What Feels Alive

Not what feels okay.
Not the absence of problems.

Your brain will always find a problem.
It’s wired for it.

You can receive 100 reviews — 98 glowing and beautiful, two sharp and mean — and which ones do you replay?

Exactly.

So feeling alive takes intention.
It takes vision.
It takes reinforcement.

This is how I choose to be.
This is how I choose to feel.
This is how I choose to experience life.

What feels alive?

The image came to me months ago.

You’re in water over your head.
You can’t touch the bottom.
Panic sets in.
Your arms thrash.
You go under.

Then suddenly — your feet hit ground.

You plant.
You push.
You break through the surface.
You take that massive breath.

I’m alive.

That breath.
That gratitude.
That holy, electric awareness.

That’s the kind of alive I’m talking about.

Not skydiving necessarily.
Not blowing up your whole life.

But the kind where you look at a flower and say,
Look at this fucking flower.
And watch a bee land on it and feel awe.

Because I promise you —
when the clock runs out,
when the exit door opens on this life —

you will not say,
“I wish I had scrolled more.”

You will say:
I wish I had paused more.
I wish I had watched more sunsets.
I wish I had tasted more of life.
I wish I had taken more risks.
I wish I had remembered I wasn’t done.

And I’m not asking you to jump out of a plane.

I’m asking you:

What have you been mildly curious about…
but keep pushing off as “not important”?

Meanwhile, night after night —
wine, remote, same routine,
no new experience,
no growth,
no connection.

Just numb.

A couple months ago — maybe longer — I started talking to two grand trees in the field where I walk my dogs every morning.

I close my eyes.
I talk.

My programmed brain says,
“This is ridiculous.”

My magical heart says,
“We are connected.”

So I say it out loud:

My logical brain thinks this is silly.
But my hopeful heart believes there is communication here.
An exchange of energy.

And I will tell you something —

Every time I talk to them, something shifts.

Most mornings I arrive numb.
Empty.
Frustrated.
Rarely do I show up at oh-dark-thirty bursting with brilliance.

But they hold space.

Whether they are trees…
or God…
or simply a point of focus for my wandering mind…

they hold space while I empty my heart.

And today I told them:

I hope I can be as steady for the women I walk beside
as you are for me.

For my analytical friends:

Maybe nothing mystical is happening.
Maybe I’m just undistracted long enough to hear myself think.

For my magical friends:

Maybe the universe really is conspiring for us to win.

Either way —

Go for the walk.

Talk to the tree.

Talk to God.

Talk to yourself.

What feels alive is rarely complicated.

It’s presence.
It’s breath.
It’s noticing.

It’s choosing — again and again —
to experience your life
instead of numbing it.

And remember,
you are so loved.

 

If this resonates and you’d like to go deeper, I offer private Return to Light Reset sessions.