To Wake Up Alive

It began with a breath.
A quiet moment on Monday morning,
sitting in meditation, hearing the words:
“I woke up alive.”

A reminder. A quiet invocation.
And somehow, without fully knowing it,
I think I said yes.

Because the days that followed…
they unfolded like a question I hadn’t realized I was asking.

It started with a conversation with Brian.
I told him I wanted to feel more peace, more love—
but I kept feeling guilt and shame instead.

And through his gentle questions, I realized:
I was using my gift—my focus—
to keep my attention tethered to what hurt,
feeding the very thing I longed to shift.

What I needed wasn’t more striving,
but a change in where I placed my attention.
To stop staring at the wound,
and begin noticing what was already whole.

Then came a conversation with my friend Ken.
I asked him how stepping into his authenticity helped him.
He told me a story about a dentist who merged his practice with his art gallery.

At first, I didn’t get it. So I asked.

He said he used to be certain—about the world, about how things worked.
Until one day, he realized his understanding was incomplete.
And in that space of uncertainty,
he discovered he didn’t want to live just one life—
but to experience all of life.

That’s when he shared this quote:

“The hardest thing in the world is to live only once.
But it’s beautiful here, even the ghosts agree.”
—from The Emperor of Gladness

And then, yesterday in our HIK discussion,
we spoke of destiny—
of whether our lives are written for us,
or if we write them with each breath,
with each choice.

And somewhere in the midst of all of it—
the questions, the stories, the shifts—
this knowing landed in me:

We are here to feel.
Not just to survive, or perform, or please—
but to be moved.
To let what we feel change us.

Maybe the sacrifice isn’t giving up love.
Maybe it’s giving up the stories
that keep us from giving and receiving it.

Letting emotion be the compass.
Letting wonder guide the way.
Letting our hearts break open—again and again—
until we remember we’re alive.

And then I dreamed—
I was chained to a bed. Others were around me;
maybe also bound, maybe just watching.
Then someone walked by.
Quietly. Without a word.
They unlocked my shackle—just one.

Suddenly, I was outside.
In nature.
No path, no road.
But I was free.

And this morning in the studio meditation,
the week closed as it began—with a quote.
But this time, it felt like an answer:

“To affect the quality of the day is the highest of arts.”
—Henry David Thoreau

I think I’m beginning to understand what that means.

And then something in me whispered—
That’s what just happened.

Not through striving.
Not through certainty.
But through surrender.
Through noticing.
Through choosing to live—fully, honestly, as if only once.

Maybe that’s the art I’m learning.
Maybe that’s what it means
to wake up alive.