Remembering to Live While We Are Alive
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about life, death, and everything in between.
We recently lost a loved one in our family, another friend's sister is in hospice, too soon after a shock diagnosis. These kinds of shocks and losses pull you into a different kind of space — a quieter, heavier place where all the things you usually worry about fall away, and you start asking the bigger questions.
One of the things I keep thinking about is how ironic it is that our nervous system is wired to protect us from death — to scan for danger, to anticipate harm, to keep us safe. It’s hardwired into us. And yet, death is the only guarantee we have. It’s literally the one thing we know will happen. Still, we spend so much of our lives protecting ourselves — not just from physical danger, but from emotional risks, from failure, from change, from discomfort.
So often, it’s not even real danger we’re protecting ourselves from — it’s the perception of danger. The possibility of pain. The imagined judgment. We armour up. We shrink back. We build walls. And in doing all of that, we miss out on living as openly and as joyfully as we could.
When we lose someone, though, it’s like the armour cracks a little. We remember, Oh yeah... this life is precious. It’s short. It’s not guaranteed. And we might even whisper to ourselves, I want to live more fully. I don’t want to waste this.
But then... it’s not so easy, is it?
Because we live in a world — a capitalist, patriarchal world — that is built to steer us away from that full, rich living. Everything is about safety and security. About providing and producing. About fitting in. About having enough and being enough. Somewhere along the line, life became about working harder, earning more, achieving things that look good on paper, building some elusive sense of security. And it’s so easy to get caught up in it. It’s so easy to feel like that’s what life is.
Even when we have those wake-up moments — those heartbreaking reminders of how short and beautiful life is — it’s hard to stay awake to it. Bills still have to be paid. Kids still have to be cared for. There’s still that quiet pressure to prove something. To make a difference. To have something to show for your time here.
And sometimes, honestly, I find myself wondering: What’s the point of all this? What’s the point of working so hard, worrying so much, striving endlessly... when none of us get out of here alive anyway?
It’s not that I think nothing matters. Quite the opposite. I think it all matters — maybe more than we let ourselves admit. But not in the way we’ve been taught to think. It’s not about being the most successful, the most admired, the most secure.
Maybe it’s about those tiny, unremarkable moments that no one else sees — laughing so hard your stomach hurts, lying in the grass on a warm afternoon, playing with dogs, helping a friend without expecting anything back, feeling your heart crack open when you watch the sun rise and realise you’re still here, breathing, for another day.
Maybe fulfillment isn’t about achieving some big thing at all. Maybe it’s about the simple things that make you feel alive. Maybe it's about remembering who you are underneath all the pressure and expectation.
I don’t have the answers. I’m still sitting with the questions.
But right now, what I do know is this:
Life is short.
The small things matter.
And maybe the most radical thing we can do — in a world that constantly tells us to do more, earn more, be more — is to slow down, feel our lives, and remember what truly brings us joy.
I'm off to play with my dogs....
Wishing you a beautiful weekend
Kate xx