I was listening to Jose Gonzales' Far Away which starts with the lyrics
♪ Step in front of a runaway train, just to feel alive again
and it reminded me of kleinbl00's comment yesterday:
- Buddy of mine has six motorcycles. We both ride in LA traffic every day. We independently came to the same conclusion - riding a motorcycle in LA traffic is the only way to be truly mindful, to be truly present in this city. If you're driving, you're tuned out (and probably stoned - you would not believe what the 405 smells like at rush hour). If you're a passenger, you're elsewhere. But on a motorcycle? "*pay fucking attention to everything that is going on around you or you might die.*" That choice - to commute in a dangerous and high-attention way - is one of the few things that actually keeps you present.
I thought it might be an interesting question to ask hubski: when have you last felt truly alive, truly present? Throwing yourself out there, really feeling life as it happens; whether it is because of real danger, perceived danger or neither. The intense experience of living.
I might have said this somewhere, but I'm a huge rollercoaster nut. Last year, I finally got to ride the best rollercoaster in the country. To end the day, I rode it backseat, which always gives the best airtime on a ride.
What an intense experience: here I was, plummeting 160 feet down, not touching my seat anymore and only being held by a one-foot steel lapbar. And that was only the start of the ride. Every cell in my body felt on fire afterwards. I've rarely felt that alive.
So what about you?
You'll note I said "present" not "alive." You seem to be talking adrenaline, which is actually something I tend to avoid. Too many close calls. There are two terms you might find interesting - the first one is "flow" which is nearly impossible to find anything under. The other is "Csikszentmihalyi", pronounced, "chick sent me high", hich is just about as statistically significant a search term as you could hope to find. Basically, his argument is that we are at our most "alive" and "present" when executing something requiring expertise in which we are experienced. Video games exist because of "flow", as do most artistic and technical professions. I know that when I'm mixing, I can look at the clock and 5 hours have passed. "Flow" is that thing that allows long drives to become short. Now - when do I feel "alive?" Fuckin' ridin' the longboard down Dockweiler with the wind at my back and Ambient Expanse on the 'buds. 'cuz you know what? If I fall over, it'll hurt, not kill me or cost thousands. But I haven't fallen over in a year.
To answer your question in the smallest sense: when I'm walking I feel alive and sometimes when I'm writing. In the larger sense, like kb, I like motorcycles. I also like swimming in the ocean. It can be a weird feeling, jumping into the ocean from a boat, far from shore, knowing that only the power of one's own controlled muscle movements are what separates one from death. I've always found it kind of funny that "treading water" is such a funny way to characterize a life that isn't really going anywhere. When I was younger, I would sometimes get into fist fights with my roommate. Not out of malice, but rather, on several occasions we agreed that getting into a fight would be a good way to wake up the senses and snap us out of whatever kind of funk we might have been in. Also, I once provoked him into a fight because he was dating a terrible, terrible girl who said she would leave him if he fought me. I guess more generally, experiences that make me aware of my own physical, mental or emotional capabilities/limits in a real way, whether by overcoming something, or working through a situation, or even through losing.
When do I feel alive, and when do I feel present? I feel like these are so similar that I can't separate them, and yet I would use them to describe different situations. When I am performing, playing music, I am present. Every fibre of my being is in the moment, focused on the experience, focused on the music, focused on the emotional experience (except for maybe a few thoughts towards the bar afterwards!). The feeling of being truly present in that moment is like nothing else I have ever felt, and is one of the reasons I keep on doing what I do. I only have snippets of memories of the times I have truly felt alive, that manic happiness and oneness with the world. Images of hanging my head out of the window of a car driving down rural highway as my friend drives me home, or being on a trip with a summer orchestra and playing in an open theatre (Tchaik 4 ), or feeling the gravel in my toes on a beach in the Atlantic Ocean.
I too am a rollercoaster enthuaist, good airtime is an amazing feeling. I think that any life threatening, intense, dangerous situation makes you feel alive. It's forced awareness. The other side to that in this view are purposefully meditative states. Things like being out in nature or spending time in silence and solitude. A good moment from last year was when w was floating in the ocean with my cousins in Jamaica. Beautiful day on Earth, perfect atmosphere, good herbs. It felt amazing, a moment of connection to life.
Warming to 140 degrees or more in a wood-fired sauna (gotta be wood-fired so you can toss cold water on the rocks that set on the stove to add scorching humidity). Then, sprinting out into the night, and down the beach a until I fall over in Lake Superior works for me. My extended family shares time at my Grandparents place on Lake Superior in Michigan's Keweenaw Peninsula each summer. We occasionally participate in the Finnish tradition of taking a sauna and jumping into the big lake. Always makes me feel alive. For that matter, jumping into the lake daily is close to the same. It takes some overcoming the immediate shock, but spending even five minutes in water that's 50-60 degrees Fahrenheit works for me. While staying by the lake I skip regular showers and soap up in the lake. Definitely dusts the cobwebs off my brain.
There are lots of things that make me feel alive and I've spent a lot of time thinking about what, if any, commonality they share. It may be obvious to many, but I've found (so far) that any activity that brings consequence to my actions brings an invigorating sensation. These experiences have made me question whether anything I do in my day-to-day life is really of consequence. I think my normal life is full of consequence, but it's largely unrealized for some reason. Still sorting it out. To answer your question: talking to people and forming relationships, spending time outdoors alone, wandering into new places (literally and figuratively).
I feel alive when I'm bored and I've been bored for a long time. So long as there is some change in the environment (in other words, I'm just bored because of a lack of something to do, not because my environment seems to be monotonous), then I feel alive because I have nothing to focus on but myself. Also when I'm having fun, but that's a different kind of alive. I might elaborate on this later and edit this if I find time today.
Usually when i'm at a great concert. I'm just totally in the moment and focused on the moment, just enjoying the music and the spectacle.