Awe is not a casual emotion.

It is not excitement, not admiration, not even deep respect. It is something rarer, something almost sacred – an emotion so profound that it should be reserved for only the most extraordinary. And yet, in a world that thrives on instant validation and exaggerated adoration, I feel that awe is given away too freely. Celebrities, influencers, athletes – people whose visibility often outstrips their substance – are elevated to a pedestal of reverence, not necessarily because they deserve it, but because they are famous enough for it to be expected.

I refuse to be careless with my awe.

I am even selfish about it, deliberate and exacting in what earns it. This is not arrogance; it is intention. It is the belief that awe should mean something. That when you are in awe of someone, it should not be a passive reaction but an active acknowledgment of something profound, something exceptional.

I say it with humility, but I have never felt the excitement that most seem to have about meeting popular celebrities. Not because they lack talent or impact, but because their significance in my life is surface-level. Their stories are grand, but they are distant. Their struggles, no doubt real, are framed in narratives designed for public consumption. But awe – true awe – is personal. It is intimate. It is not about fame; it is about depth.

For me, awe lives in the quiet strength of my near and dear ones, those who have stood by me and those who continue to inspire me. In my parents, who, despite immense difficulties, built a foundation strong enough for my sister and me to thrive. In my sister, who has stood unshaken through storms that would break many. In my maternal uncles and aunts, who faced the same struggles as my parents and yet never hesitated to pour their love and support into lives of those around them. In my cousins, who have each, in their own way, built lives of character and accomplishment. In my closest friends, who not only give me strength but also serve as my life mentors, pushing me to be better, challenging my thinking, and standing by me in ways that go far beyond companionship. In my colleagues and associates, who bring to my life the precious gifts of their time, efforts, and energy.

These are the people who hold my awe. Not because they are perfect, but because they are real – because their resilience, their sacrifices, and their unwavering love have shaped who I am.

This is why I believe we should all be selfish with our awe. Not careful – selfish. Careful implies hesitation; selfish implies intention. We should hoard awe like a rare currency, spending it only where it truly belongs. Because when we give it away indiscriminately, we dilute its meaning. And worse, we fail to give it where it is truly deserved.

The scarcity of awe is what makes it powerful. If everyone is in awe of everything, then awe becomes nothing more than glorified enthusiasm. But if you reserve it – if you keep it for those who have truly shaped you, who have withstood the trials of life with dignity and courage – then when you do give it, it carries weight. It becomes a gift, a validation, a recognition that they are, in fact, extraordinary.

In a world where admiration is handed out like candy, let awe remain rare.

Be specific.

Be conscious.

Be selfish.

Because when you finally tell someone that you are in awe of them, it should mean the world.