what makes me feel truly alive

There are days when I wake up and feel nothing. The silence is deafening, the weight of the world pressing down on me before I’ve even opened my eyes. These days, I feel as though I am living in a fog, moving through life with no real connection to anything, anyone. I feel as though I'm simply existing, drifting from one moment to the next, waiting for something to shake me out of this stupor.

But then, there are moments, rare, when something shifts. It’s like a switch flicks on deep inside me, and I feel alive. Fully, intensely, undeniably alive. In these moments, I feel like I’m not just going through the motions of life—I am truly, deeply engaged with the world around me. I am present.

I think that’s the key, isn't it? To be present—to not be lost in the noise of the past or the future but to be here, right now, breathing and feeling every part of this moment as if it’s the only one that matters. For me, that’s where life truly begins. That’s where I find the spark, the fire, the pulse of being alive.

The moments that make me feel alive aren't the big, dramatic ones that people expect. They aren't the "life-changing" moments that you see in movies or read about in books. No, for me, it’s the quiet, small moments that go unnoticed by most but are deeply meaningful to me.

It’s in the mornings, when I wake up early, which happens everyday, long before the sun rises, and the world is still sleeping. There’s something about that time—the stillness, the peace—that makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. Like I’m in sync with the rhythm of the world, in a way that only the early risers can understand. The air is cooler, the world feels softer, and everything is waiting to be discovered. The quiet is loud, and in it, I find the space to breathe deeply, to center myself before the world demands anything from me.

It’s in the act of writing, my fingers dancing across the keyboard as thoughts and words flow from my heart to the page. This is where I feel most alive—when I’m lost in the words, lost in the act of creation. In those moments, I feel like I’m reaching out into the universe, connecting with something intangible yet real. It’s the process of making sense of the chaos inside me and turning it into something beautiful, something that has the power to touch others. Writing has always been my solace, my outlet, my place of refuge. It’s how I make sense of the world around me, how I make sense of myself.

But there’s also something deeply alive in the quiet moments of solitude, when I am alone with my thoughts, yet not lonely. There is a distinct difference between solitude and loneliness. Loneliness is the feeling of being disconnected, of being adrift in a sea of nothingness. Solitude, however, is the absence of others but not the absence of connection. In those moments of solitude, I feel a sense of wholeness. It’s in those moments that I can reflect, recharge, and simply be without the pressures of the outside world. I can hear my own voice, see my own truth, and touch the parts of me that are often overlooked in the busyness of life.

What makes me feel alive is when I can take the time to appreciate the small things. The way the sunlight filters through the trees on a lazy afternoon, casting shadows that dance on the ground. The sound of rain tapping against my window, gentle yet insistent, reminding me of the beauty in stillness. The taste of a warm cup of coffee, the comfort of the steam rising from the mug, the warmth seeping into my hands as I hold it close. These simple moments are often the ones that bring the most clarity, the most peace, and the most joy. They remind me that life is made up of tiny, fleeting moments that, when strung together, create something far greater than we can fully understand.

But perhaps the most profound moments that make me feel alive are the times when I’m able to connect with another soul. There’s something magical about meeting someone who truly sees you—who understands you without needing to be told, who feels your pain, your joy, your hopes, and your fears as if they were their own. Those moments when words are unnecessary, when you don’t have to explain yourself, when simply being in the presence of another person makes you feel understood. These moments are rare, and I treasure them deeply, for they remind me that despite the isolation I sometimes feel, there are still people who truly get it. Those connections, no matter how brief, remind me that I’m not alone in the world.

But, I suppose, what truly makes me feel alive is the act of surrendering. The act of letting go of the control I so often grasp desperately onto. It’s in those moments when I release my fears, my doubts, and my expectations, and simply allow life to unfold as it will. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to manage, trying to control, trying to fix everything. But when I finally let go, when I finally allow myself to feel without reservation, without holding back—that is when I feel most alive. It’s like I can finally breathe freely, as though the weight I’ve been carrying has been lifted off my chest, and I can spread my wings and fly.

I’m learning, slowly, that feeling alive isn’t about chasing after grand experiences or waiting for some big revelation. It’s about recognizing the beauty and the power of the present moment. It’s about being fully engaged in the here and now, no matter how small or insignificant the moment may seem. It’s about finding joy in the mundane, in the ordinary, in the things that everyone else overlooks. It’s about feeling the pulse of life in every heartbeat, in every breath, in every step.

There is a quiet beauty in simply being. In simply existing. In simply feeling.

And while it’s easy to get caught up in the demands of life, in the noise, in the constant striving for more, I think the true essence of being alive is found in the moments when we stop trying so hard. When we stop pushing and simply let ourselves be, fully and completely.

So, if you’re reading this and you’re wondering how you can feel more alive, perhaps the answer isn’t in doing more, but in doing less. In stopping, in breathing, in feeling. In giving yourself permission to be present with yourself, with your life, with the world around you.

It’s in the quiet moments, in the small acts, in the surrender to what is.

And that, to me, is what makes me feel truly alive.

Neta.