I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of ‘feeling alive’ recently, and how we tend to not do that enough. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not necessarily about looking back onto all those (hopefully) decades at the end of our lives, thinking ‘Oh la la, I’ve had quite the easy ride and now bring on the pink rainbows and fluffy ponies’. I think what we long for is depth and growth and sometimes these things can only be found when, well, going through some serious crap. So then I thought about all the times where my head and heart really were more like an explosion of feelings and thoughts, not all of them pink and fluffy, and I realised that these were some of the moments I felt painfully, truly and purely alive. It’s an incredible privilege to be able to feel – and we should feel more in a society that’s so busy curating its way towards fulfilment online, creating bloody to-do guides on how to #startyourdayright or getting our ridiculously clever phones to tell us how to improve our sleep patterns (if you find a way that actually works, please let me know though!).