Your gratitude for the first responders at the end makes me think that maybe we all have our own trauma response that activates first. Fire fighters are just that, fighters. Their aliveness comes from action. You, in both this moment and the wild animal, froze. Your alive as comes from absorbing the moment in stillness.
For myself, I tend to fawn in times of stress. So my aliveness comes from gushing gratitude.
I haven’t figured out what kind of aliveness lives in flight.
Your insight into the different ways we come alive under stress is really beautifully put, my friend. I love how you’ve named fawning as your aliveness—for some, it might be fawning rather than freeze. And that question about flight. it’s so real, isn’t it? Sometimes that part feels like it’s still waiting for its full story to unfold. Thank you for sharing this thoughtful reflection with me 🩵
Alex, every single line in this piece captivated, planted a seed in my psyche. I will be pondering this yin and yang of aliveness. Thank you for sharing your gifts.
“The fire was aliveness that burned your vision board to ash.” This line made me laugh and also go, “Damnnnn!”
Thank you for quoting that line. It felt like a powerful line to share. it’s wild how destruction can be such a fierce kind of creation. I’m so glad it sparked that mix of laughter and awe in you. Keep pondering those yin and yang vibes; they’re where all the magic hides.
First, I'm glad that the fire was fought and you didn't have to leave. Second, THANK YOU for reminding me, again and again, that we are surrounded by narratives and opinions and 'rules' which may not actually be the whole truth. The 'animal outside' brought presence; the 'animal inside' brought protection. Makes me think of Mary Oliver: 'only let the soft animal of your body love what it loves'.
I love how you wove Mary Oliver’s words into this reflection, Susie 🩵. That balance between the fierce presence of the "animal outside" and the gentle wisdom of the "soft animal" inside feels so true. It’s wild how stories and rules can box us in, but moments like these remind us to trust our own rhythms. Thank you for sharing this thoughtful reminder—it lingers with me warmly today.
First, Alex, I am so grateful to learn you are safe. I had no idea you were going through this, friend. Now I know why you have been strongly on my heart and mind lately.
Second, this sentence struck me so profoundly, both grounding me in the experience you offered in this essay and as an existential question: "How do you evacuate a life?"
And your response: "Duh. Go."
It wasn't complicated, wasn't overly mapped out. It was just a clear signpost to give you the next right move. To give you clarity.
I find my life often operates that way, too, especially in times of crisis or overwhelm. My natural trauma response is not to freeze, yet that is exactly what I have been defaulting to lately--this paralyzing nothing. Like a rabbit unmoving in the face of its predator. When I know I can't fight and can't run away, this is what I do.
But, like you mentioned, the next right thing is often right in front of my face. It's not difficult, but a simple directive to get me moving in the direction I need to go. That doesn't mean I have all the answers or that I understand fully what's going on. It just means I respond to that moment, and only that moment, trusting that the next step will be revealed when I need it.
Thank you so much for another deep dive into your heart and your life experience, Alex.
Your words landed so gently in my heart, my friend. That image of the frozen rabbit—it’s a powerful way to name that stuckness we sometimes find ourselves in, especially when fight or flight feels out of reach. I love how you’re tuning into the moment, leaning into what’s right in front of you, even when it’s scary or unclear.
I found that “Duh. Go.” really is a messy, imperfect kind of wisdom. I had almost wished for a more perfect, more nuanced, more elaborate way of synthesizing it all. But in reality, it was just, "Duh. Go."
Thank you for sharing your experience with such vulnerability. Sending you a big hug and all my warmth 🩵 You are on my mind and heart too. You are amazing.
I’d like to hit “like” a thousand times but it only allows one darn it! I wanted to pop in and say yes yes yes! It’s not all sunshine and roses and aligned chakras but it’s all worthy of noticing and learning from! Thanks for the beautiful writing 💜
Oh, I love that—I'll take one, or the thought of a thousand likes :)
You’re so right, it’s definitely not about perfect chakras or endless sunshine or buckets of roses but about embracing all the messy, beautiful moments that teach us something. Aliveness is about feeling all of it. For it is all us. Your energy here made my day, truly. Thank you for diving in with such heart 🩵
"This is what the wellness world doesn't want to tell you about aliveness: it's not always beautiful. It's not always expansive. It doesn't always feel like coming home to yourself. Sometimes aliveness feels like your stomach falling out and helicopters on your horizon and the sudden recognition that everything you think you control is just borrowed time."
That has certainly been my experience, but I honestly hadn't sat with those feelings until I read your post. Everything you said makes so much sense and articulates so many feelings I've had that I haven't fully processed yet.
