brushes his teeth, trims his mustache, waters his plants, and goes to work cleaning toilets in Tokyo. He endures the humiliations that come with his job—the invisibility and disregard and filth—with patient acceptance. Hirayama epitomizes humility, and Perfect Days emerges as a nuanced study of both this character and humility itself.

There’s another film on this list, Heretic, that Zaid Jilani uses to highlight “intellectual humility,” which is the knowledge that you could be wrong about something. In Hirayama, we see another kind of humility: the freedom that comes from giving up pride, and the focus that arises from letting go of the self as something important.

However, Perfect Days doesn’t settle for an easy story about its protagonist or humility, for it’s possible that Hirayama is too humble. He doesn’t have enough pride to resist people who take advantage of him, and one senses that he was once a man with a large life who made it smaller in order to cope with emotional damage. We discover late in the film that he comes from an affluent family—but he makes it clear that they will have to get along without him even as they struggle, an act that leaves him weeping. Though kindly and helpful, his sense of self cannot be expanded to hold a family, to be part of a “we.” His perfect days come at a cost, to himself and others.

Thus, this superficially simple story comes to seem quite complicated. I’m giving Perfect Days an award for humility, but the reader should know that the film gently explores its topic from multiple, critical points of view. As the story ends, the camera straightforwardly focuses on Hirayama’s face as a hundred conflicting emotions pass through it, showing us the fraught deeper pattern underneath the monastic purity of his life. — Jeremy Adam Smith

The Healing Award: A Real Pain

Two American cousins, David (Jesse Eisenberg) and Benji (Kieran Culkin), decide to take a “heritage tour” of Poland to honor their deceased Jewish grandmother, a Holocaust survivor. High-strung David must endure the gregarious Benji—who, at least initially, seems like “a real pain” to David.

But, while this setup leads you to expect a typical odd-couple, road-trip comedy, the film detours quickly into something else—a treatise on coping with emotional pain.

Benji suffers from grief and crippling mood swings, and displays emotion without restraint. David is embarrassed by Benji, but still wishes he could be like him: emotionally freer and unencumbered. Their attempts to manage their difficult feelings—over-identification, lashing out, repression, and self-medicating—are clearly unhealthy and lead to some mayhem.

But, as the tour progresses and the cousins become more vulnerable with each other and their tour companions, their struggles become clearer, as do everyone’s. These people are experiencing real pain—some inherited, some not—and need healing. Sharing their cultural and emotional connections helps some of them recognize the nature of their suffering and move forward.

One tour member survived the Rwandan genocide, moved to Winnipeg, and converted to Judaism. “In Winnipeg, I found a connection there with the Jewish community,” he says. “And when I learned about the Jewish story, I felt at peace for the first time since the war.”

The lesson here is that experiencing empathy and compassion heals us and makes us feel less alone—which, ultimately, saves us. With genocide as the looming backdrop to this story, it’s clear this lesson bears repeating. — Jill Suttie

The Friendship Award: Robot Dreams

This animated fable about a dog who “makes” a robot buddy starts out seeming like one kind of story about friendship—and then pivots to reveal a truth about friends and life that somehow, magically, is both deeply unsettling and profoundly comforting.

Dog lives alone in an alternate-history East Village of the 1980s. In the background loom the Twin Towers, a visual suggestion of loss that becomes more and more haunting as the story progresses.

Despite the flat 2D animation, or perhaps because of it, this NYC is vibrant and filled with fun period details, from disco on boom boxes to Ginsu knife ads on TV to the red LED numbers on digital clocks. These are things that Dog has stopped seeing in his lonely routines, but the newly born Robot’s sense of wonder helps Dog to take new delight in his home and the city.

Dog brings Robot to life in one way, and then Robot returns the favor. Thus, the first half of Robot Dreams becomes an explication and a celebration of the power of friendship. But then…life happens, and their world is revealed to be crueler than it at first appeared to be. As fate pushes Dog and Robot apart, the characters take what they learned from each other to adapt and grow, heal and move on.

