We’d been trekking through the Vatican Museums for an hour, fighting through a relentless wave of tourists. We reach a nondescript, unremarkable wooden door. I push it open and find myself in the Sistine Chapel: a cavernous space based in soft, ethereal light. The first thing I see is the ceiling: A massive, swirling, masterpiece of colour and light which covers the entire sky. It’s like staring at a portal into another dimension.
I crane my neck, wishing I could lie down so that I could take it all in. My eyes dart from one incredible scene to the next: The Great Flood, David slaying Goliath, and of course, that iconic painting of God reaching out to touch Adam. And then there’s the detail. I start to notice the little things – the subtle expressions of the faces, the way the frescos look three-dimensional. My eyes are drunk on the intensity of it all.
I couldn’t help it – I teared up a little. The whole thing was so damn overwhelming, it’s impossible not to get emotional. Michelangelo was truly a genius who could paint with the precision of a surgeon, but with the imagination of an angel.
Losing Awe During The Grind
But here’s something you may not know: Michaelangelo didn’t even want to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. He’d already achieved fame through his sculptural works, like the David. He had limited experience with fresco painting. But Pope Julius II, who commissioned the project, insisted that he do it, leaving him with little choice but to comply.
It took him four years to complete the project. During those long years, I often think about what it must’ve been like for Michaelangelo to slave away at something that he didn’t want to do, and wasn’t great at. The neck strains, the backaches, the constant risk of paint dripping in his eyes, and the ever-present doubt on how it’ll turn out. Michaelangelo also had to manage the Pope’s numerous requests for modifications, and therefore complained bitterly that he wasn’t compensated fairly for the project.
I think about Michaelangelo’s struggles a lot. Especially when it’s a Tuesday morning, my inbox is bursting, and I have a meeting in 11 minutes which I haven’t prepared for.
I think about Michaelangelo’s struggles a lot. Especially when I’m in the weeds of building a presentation which looks more convoluted than my nephew’s primary school art project.
I think about Michaelangelo’s struggles a lot. Especially when I’ve spent 3 days toiling over an insights deck, only to have a client completely ghost me after sending it over.
I think about how even Michaelangelo – who painted one of the most defining pieces of art in history – felt jaded by the grind. If the GOAT himself was almost on the verge of giving up, is it any surprise that we mere mortals feel a little discouraged sometimes?
Like Sisyphus, we’ve been rolling that boulder up the hill so many times that we’ve forgotten to marvel at the view from the top. What we need are moments of awe – like my first experience of the Sistine Chapel – to remind us of the beauty and purpose of our work.
But such dramatic moments are few and far between. Most of us can’t see the Sistine Chapel every day. So, what can we do about it?
Finding Little Moments of Awe
Last year, I brought my 2-year old nephew on an office tour, watching him scamper around the corridors while his exhausted parents strolled behind. He was in a phase where he loved fire extinguishers. Every time he saw one, he’d stop, point to it and go, “Ehhhhh? What’s that?“. And we’d answer, “Fire extinguisher!!” and he’d go “YAAAYY!!” and repeat this every 3 minutes. I must’ve walked past those damn fire extinguishers a hundred times, never noticing them. But my 2-year old nephew looked at them with the innocent, fascinated wonder of a child, as if they were the best thing ever in the whole wide world!
What are other “fire hydrants” we can rediscover in our daily lives? What were we excited about when we started our jobs and everything was fresh? What were the things that used to awe us, before they were buried under our emails and to-do lists?
Last week, I put the finishing touches on a presentation for a client’s workshop. I’d done these decks a hundred times before. I ran through my mental checklist as I reviewed the slides: Narrative, care/do/impact framework, proof points, case studies, check, check, check. My last slide read: “There’s never been a more exciting time to be a marketer”. Strong close? Check.
I read that last slide again: There’s never been a more exciting time to be a marketer.
And then I realised: It’s totally true. There are so many mind-blowing things happening right now, in Marketing and in tech and in business. I get to hear from brilliant people about how they’re using AI. I get to play with chatbots and image generators and NotebookLM. And I get to play a tiny part in how it all unfolds, in these unpredictable and exhilarating times.
Maybe I’m drinking the corporate Kool-Aid a little. But there’s merit in finding these little moments of awe, so that we can see the purpose of our work. It’s like that old cliche of the two bricklayers: One who thinks that he’s just laying bricks, while the other raises his eyes upwards, reminding himself that he’s building a cathedral.
Here’s to the cathedrals that we’re building, if only we remember to pause and be awed by them.