I somehow skipped over the Happy New Year and the resolution to muse with you once a week, which I would have already broken, and now it’s February.

Adulting is hard work! What can I say?

I’ve been busy spinning my wheels, though. Convinced I needed AI to improve my writing game, I spent countless hours researching AI and SEO optimization.

I even had an AI ghost writer bot (nicknamed Casper the Friendly Ghost–remember him?) write my entire muse in Mama’s tone (of course) to give me credibility in Google searches. Yes, authority, that’s what I need. I have plenty of authenticity but need more authority, aka confidence!

AI spit out my article in minutes with this fabulous title, which was awesome, so it wasn’t all for naught. Something that takes me days to do.

I got intoxicated by the idea of having so much great content- a feat that’s inhumanely possible, like some need money, drugs, or bitcoins (do you get those stupid ads all the time, too?) 

I made a few edits, had the whole newsletter written before I edited my article, and even had a fun Facebook campaign cued up. Then, I sent it to Alex to confirm it was all I knew it would be.

C’est magnifique! (Hear me kissing my hand to my lips like some French chef).

Then I read a post (from a woman trying to sell me a spot in her Instagram marketing class) about how a woman got caught up in AI and lost her voice.

Thank God I didn’t pay for that marketing class and didn’t drink the Kool-Aid that AI makes all my writing dreams come true.

And it hit me: that woman who got tricked by AI was me.

Not convinced it was good anymore, I waited for Alex to tell me what I already knew- I had lost my voice. I was trying to write like Casper, and Casper could never generate a soul to write like me.

Alex confirmed my suspicion, “It’s not you.” And, before I could say, “I knew it,” he said, “That part, wrinkleless kids.”

“Yeah?” I said, confused because I might as well fess up, “I wrote it.”

“And that other part about the magnitude of Alexandra playing alongside the angelic voices of an adult choir.”

“Uh,” I said sheepishly, wondering why he had to point out all the bad parts, “Of course I wrote that.”

“And that other part about the newsletter from The Center For Parent and Teen Communication,” he said.

He referred to the one about “Fostering Awe In Our Teens.”

“Yeah, that was me, too. That’s where I got the idea to write about awe in the first place.”

“Well, those are the only parts I like.”

Say what?

He didn’t want to hear about all the scientific studies on awe and its importance for our health or that Dr. Dachner Keltner wrote a book on it, “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life.” Sorry, I can’t help myself. Casper would have wanted you to know that.

Alex had had enough of AI’s authority; he wanted my Mama’s take on it.

And that’s how I had my A-Ha Moment!

I have a voice. Now that I’m standing center stage on my tiny little island that Google searches will never connect to, I’m speechless.

Why must we study a subject like awe (or my muse, let’s say) to prove it’s worth appreciating?

We can get so caught up in our daily lives (or the latest fad) or our feelings of insecurity that we lose sight of our authenticity.

Before I can inspire awe in my teen, I need to feel it again for myself. And that means believing I’m an authority. Step aside, Casper, I know myself better than anyone.

But the chances of me being awe-struck these days are slimmer than the chance of getting hit by lightning.

Adulting requires responsibility, and when do I have time for awe?

Take the late-night calls that are more common than not with your daughter away at college.

When we’re young, a call in the middle of the night could mean one thing- a party. So what if I took Nyquil?

That same wake-up call in the middle of the night would have our hearts racing as adults: “Oh no, what happened?”

Where’s the disconnect? Is it a generational thing? No, it’s an age thing.

Adulting leaves us with severe lines drawn in the middle of our foreheads from years of scrunching our faces with worry. Meanwhile, our wrinkleless adult grown kids get to explore life for all its fun. Let the games begin (for them) while we peter out (don’t forget the wrinkles).

Awe: Not Just For Teens

But then, we finally get a snowstorm, making the world white and pure again, or my daughter says she likes my outfit. And just like that, my world expands beyond the to-do list, and I feel something I haven’t felt in so long. Could it be? Nah. No way. Forget about it.

Could I have a sip of that awe everyone else is having?

A Personal Brush with Awe

It happened Sunday as Alexandra played the piano during church communion while the choir sang. It was different than those moments when my girls sang or played in a recital, and of course, I’d well up with tears that they could do so beautifully, given they hadn’t practiced enough and all the other parents obliging told me how great they did. And I would return the compliment when it was their kid’s turn.

This time, it was different. Alexandra played alongside the angelic voices of this adult choir, and the magnitude of it welled up inside me, and damn, if I wasn’t sobbing at the pure joy of the moment. Nothing else mattered.

It was a moment I’ll never forget.

It doesn’t sound all that moving when I put words to it.

You’ll only understand when your moment of unadulterated awe transcends you to a new level of feeling.

Awe, like beauty, is only in the eyes of the beholder.

But what about serendipity? Remember that word?

Serendipity: Unexpected Joy

We all loved surprises before life taught us better. 

I remember my twenties in NYC, ruled by serendipity: last-minute road trips with car talks (long after the car stopped moving), pulling all-nighters to glimpse the shooting stars, and making newfound friendships with strangers.

It’s part of a world that no longer exists. But the girls? They’re just beginning to explore life’s grandeur. Serendipity awaits them in every interaction they have!

And just like we’re supposed to teach our teens about awe, they might be able to help us rekindle our serendipity.

So, that late-night call could be a heart-to-heart reminder that we can still delight in the unplanned.

Sitting in the passenger seat with my daughter at the wheel can be serendipitous for her because “At least I didn’t hit anyone, ” and awe-inspiring for me, too, because “Yes, I got home alive.”

Our young adults teach us about finding joy in life’s little surprises. Their fun way of seeing the world reminds us of how we used to see things and helps us rediscover the feeling of awe again.

Once we find it in the ordinary and the extraordinary ways again, reminding us that we are connected no matter how little or how grand, we can parent our teens in this thing called awe.

Cultivating Awe and Embracing Serendipity

It’s about allowing ourselves the freedom to marvel, experience wonder, and let it bubble up inside us like champagne bubbles on our insides.

You’ve tucked it away somewhere beyond that to-do list. Are you willing to drop those eggs you must buy and every other pressing matter on your agenda to find it with me? Your teens (or any stranger you meet) will thank you for it.

Encouraging awe and serendipity isn’t just vital for our teenagers; it’s rejuvenating for us to grow into the unexpected, find our self-confidence again, parent in awe, oh, and in case Casper’s listening, write an awe-inspiring, authoritative muse (even though it took me a month to write it).

Adulting (and musing) is hard work and even more challenging to put into words. But when that feeling bubbles up inside you like an uncorked champagne bottle (btw, that’s the feeling I get when I’m ready to share my muse. I have it right now!), the only words we need to share are the excitement of a good muse.

Leave the rest up to chance, and then you feel what it’s like to rediscover awe, too.