In the end, this no-dialogue tale has something to say about change, memory, and friendship that defies easy articulation. We leave with a feeling that is as wordless as the film, with hearts that have been simultaneously broken and mended. — Jeremy Adam Smith

The Resilience Award: Simón

Simón follows a young Venezuelan activist (Christian McGaffney) who migrates to Miami after being imprisoned and tortured for protesting against his government. As he navigates the asylum process, he wrestles with trauma and guilt as he must decide whether to start over in the U.S.—or return home to protest for his country and loved ones.

Directed by Diego Vicentini, the movie highlights solidarity as a source of resilience. Simón becomes part of a community of fellow Venezuelans who have also fled their homeland. Their shared experiences of persecution, loss, and displacement create a bond that helps them navigate their new realities. The film suggests that healing and empowerment can arise from individual perseverance and from the connections people build with those who understand their struggles.

Research into the Venezuelan diaspora indicates that perceived social support from family is positively associated with adaptive coping strategies, while longer duration in a receiving country without adequate support can lead to maladaptive emotional suppression. Indeed, throughout the film, Simón draws strength from his relationships and his inner drive to move forward—even when it seems impossible. — Criss Cuervo

The Radical Acceptance Award: Thelma

In the first leading role of her career, Jane Squibb plays the title character Thelma, a feisty nonagenarian. She enjoys living independently, keeps up with technology thanks to her grandson Daniel (Fred Hechinger), and fiercely embraces routine.

That gets disrupted when someone scams Thelma out of $10,000—and Thelma becomes a hilariously unorthodox revenge caper. 

She enlists the help of a gentleman admirer and friend, Ben (played amazingly by the late Richard Roundtree), and his mobility scooter. Let the most unlikely and amusing chase scene begin! Thelma refuses to accept defeat, and the audience cheers for her version of Mission Impossible: to hunt down the scammers and take back what’s rightfully hers.

In the end, this movie is about radical acceptance. The film reminds us that acceptance isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about knowing when to stand alone and when to lean on others. Thelma acknowledges the challenges of aging without letting them define her. Ultimately, Thelma is a heartwarming reminder that life’s adventure doesn’t stop with age—it simply changes course. — Aurelia Santos

The Other Significant Other Award: Wicked

Wicked is the multi-colored blockbuster musical inspired by author Gregory Macguire’s upside-down take on L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz universe. It tells the story of two promising young witches-in-training—popular, blond Glinda and green-skinned social outcast Elphaba—who grow up to become the Wicked and Good witches of Oz.

Amid propulsive music, joyful flash-mob dancing, and visually spectacular cinematography, Wicked explores several prosocial themes and their opposites: empathy for others’ suffering and jealousy of a rival; standing up to authoritarian power and how mob mentality can create a villain. But most powerful is Elphaba and Glinda’s relationship, forming the movie’s central narrative tension, as it evolves from initial loathing to grudging respect and then deep friendship, despite falling in love with the same prince.

Ultimately, their unselfish commitment to each other’s well-being and growth lies at the heart of several key plot twists. As they sing together in the final song, “Defying Gravity”: “Together we’re unlimited. Together, we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been.” In her 2024 book, The Other Significant Others, Rhaina Cohen describes this kind of relationship: friends who become more akin to life partners.

If you like your fables with a dollop of ice cream, sparkly sprinkles, and a few dozen cherries on top, Wicked is just the confection to move, challenge, and entertain you. We could all stand to learn altruistic love from the example of Elphaba and Glinda, whose story concludes when Wicked Part 2 premieres in November. — Katherine Reynolds Lewis

The Love Award: Wild Robot

Based on a children’s novel by author and illustrator Peter Brown, this beautifully animated film follows a robot, Rozzum Unit 7134 (voiced by Lupita Nyong’o) after she’s shipwrecked on a remote island. Designed to serve others, she instead finds only wild animals that have no use for her. After she falls into a goose nest and smashes all but one egg, she seizes on a new purpose: keep the egg safe until it hatches.