It means so much to hear you lean into that part of aliveness, my friend 🩵.
That mix of beauty and chaos, the stomach-drop moments alongside the helicopters on the horizon—that’s the raw, honest pulse few talk about. Sitting with those feelings takes real courage, and I’m honored my words could hold some space for your reflections. Keep honoring whatever comes up; you’re doing important inner work. Sending warmth your way. I'm so glad you are here.
It’s like finding that gentle rhythm in the chaos, isn’t it? Thanks for seeing that in the post, being here, and sharing your words here too. I appreciate you 🩵
This... "Your aliveness speaks in more languages than you've been taught to understand." YES, this one line says it all Alex! And I feel the invitation, to pay attention. To learn from my environment, nervous system, intuition and soul, for they are always speaking to me. I have found that the key is to learn their language. And it's an ongoing journey...
I relate to your experience - I have been in two very intense fires. It was at first for me mesmerizing watching the flames dance on the hills before the light of dawn. But then came the reality of smoke, destruction of land and homes. I'm thankful that both times I did not need to leave my home, as in evacuate. But I did leave during the days because the smoke was really bad. Toxic levels. I've been in earthquakes and floods too. And I agree our nervous system is intelligent, not something to dismiss.
Julie, your words paint such a vivid picture of that dance between awe and the raw reality of those fires. It’s incredible how you’ve tuned into the languages your body and soul are whispering, especially after everything you’ve been through with fires, earthquakes, and floods. The nervous system truly is a wise guide, even when the world feels chaotic. Thank you for sharing such deep insight and resilience 🩵
Often, the more prickly emotions like fear and anger are frowned upon. And yet, they are both quite normal and at times, even necessary. It seems like what you're describing is like intuition, perhaps?
This, too, reminds me of cancer. Funny, how I can relate everything back to that somehow. Upon hearing those words, you have cancer, my first reaction was not unlike paralysis coupled with fear. And disbelief too. Understandably so, I guess. These feelings give the body and psyche time to catch up, absorb, and move forward with a plan. Or as you said - such reactions buy us time to recalibrate after receiving too much overwhelming information. Boils down to learning to trust ourselves, our instints, our aliveness, or whatever you want to call it.
I'm so glad you were okay during, and after, that frightening experience. Fires must be so scary to experience first hand. The damage - physical and emotional - can be devastating. Grateful to first responders who face it daily.
This is a powerful post about the importance of fear in cases such as that of this wildfire. I love how your community survived, thanks to the hard work and efforts by the first responders. And I am so very glad you are safe.
Your description about freezing first as being a natural response is so accurate. Our bodies' fear response is definitely tied to being alive and is so necessary to us. Being afraid is not often valued, but in this case, it is. Your descriptions are beautiful as always, and I'm heartened by your gratitude towards your community.
Alex, what a provocative point: aliveness isn't always present! I've learned that in my Buddhist studies, and I appreciate how you've incorporated an understanding of and gratitude towards your nervous system in this piece. Life! What a journey!
I have been right where you stood. I had a fire in an outbuilding on my property that I fought and was burned by. I'll never forget it. Then, because we choose to live in the forest, about every second or third year, we have close calls. Sometimes too close. I've learned to compartmentalize. Have my evac plan, horse trailer hitched and valuables and important documents ready to load. I've relocated my horses twice in the past 5 years and always have a friend standing by ready to receive them. It never gets easier. Earlier this summer, I was getting rained on by water dropping helios as they passed overhead to douse the fire less than 3 miles from my home. We've been so fortunate with the wind taking the fire away from us. May you always be the same. Fear can be paralyzing and it can be a catalyst for movement. I'm so grateful for everyone here, most are volunteers. We all have to do our part. Love, Virg.
This is amazing work, Alexander. So vivd and real. Our bodies truly are a mystery to most of us. I'm glad you're safe. I'm also glad we get to benefit from your profound interpretations of those feelings that are too big for most of us to understand. I live in Nova Scotia which parts of have been burning most of the summer. The biggest fire is 40km from here and we smell it and see the smoke almost daily. We are in no danger here, but this post is so real to me now. Thank you.
Great insights, Alex! Although it's difficult to consider stillness as a form of aliveness. It often feels like stagnation to me. I understand it isn't, but still feels like it.
Your gratitude for the first responders at the end makes me think that maybe we all have our own trauma response that activates first. Fire fighters are just that, fighters. Their aliveness comes from action. You, in both this moment and the wild animal, froze. Your alive as comes from absorbing the moment in stillness.
