Alive, but differently
Living softly, but fully
At the start of 2025, I chose ‘Alive’ as my word of the year.
Not casually. Not vaguely. I meant it in bold, cinematic terms. I imagined big gestures and unforgettable moments, such as backpacking, kayaking, kite surfing, wall climbing, learning new skills, tackling physical challenges and more. All of it as proof that I was truly, fully alive, not just getting through the days.
By July, I was quietly questioning whether I’d chosen the wrong word.
I hadn’t done many of the big, brave things I’d listed so earnestly. The year until then had felt heavy, long and dragged out in a way that made even good moments feel fleeting. There were bright spots, of course: Sri Lanka and its slower rhythm, my mum’s visit, evenings and weekends with my husband, beach days, finding strength and steadiness in yoga. But they were often eclipsed by anxiety and that constant sense of being on edge. When I looked back that month, the lows felt louder than the highs. And that scared me.
I could easily name years that felt alive in hindsight – 2019, 2021, 2022 – years that shimmered with memory, recalled now through the lens of their best moments. 2024 hadn’t felt that way at all, and by mid-2025, I worried this year would join it. I missed the version of myself that felt expansive instead of anxious, energised instead of weary.
But something shifted in the second half of the year.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. And not in the way I’d imagined when I first wrote ‘Alive’ at the top of a page on January 1. I began to notice that aliveness was already there but it was a lot quieter than I expected. It was in spending time with my partner, even when it looked ordinary: watching shows we loved, sitting together as the sun set through the window of our home, taking walks together or alone, celebrating moments both big and small simply because we could be present.
It showed up in my body as well. In committing to 7Ks to build endurance. In trying to nail pull-ups. In returning to the mat to perfect yoga poses. All of it reminded me how much I trusted myself and my body and how I felt strong inside it.
It was there in low-key meals at our favourite joints, movie nights, cooking, coffee and hot chocolate breaks, settling down with a book or show I genuinely enjoyed, conversations with family and friends and even scrolling through old photos on my phone to remember life I’d already lived.
Of course, it showed up spectacularly in the trips we took this year: walking through beautiful tea estates in Sri Lanka, soaking up the cultural vibe while cruising down the Mekong in Laos, learning to make handmade paper and exploring the underwater world on a snorkelling trip. It was also in petting the little stray dogs we love meeting when we travel.
What I realised slowly was that I had been chasing a very loud version of aliveness – one that required novelty, adrenaline and constant forward motion. And in a year where anxiety took up more space than I’d like to admit, the real gift wasn’t in grand adventures. It was in noticing and inhabiting the soft, quiet aliveness around me.
So maybe this wasn’t the year of big, bold aliveness I had pictured. Of course, I did do many things that others might never have the privilege to experience. They just weren’t hair-raising or headline-worthy. But they were still good. Still full. Still mine.
This year taught me that aliveness isn’t something you achieve. It’s something you notice. And sometimes, noticing the quiet moments, the steady, simple ones, is enough to bring you back to yourself.