Soon, Roz finds herself the adoptive parent of a gosling runt she eventually names Brightbill (Kit Connor). Like countless parents before her, Roz learns that her logical mind only gets her so far in raising a chick—that completing “tasks” isn’t the only thing that Brightbill needs. While teaching him to eat, swim, and fly, she realizes that for him to really thrive, she must develop empathy, compassion, and eventually altruistic love, so that Brightbill can join the larger community of migrating geese and learn to overcome his own difficulties as a slightly undersized goose.

The Wild Robot explores both the joy of being alive and the realities we face while navigating life’s challenges—and in the process, we experience the transformative power of love in the relationship between Roz and Brightbill. The movie asks us to reclaim the inherent goodness of our “wildness” and lean into our intrinsic loving nature. — Margaret Golden

The Curiosity Award: Will & Harper

Will & Harper is a documentary film, directed by Josh Greenbaum, that follows comedian Will Ferrell and writer Harper Steele as they test the strength of their decades-long friendship, which first began on the set of Saturday Night Live.

Newly self-named Harper has come out as a transwoman to her friends and family. Initially stunned by the news, Will approaches the situation with curiosity and pitches the idea of a cross-country road trip to rediscover and redefine their friendship. But underlying the laughter and adventure is the question: Are we really as close as we think we are? And what does it mean to fully show up for a friend when their world is shifting?

One of the movie’s most striking themes is authenticity—the courage to reveal one’s true self and the challenge of being accepted. It’s not always a smooth journey. In Indiana, Harper navigates being misgendered while Will wrestles with the fear of saying the wrong thing. In Texas, a harsh moment in a steakhouse leaves Harper vulnerable, and Will, despite his usual comedic ease, struggles to respond in the moment. His later admission—“I feel like I let you down”—is a raw acknowledgment of how allyship is a learning process.

The documentary doesn’t shy away from discomfort, showing that being a good friend isn’t about having the perfect words but showing up, listening, and learning. The desire to learn and stay curious challenges viewers to examine our own relationships. Will and Harper affirm that true connection isn’t just about shared history—it’s about supporting each other in every stage of life. — Aurelia Santos

But Valentine’s Day is clearly not just for lovers. School-aged kids often give everyone in their class valentines with notes of kindness, helping to create a loving classroom community. Parents give valentines to their children to express familial love—and vice versa. Many friends exchange loving messages with each other to show they care. At its heart (pun intended), Valentine’s Day can celebrate love in all of its forms.

That’s a good thing. Because love is worth promoting no matter the object. As researcher Barbara Fredrickson argues, love is the “supreme emotion,” something we all need to survive and thrive. It frequently occurs outside of our romantic relationships, in those moment-to-moment experiences of warm, mutual caring that Fredrickson calls shared positivity, which we can feel with any person—even strangers.

Love has the power to augment our sense of common humanity and help change the world for the better, too. As Martin Luther King Jr. wrote, “Love is the greatest force in the universe. It is the heartbeat of the moral cosmos.” Expanding feelings of love as widely as we can, even beyond people in our personal lives, is a good thing for us all.

How can we show love to others on this day? Let me count the ways…

1. Experiment with being kind to everyone

When we do something nice for someone else, without expectation of reward or recognition, it spreads love outward, making people feel noticed and cared for.

And there’s no need to worry about doing something nice for someone you don’t know well or even a stranger—research suggests that people appreciate acts of kindness more than we imagine they will. That can be as simple as paying for the person behind you in the drive-thru line or complimenting a stranger on their outfit. (I’ve had this happen to me, and it was such a high!)

Being kind to others increases our sense of connection to them and draws people to us, creating mutual warm feelings that are at the heart of love. And our kindness will encourage people to offer kindness to others themselves, helping love proliferate beyond this one interaction.

Some ideas for how to practice kindness include bringing treats to your colleagues at work, calling an elderly neighbor who is isolated, offering to plow your neighbor’s snow-covered driveway, or picking up trash you see on the side of the road. Or you can simply be alert to opportunities to smile and say hello to the people you encounter going about your everyday business—your barista, teacher, doctor, mail carrier. No matter the kindness, people will likely appreciate it—and may pass it on.