For myself, I tend to fawn in times of stress. So my aliveness comes from gushing gratitude.
I haven’t figured out what kind of aliveness lives in flight.
Your insight into the different ways we come alive under stress is really beautifully put, my friend. I love how you’ve named fawning as your aliveness—for some, it might be fawning rather than freeze. And that question about flight. it’s so real, isn’t it? Sometimes that part feels like it’s still waiting for its full story to unfold. Thank you for sharing this thoughtful reflection with me 🩵
maybe fleeing isn’t about running away from something, but rather it is about running TO something better…
Alex, every single line in this piece captivated, planted a seed in my psyche. I will be pondering this yin and yang of aliveness. Thank you for sharing your gifts.
“The fire was aliveness that burned your vision board to ash.” This line made me laugh and also go, “Damnnnn!”
Your words just lit up my heart, my friend 🩵
Thank you for quoting that line. It felt like a powerful line to share. it’s wild how destruction can be such a fierce kind of creation. I’m so glad it sparked that mix of laughter and awe in you. Keep pondering those yin and yang vibes; they’re where all the magic hides.
First, I'm glad that the fire was fought and you didn't have to leave. Second, THANK YOU for reminding me, again and again, that we are surrounded by narratives and opinions and 'rules' which may not actually be the whole truth. The 'animal outside' brought presence; the 'animal inside' brought protection. Makes me think of Mary Oliver: 'only let the soft animal of your body love what it loves'.
I love how you wove Mary Oliver’s words into this reflection, Susie 🩵. That balance between the fierce presence of the "animal outside" and the gentle wisdom of the "soft animal" inside feels so true. It’s wild how stories and rules can box us in, but moments like these remind us to trust our own rhythms. Thank you for sharing this thoughtful reminder—it lingers with me warmly today.
First, Alex, I am so grateful to learn you are safe. I had no idea you were going through this, friend. Now I know why you have been strongly on my heart and mind lately.
Second, this sentence struck me so profoundly, both grounding me in the experience you offered in this essay and as an existential question: "How do you evacuate a life?"
And your response: "Duh. Go."
It wasn't complicated, wasn't overly mapped out. It was just a clear signpost to give you the next right move. To give you clarity.
I find my life often operates that way, too, especially in times of crisis or overwhelm. My natural trauma response is not to freeze, yet that is exactly what I have been defaulting to lately--this paralyzing nothing. Like a rabbit unmoving in the face of its predator. When I know I can't fight and can't run away, this is what I do.
But, like you mentioned, the next right thing is often right in front of my face. It's not difficult, but a simple directive to get me moving in the direction I need to go. That doesn't mean I have all the answers or that I understand fully what's going on. It just means I respond to that moment, and only that moment, trusting that the next step will be revealed when I need it.
Thank you so much for another deep dive into your heart and your life experience, Alex.
Your words landed so gently in my heart, my friend. That image of the frozen rabbit—it’s a powerful way to name that stuckness we sometimes find ourselves in, especially when fight or flight feels out of reach. I love how you’re tuning into the moment, leaning into what’s right in front of you, even when it’s scary or unclear.
I found that “Duh. Go.” really is a messy, imperfect kind of wisdom. I had almost wished for a more perfect, more nuanced, more elaborate way of synthesizing it all. But in reality, it was just, "Duh. Go."
Thank you for sharing your experience with such vulnerability. Sending you a big hug and all my warmth 🩵 You are on my mind and heart too. You are amazing.
I’d like to hit “like” a thousand times but it only allows one darn it! I wanted to pop in and say yes yes yes! It’s not all sunshine and roses and aligned chakras but it’s all worthy of noticing and learning from! Thanks for the beautiful writing 💜
Oh, I love that—I'll take one, or the thought of a thousand likes :)
You’re so right, it’s definitely not about perfect chakras or endless sunshine or buckets of roses but about embracing all the messy, beautiful moments that teach us something. Aliveness is about feeling all of it. For it is all us. Your energy here made my day, truly. Thank you for diving in with such heart 🩵
I love when you said,
"This is what the wellness world doesn't want to tell you about aliveness: it's not always beautiful. It's not always expansive. It doesn't always feel like coming home to yourself. Sometimes aliveness feels like your stomach falling out and helicopters on your horizon and the sudden recognition that everything you think you control is just borrowed time."
That has certainly been my experience, but I honestly hadn't sat with those feelings until I read your post. Everything you said makes so much sense and articulates so many feelings I've had that I haven't fully processed yet.
