A friend recently asked me to recollect a recent moment when I felt alive. I countered with what could only be the guy-est of guy moments, cycling down the Alps in a bike I had recently fixed. Yet the stereotypicalness of it all itches somehow, it feels like I simply played back something I should find an “alive moment” rather than choose one. So here’s me breaking down this thought I guess.

When do I feel alive?

After I asked this question to a group of friends, these are some of the answers that came up:

It is when I feel intense experiences.

It is when I am at crossroads of life.

It is when I feel present in a moment.

These are all connected to an idea of what life should be, right? Which reminds me, I know someone who had ideas about that too:

“Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”

Mary Oliver clearly prioritized the presence part, rather than possibility. Far be it from me to disagree with her, but is that all there is? Would a prisoner find as much attention and astonishment as a free person?

Is life the opposite of death?

One could see life as the opposite of death. Death means permanence, absence of possibility, absence of emotion and sense, cold, past. In that vein, life would be dynamic, full of potential, emotional and sensual, warm, current and future.

My brain then immediately says woah great, that’s a list, how do I convert it into reality?

Travel is dynamic. A station is full of potential. A play is emotional. A hike engages all your senses. A loved one’s embrace is warm. As for the future one, yeah, I’m empty there.

What if it is not?

But what if life is not the opposite of death? What if death is the opposite of life, or rather life is more than that? After all, death does create life, and life does lead to death.

This is a thought for future Alex to complete, I hope.