2. Be generous

While practicing everyday kindness is a lovely way to spread love, you may also have special skills or financial resources that could help people in need whom you don’t know personally. Right now, there are people here and around the world suffering from devastating losses caused by destructive fires, floods, war, and more. Giving money or time to relief efforts can be a beautiful way to build a more loving community and world.

Even if that’s not possible, you can still be generous in other ways, perhaps volunteering in your local community. Maybe you like to knit and could see if your local neonatal clinic needs baby hats or a shelter needs scarves. If you’re a musician, maybe you could offer to perform at a nursing home. You can bake and cook for your local soup kitchen, or offer to box up groceries at a food pantry. Volunteering this way benefits your community by spreading goodwill, while also providing many mental health benefits for yourself.

3. Express gratitude

We often take for granted the many people doing good in the world. By taking the time to appreciate the givers and helpers, you’ll nurture warm feelings all around.

Gratitude can be for anyone we know—our friends, families, colleagues, or neighbors—as well as for people we may never meet, like the farmers who grow our food or first responders who keep our community safe. When we acknowledge their gifts in our minds and hearts—or, better yet, make our thanks explicit by writing a gratitude letter or by telling them directly—we build loving feelings. 



Research finds that giving thanks increases our sense of connectedness with others and helps us feel less lonely. Being specific about what you’re grateful for and how it’s affected you is even more powerful. For example, writing a gratitude letter to a favorite teacher who encouraged you or a coach who inspired you to persevere is a particularly wonderful way to express love. (Bonus points for reading your letter to them in person.)

Thanking, in all its forms, not only feels good, it encourages others to be kinder and more altruistic. Even witnessing gratitude can encourage others to pay it forward. And, if you happen to be in a romantic partnership, expressing gratitude can give your relationship a boost. So, look for opportunities to give thanks.

4. Be curious and practice deep listening

As the StoryCorp slogan proclaims: “Listening is an act of love.”

In our busy lives, it’s a gift of love to pause our inner chatter, become curious about another person, and ask questions that help them tell their story—rather than steering the conversation toward yourself or rehearsing what you want to say while they’re talking. Active listening can help someone who feels invisible or misunderstood to feel cared for and safe. Try this the next time your family member starts in on a long story or your friend calls you to vent.

While it’s easier to listen to people we know well and generally agree with, listening can also help ease tensions with people we don’t, too—e.g., someone from a different cultural group or political party. By learning how to be curious rather than judgmental, we can see people as individuals rather than stereotypes and increase our warm feelings for them. We may even find commonalities and points of connection.

How to do this? Greater Good has created a whole playbook that can help you bridge differences, including several strategies for being better listeners. For example, asking questions to elicit someone’s individuality—like asking about their favorite food, morning routine, or favorite childhood memory—can help you see them more holistically, feel warmer toward them, and reduce hostility. Similarly, listening to people with attention, asking clarifying questions, acknowledging points of agreement, or admitting when you aren’t sure about something can help anyone turn difficult conversations in a more positive direction.

While this isn’t as easy as chatting with your best friend, researchers have found people enjoy these difficult conversations more than they anticipate they will. So, why not expand love by listening better?

5. Cultivate feelings of awe with friends and neighbors

When we connect with something bigger or greater than ourselves, we feel wonder and a sense of being small in the face of vastness—or what researchers call awe.

Because feeling awe inspires us to be less self-focused, we become more attentive to the needs of others and willing to help them. Experiencing awe can make us feel more empathic, generous, and connected to those around us, providing the building blocks for a more loving, compassionate community.

For that reason, cultivating awe while in the company of others can be a great way to spread love. There are many ways to access awe while with friends, family members, neighbors, or even strangers, including taking an awe walk in nature, watching movies or reading stories about the inspiring work of moral exemplars, visiting art museums or music concerts, and more. Tuning into the complex beauty of the world around us can help us nurture our sense of common humanity and cement our concern for the well-being of all.

