If you're not in awe, you're not paying attention

Anyone who has been on a tour with me, or even a local hike, has heard me say this.

It feels especially true when hiking in the Himalayas, biking in Italy, or even walking through a new town.

My version is slightly different:

“If you’re not in awe, you’re not alive.”

Because my goal is to notice awe every day.

To feel it -

because awe sparks that unmistakable sensation of being fully alive.

This week, a friend sent me a podcast she’d been listening to with Dacher Keltner about developing a practice of awe in daily life and the science behind intentionally slowing down enough to notice what fills you with wonder. Keltner shares compelling physiological and medical research on awe, and it’s well worth exploring.

After listening to it, what stayed with me were the questions it evoked:

When do I feel in awe?

What reminds me that I'm alive?

Then she said, “Listening to it made me think about the Dolomites hiking trip with you.”

She talked about the constant awe she felt there. Not just at the dramatic vistas, but in her own body. Her strength. Her steadiness. Her ability to keep going when the trail grew steep. The quiet confidence that comes from doing something you aren’t sure you can do… until you do. When the physical challenge meets a stunning landscape, awe isn't just something you see—it's something you earn.

With the Winter Olympics currently unfolding in Cortina d’Ampezzo, the Dolomites are also in the global spotlight. Just this week, someone I guided on a Dolomites hiking trip nearly ten years ago is back there. She’s been sharing photos, and in one message she wrote, “Laura, I’ve thought about our trip every day.” Not because she remembered every trail or summit—but because of how she felt that week. The awe. And how that feeling rooted itself deeply enough to resurface a decade later.

Legendary ski racer Lindsey Vonn once called Cortina “one of the most beautiful places in the world,” and every time I hear that, I nod quietly to myself. I’ve been returning to these mountains since 2013, and they still manage to stop me in my tracks—asking me to look longer, breathe deeper, and feel more than I expected.

Every. Time.

That’s the kind of awe that lingers.

It reminded me that some of the most meaningful celebrations aren’t loud or flashy. They’re moments when you surprise yourself. When the landscape mirrors something happening internally. When movement becomes a way of marking time.

For her 40th birthday, this same friend gathered her closest people and went to Zion National Park. Long hikes. Big skies. Shared effort. That trip still comes up years later—not because it was extravagant, but because it meant something.

It’s what happens when you choose an awe-venture instead of the expected celebration.

And that’s really what Milestone in Motion is about.

Not just celebrating a birthday or going on a vacation—but choosing an experience that makes you pause and think:

This is it. This is the moment I’ll remember.

So here are questions to sit with this week (and share in the comments!):

What fills you with awe right now?

And what would it look like to honor that—with movement, intention, and people who matter?