“I was on a mission trip building schools in Equador. I remember waking up every day and not having any idea what I’d be doing, just that I’d be helping.”
“I had finally broken down. Everything was changing, I didn’t know which way was up, and I was at a loss.”
“I reached the top of this massive hill, and saw this view stretching out for miles. I felt so small, and so insignificant, and so connected with everything.”
“After signing up for the high school musical thinking it’d be no big deal, I was about to sing a solo in front of my entire high school.”
“My first child was born, and I realized that I had never known what love was until that moment.”
I recently asked a group to recall the time at which they felt most alive. All the answers involved a sense of losing control in some way, and in the losing somehow expanding beyond one’s normal, everyday experience.
We get one chance at life. Ironic how much of it we spend flailing to maintain a sense of control.