When Do You Feel the Most Alive?

(Listen to this video's audio while you read.)

I’m standing on top of something high. A rolling hill in the middle of a field of grass maybe. Or maybe I’m on the top of a mountain looking over a valley and then on to the ocean and the horizon beyond where a few ships speckle the expanse. Perhaps I’m standing in the middle of a bridge looking down on cars driving under me, their roars filling my ears

I can feel the wind pulling at my hair and clothes. I have my hair down, letting the wind comb through and tangle, comb and tangle. The tips of my hair whip into my face, and the wind turns my cheeks pink. I’m wearing a skirt that billow up only to be pressed back against my legs. My shirt ripples around my body. I feel the air tickle every hair on my arms.

I feel the blood rushing through my veins.

I inhale as deeply as possible, relishing in every detail I can find. Maybe the wind smells of fresh grown grass and tilled earth like it is spring. Or maybe it’s summer with a waft of sea air and fish nets drying in the sun teasing my nostrils. I can taste the salt in the air. It may smell like snow packed high in the mountains, the sun trying to convince it to let go and run through the ground.

I listen as hard as I can, shifting the focus from the things that are close to the things that are far away. I want to capture every single detail. Birds sing in the trees, calling to their lovers. A plane soars above, taking people to wondrous places I hope to visit some day. Families laugh, a collective song lifted up higher and higher, the happiest sound in the world.

My eyes are closed, allowing my other senses to take a turn. This is where I feel the most alive: somewhere high with my eyes closed and all my other senses assaulting me with detail.

Do you see it?