That Feeling of Being Alive

People are always chasing that feeling of being truly alive. We want that dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin. All those chemicals our brains release to tell us, You love this. Keep doing this. You are alive. It’s a survival mechanism. Find a patch of blueberries, your brain sends you the dopamine and you know, you are on the right track.

And we also know, that in the modern world, this chemical reward system hardwired into all our brains can be highjacked. It’s why people develop addictions, and I use that word widely. When I was a kid, I learned that addiction meant DRUGS. In 2026, I’d argue our understanding of addiction has expanded. You are most certainly addicted to something. Be it your phone, food, crafting, working out, whatever, we are all capable of manipulating our lizard brain to give us the happy chemicals with some twenty-first century vice.

But, every now and then, you encounter something that floods your brain with those happy chemicals, something outside of some hardwired survival instinct or addiction masquerading as such.

For me, the quiet moments of travel do it. I like to travel. I like to see people and things, but I also struggle with the inertia of getting out of my house that has my blankets and cats. Once I get going though, I love traveling. I love doing the thing, whatever that thing might be, but I also love the journey to get to the thing.

There is a gas station on a beautiful highway, rural highway. The gas station is known simply as the Mobile. Its got food, concerts, stunning mountain and lake views, and a cool lawn. Years ago, this was a common meeting space for packed summer weekends. I would get off work, throw a random assortment of stuff into my car, and drive hours to meet someone at the Mobile. We would eat over-priced tacos, look out at lake, and know, for the next three days, the would was our oyster. We would explore our public lands, drink coffee, and read. The potential was endless. The world was ours. We became limitless.

And that limitless feeling, I feel it most strongly in the quiet, liminal spaces en route to whatever my next adventure is. I feel it on summer nights when driving somewhere new late after work. I feel it when I stop for gas by after having broken free of my normal routine. I feel it most in those transitional moments when I know, I am using my precious life as loudly as I can.

It’s easy to think that the clear cut things are what give us joy. Summiting that mountain, successfully harvesting an elk, buying the plane tickets, etc. And those things do make us happy. But there are so many subtle, sneaky things that we don’t always consider. Coming home after a long work week, knowing tomorrow will be different. Feeling spring on the air after a long winter. That moment when you hug a long lost friend and you feel like no time has passed and that a lifetime has.

It’s always the most unassuming moments that hit the hardest. Maybe it’s because we don’t see them coming. Maybe it’s the power of stillness. Maybe it’s both.