Of course, these are just some of many ways to show others you care. But, hopefully, they can inspire you to think a little differently about Valentine’s Day this year. Instead of focusing only on romance, we might try to spread messages of love in all directions. If we all try to be more loving on this special holiday—or, for that matter, any day of the year—we could help create a more loving, caring community and world for all.

I have been a place-based educator for three decades. Place-based education is a pedagogical approach that centers instruction and learning in the locale where a child lives and attends school. Each place holds nature and culture simultaneously. Children in the primary and intermediate grades are in a developmental stage where the physical and temporal place in front of them and at their feet is the context for cognitive understanding. Place is a literal here and now and also provides a structure of mindfulness.

In Plumas County, our program Outdoor Core combines nature journaling with a broader place-based curriculum, where students connect with nearby natural spaces and their own sense of self as a Mountain Kid. Through this program, which has been going on for two decades, each child develops their unique connections to the land, drawing out their own “aha” moments, discoveries, and reflections in journals that become personal archives of place and time and self.

In a world saturated with distracting screens and instant updates, nature journaling slows the pace and roots each child in the present moment, connecting them to their own thoughts and expressions in the place that shapes who they are. For many students, this can mean a greater sense of connection, compassion, belonging, and home.

What is nature journaling?

Nature journaling is a mindful practice that invites us to record what we see, feel, and wonder about the natural world. Echoed in ancient expressions like petroglyphs and cave paintings, nature journaling invites us to observe closely, reflect deeply, and document the world around us.

Research suggests that regular time in nature increases focus, boosts mood, and reduces stress. Journaling has been found to reinforce these benefits, creating a reflective space that enhances well-being, encourages creativity, and strengthens a sense of belonging.

The mythologist Michael Meade writes that “nature does not make copies, only originals.” This rings true in the Upper Feather River Watershed, where each season, each phenomenon, and each child who enters this place is one of a kind. I also remind kids that no two days, no two moments, are ever the same. February 1, 2025, for example, comes only once; in journaling, students capture this unique day and all it holds, honoring the moment by simply observing and documenting it.
That the waxing crescent moon appears far to the west during a 5:24 p.m. sunset on February 1 that also reveals a brightly shining Venus and a barely visible Saturn is observable, true, and undeniable, as long an atmospheric river doesn’t get in the way.

When students journal, their original impressions meet the originality of the observed landscape. This meeting point—between child and place—becomes a dialogue, each journal page a blending of two unique geniuses: the child’s and the land’s. Here, nature journaling reveals unexpected moments of wonder and noticing, connecting kids to a place that’s alive with details they would otherwise pass by. This growing awareness fosters an intimacy with the land and with themselves that’s as irreplaceable as the place itself.


In each child’s nature journal, personal discoveries meet shared experiences. After an outdoor adventure, I like to leaf through their journals and see how each child has captured something unique—a leaf pattern, a bug, the shape of a cloud, or the color of a distant ridge. In this way, nature journaling becomes a collective practice; each child’s observation is a puzzle piece that contributes to a broader view of the landscape. Their journals reflect how they’re learning to belong to this place, connecting with themselves and one another.

Nature journaling offers kids the freedom to explore their relationship with the land in a way that reveals both who they are and where they are. For these Mountain Kids, nature is an arbiter of equity. It doesn’t recognize cultural or social divides—it rains and snows on all, warms and cools everyone with shared winds, and demands the same effort from each lung that tackles a steep slope. Every place invites attention to passing seasons and the daily parade of phenomena.

And while rural settings like ours offer mountain views and open spaces, nature journaling is just as meaningful in urban spaces. My time living in Albany and commuting to my undergraduate education in the Strawberry Creek Watershed at UC Berkeley was imbued with sidewalk crack ecology, favorite native birds, the seasonal pulse of fog. There was no lack of opportunity to observe, record, and reflect on living and learning.