It means so much to hear you lean into that part of aliveness, my friend 🩵.
That mix of beauty and chaos, the stomach-drop moments alongside the helicopters on the horizon—that’s the raw, honest pulse few talk about. Sitting with those feelings takes real courage, and I’m honored my words could hold some space for your reflections. Keep honoring whatever comes up; you’re doing important inner work. Sending warmth your way. I'm so glad you are here.
Absolutely excellent post full of the wisdom of the middle way. 🩵
It’s like finding that gentle rhythm in the chaos, isn’t it? Thanks for seeing that in the post, being here, and sharing your words here too. I appreciate you 🩵
This... "Your aliveness speaks in more languages than you've been taught to understand." YES, this one line says it all Alex! And I feel the invitation, to pay attention. To learn from my environment, nervous system, intuition and soul, for they are always speaking to me. I have found that the key is to learn their language. And it's an ongoing journey...
I relate to your experience - I have been in two very intense fires. It was at first for me mesmerizing watching the flames dance on the hills before the light of dawn. But then came the reality of smoke, destruction of land and homes. I'm thankful that both times I did not need to leave my home, as in evacuate. But I did leave during the days because the smoke was really bad. Toxic levels. I've been in earthquakes and floods too. And I agree our nervous system is intelligent, not something to dismiss.
Julie, your words paint such a vivid picture of that dance between awe and the raw reality of those fires. It’s incredible how you’ve tuned into the languages your body and soul are whispering, especially after everything you’ve been through with fires, earthquakes, and floods. The nervous system truly is a wise guide, even when the world feels chaotic. Thank you for sharing such deep insight and resilience 🩵
Love 🙌
Thank you, my friend. So grateful you are here. 🩵
Hi Alex,
Often, the more prickly emotions like fear and anger are frowned upon. And yet, they are both quite normal and at times, even necessary. It seems like what you're describing is like intuition, perhaps?
This, too, reminds me of cancer. Funny, how I can relate everything back to that somehow. Upon hearing those words, you have cancer, my first reaction was not unlike paralysis coupled with fear. And disbelief too. Understandably so, I guess. These feelings give the body and psyche time to catch up, absorb, and move forward with a plan. Or as you said - such reactions buy us time to recalibrate after receiving too much overwhelming information. Boils down to learning to trust ourselves, our instints, our aliveness, or whatever you want to call it.
I'm so glad you were okay during, and after, that frightening experience. Fires must be so scary to experience first hand. The damage - physical and emotional - can be devastating. Grateful to first responders who face it daily.
Another good one. Thank you.
Hi Alex,
This is a powerful post about the importance of fear in cases such as that of this wildfire. I love how your community survived, thanks to the hard work and efforts by the first responders. And I am so very glad you are safe.
Your description about freezing first as being a natural response is so accurate. Our bodies' fear response is definitely tied to being alive and is so necessary to us. Being afraid is not often valued, but in this case, it is. Your descriptions are beautiful as always, and I'm heartened by your gratitude towards your community.
Alex, what a provocative point: aliveness isn't always present! I've learned that in my Buddhist studies, and I appreciate how you've incorporated an understanding of and gratitude towards your nervous system in this piece. Life! What a journey!
I have been right where you stood. I had a fire in an outbuilding on my property that I fought and was burned by. I'll never forget it. Then, because we choose to live in the forest, about every second or third year, we have close calls. Sometimes too close. I've learned to compartmentalize. Have my evac plan, horse trailer hitched and valuables and important documents ready to load. I've relocated my horses twice in the past 5 years and always have a friend standing by ready to receive them. It never gets easier. Earlier this summer, I was getting rained on by water dropping helios as they passed overhead to douse the fire less than 3 miles from my home. We've been so fortunate with the wind taking the fire away from us. May you always be the same. Fear can be paralyzing and it can be a catalyst for movement. I'm so grateful for everyone here, most are volunteers. We all have to do our part. Love, Virg.
This is amazing work, Alexander. So vivd and real. Our bodies truly are a mystery to most of us. I'm glad you're safe. I'm also glad we get to benefit from your profound interpretations of those feelings that are too big for most of us to understand. I live in Nova Scotia which parts of have been burning most of the summer. The biggest fire is 40km from here and we smell it and see the smoke almost daily. We are in no danger here, but this post is so real to me now. Thank you.
Wow.
Great insights, Alex! Although it's difficult to consider stillness as a form of aliveness. It often feels like stagnation to me. I understand it isn't, but still feels like it.
So glad your fire danger passed! And I agree, firefighters are the best!