BEING ALIVE

We don’t talk about that very much. But we surely think about it. Don’t we do that when we experience particularly joyful moments, or very sad ones? Mundane or marvelous, it is central to what we are about. How can we not think about it, write about it, agonize over it?

We tend to keep those thoughts to ourselves unless we are sharing with those who are very close to us. Opening up to our feelings in a public way creates vulnerabilities. We may be laughed at or even ridiculed. It can be so much easier to do with strangers that we will never meet again. It takes more courage to do it face to face with those with whom we share our lives. But we do so with the hope that in exposing our vulnerabilities, we will be shared with in return and our trust will not be abused.

There are sensations of being alive that are almost impossible to describe, that we, nevertheless, attempt to capture in some way. Some try to explore the outer limits of that by imbibing all manner of substances, even if they ravage their bodies. Some engage in physically stressful actions that explore our physical limits. Others delve into the mind, stretching the capacity to understand the complex. For some it is the audible, music and sounds of every description. For others, the delights of the palate can turn their crank. I can recall to this day the taste of a piece of apple pie I experienced in an obscure New Brunswick village. Need I mention the sexual arena, and its sensations, that occupy the mind and body for so many of us at some stage of our lives?

So talking about these things in a personal way is something of a stretch. My focus is obviously on the activities in my life where I fancied I was the principal actor. What were the things in your life that made you stop, take a deep breath, and conclude you were experiencing one of life’s special moments? Can you count those very few instants when that occurred, like those times of intimate communion with a loved one? Can life be complete without that?

I remember when I experienced a sense of triumph as a reward for my efforts. I had the joy of knowing that I had achieved what I judged to be a heroic goal.  I, alone, knew it. It was my own approval I had earned, whether others appreciated my accomplishment or not. That was enough for me. Those moments, for me, (too few in number,) were the heights of being alive. I can only wish the occasion of those experiences for everyone.

Some other moments have spoken to the joy of being alive that reside in my memory. A glorious view in some storied place encountered in my travels, in New York, Paris, Rome, Milan, at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, have hit the mark. Can I mention the joys of the Sea Wall in Vancouver, a quiet moment in a Winnipeg snowfall? Unique moments of communion with another person are recalled, so valued that they remain encrypted in my mind as long as consciousness survives. For me, those are some of the premier joys of being alive. More recently, and looking to the future, I remember well the moment when I heard I might become a great-grandfather.

 I have had uplifting musical experiences with Beethoven’s Ninth, The New World Symphony, even a song by Joni Mitchell.  The right melody can send me into a trance. When I get a poem that I want to compose to come out just right, or when a story that I needed to tell emerges with the ring of truth, I hug myself with pleasure. Those are moments when I treasure being alive.

What and when are those moments for you?

We may all have had those moments when we cursed the fact that we were alive. For some there may have been a religious experience that marked them deeply, and shaped their lives. Or moments of triumph and success marked for them the upward crescendo of their lives. For others it may have been when moments of despair felt like their souls had shriveled to nothing. Some can recall those moments of inner shame at weaknesses, and failures. Sometimes the price we pay for reaching those brief instants of triumph we hope to achieve, throwing caution to the winds, is the bitter taste of bile in our throats associated with our losses. That may be an inevitable part of being alive.

So I am telling a small part of my story the best way I can. I believe it is a worthwhile effort .

So, what about you out there? Now, maybe, is the moment for you, every one of you out there, to dig deeply into your vault of memories, to tell yourself, and others, those you care about, your story of being alive. No-on can tell our personal story as well as we ourselves. It can be an exhilarating experience to share your story. Speak up or write it down now!