One of my closest partners in this work, John Muir Laws—a fellow UC Berkeley conservation and resource studies major—shares this belief in equity. Jack and I, together with others in my region and around the world, have aimed to foster a culture of nature journaling centered around a love of place, people, and purpose. Jack often reminds kids that nature journaling is not about making pretty pictures. Nature journaling is about stepping outside, picking up the pencil, and bringing the place to the page. Over time, we’ve seen nature journaling become a sustaining tradition for children in the region, a commitment grounded unapologetically in love and supported by years of careful attention.

Lessons for educators

Nature journaling is part of our broader Outdoor Core curriculum in the Upper Feather River Watershed. This program offers kids a way to slow down within their “river of learning,” encouraging them to pause, reflect, and develop personal relationships with the land.

Through our Learning Landscapes partnership with the Feather River Land Trust, we have conserved a wild place within a 10-minute walk of every school in the region. This initiative ensures that each school has a nearby outdoor space, giving every child more equitable access to nature. These sites provide kids with a permanent place to learn and explore for this generation and beyond. These Learning Landscapes are nature spaces that are proximate and will always be there for any given day of every school year. They have seen us through difficult times, from the COVID-19 pandemic to the Dixie Fire, and support a culture of resilience of every child.

This journey of connection is one of empathy and compassion, starting with the self and expanding outward. Our Outdoor Core curriculum encourages children to approach each year’s lessons with an open heart and an inquiring mind. We begin with the Garden Year in Kindergarten. First-graders follow the pollinators into the study of invertebrates. Second-graders become herpetologists as they explore reptiles and amphibians. Mammals are explored in third grade. Fourth grade is the Year of the Trout. Fifth grade is focused on birds. Sixth grade is the Watershed Year. Each year, they return to the same woods and creeks but with new purpose and perspectives, discovering who else lives here, what those creatures need, and what it takes to survive and thrive.

For educators looking to incorporate nature journaling or other place-based practices, here are three simple ways to get started:

1. The framework: Have a model to remind kids how to create a page in their nature journal. It should include identifying where you are (location) and when you are (date and time). This turns a blank page into a historic record of adventure and discovery. Next, identify what we call the three languages of nature journaling that use unique parts of your brain: pictures (drawings, maps, diagrams), words (labels, observations, questions), and numbers (measuring, estimating, counting).

2. The tools: It does not take much to create a nature journal. The most important ingredients are a person and a place. Next is something to record with and something to record on. While you literally can use anything, I am a fan of the classic number 2–pencil and a dedicated journal. There are many journal styles, but two cost-sensitive options that we use are BareBooks and Sketch for Schools. Making your own is also a fun option.

3. Create a “sit spot” routine: I like to invite kids to have a spot, their spot, to know better than anyone else in the world. Like any intimacy, it takes time to truly come to know a place. It takes time and repetition. Visiting the same place again and again through seasons and over years builds connection and understanding. I also encourage a home sit spot where the homework can be a regularly visited backyard or neighborhood spot of private, joyful inquiry that touches their after-school hours, weekends, and even summers.

There are, of course, many more ideas. I would invite you to visit the website of the Wild Wonder Foundation to explore more resources and ideas. These include John Muir Laws’s How to Teach Nature Journaling, a free curriculum with 31 lessons, and The Nature Journal Connection, a 40-video series to lead and guide kids through a year of nature journaling.

The transformative power of nature journaling

Plumas County, like much of rural California, is politically diverse, representing both conservative and liberal perspectives. And yet I’ve seen again and again how a shared love of people and place dissolves even the sharpest divides. When local residents, teachers, biologists, and parents gather as a community—be it for a class hike or a stewardship project—we are united in our love for our children, our land, and our common purpose. The watershed, with its ridges and rivers, reminds us that boundaries are temporary; like waters that eventually merge at a confluence, we are all connected by our care for this place and one another.

For Mountain Kids, nature journaling is a path toward belonging, a journey that unfolds in both the landscape and within each child. Childhood here is marked by the seasons, by 13 lunar cycles that create opportunities to notice and learn from the rhythm and pattern of their world. Nature journaling is not about some generic, detached form of nature. It’s the nature that lives here, and builds familiarity over time, that deepens into a deep love of place. This “topophilia” roots us, binds us, and transforms us over time.

Over years of teaching, I have seen this connection deepen in the lives of children and adults alike. I’ve watched kids grow up, filling their journals with observations of each season and the small miracles of life in the Upper Feather River Watershed. With each entry, they discover themselves as part of this place, both witnesses and participants in the beauty, fragility, and resilience of life here.

Through this journaling practice, children learn that they aren’t separate from nature—they’re part of it. Their journals become windows into empathy, compassion, and responsibility for the life around them.

After three decades, the Upper Feather River Watershed has shaped not only my understanding of this place but of myself. Who I am, in part, is where I am. They are indivisible. I am a citizen and steward of this place, and it holds me as I hold it. It cares for me as I care for it. Nature journaling has been a path of self-discovery, a journey that I see echoed in my Mountain Kids’ experiences. Through connection with place, we create space for growth, understanding, resilience, and healing, for ourselves and others.

To anyone seeking a similar journey, I encourage you to find a nearby place to sit and return there often. Let it become a place that you know as intimately as you yearn to be known. There, in the quiet of your reflections, you may discover a sense of belonging that runs deeper than words—a sense of place, a place called home. I leave you with a favorite quote by poet Wendell Berry, whose words echo the spirit of this journey:

The world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home.

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In these moments, we often feel a sense of admiration or amazement, a feeling of smallness in the face of something so immense that it leaves us speechless. Maybe this is because we are ourselves 70% water, or because the sheer scale of the sea puts us in perspective, reminding us of our connection to something much larger. This range of feelings—referred to as “awe”—has been extensively researched by psychologists.

Being near natural bodies of water, especially the sea, has proven health benefits. This effect has been dubbed “blue health.”

Scientists have offered a number of explanations for these benefits. Being near water often means we do more physical activity, while natural surroundings also have a restorative effect on our mental well-being and social lives, meaning they also have mental health benefits. Furthermore, blue spaces can improve overall environmental quality, which brings indirect health benefits.

The origin of life itself

Life on Earth began in the oceans. In addition to being a vital source of nutrients and resources, the sea is therefore our biological point of origin.

Our sweat and tears share the sea’s salty composition, and there is a surprising similarity between how elements of the sea and our bodies work. Applied to natural surroundings more generally, this link even has a name: biophilia.

The biophilia hypothesis is one of the three main theories that explain humans’ attraction to the sea. The other two are the theory of psychophysiological stress recovery and attention restoration theory. These ideas are not mutually exclusive, and all three contribute to the sense of well-being that the sea gives us.

Be it walking on the sand, in a boat on its surface, diving beneath the waves, or just observing or meditating on it, the sea allows us to set our mental struggles to one side and to feel free. It can help us to find what psychologists call “restoration,” and this sense of well-being is something we often struggle to find on our own.

Blue health can be a powerful tool in reducing stress and improving our moods. Our connection to nature helps us to put our own worries in perspective—it restores our attention by warding off the preoccupations that dominate our attention in our daily lives.

Sea, sport, and disability

Many people with disabilities or injuries that prevent them from walking or moving easily on land can bathe in the sea. It can offer them a moment to close their eyes, breathe, and perhaps even feel a sense of bodily freedom or autonomy.

For this reason, water sports (especially in the sea) can play a huge role in promoting psychological well-being for disabled people. Boats, equipment, and activities can be adapted to include everyone, no matter their abilities.

From specialized sailboats and diving therapy to yoga and meditation on stand up paddle boards, there are many activities that can help people to connect with the sea and feel its benefits.

Not only do they bring physical and emotional well-being, these activities also allow a person, regardless of their limitations, to experience the freedom and connection that the sea can offer. The sea belongs to everyone, and we all deserve to feel its immense, transformative power.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.