Alive or Just Getting Through the Day?

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What does it mean to cultivate aliveness in a time of disruption?

How do we stay connected when everything seems to pull us apart?

How do we reserve our attention and affection for the people right next to us instead of pouring it into our devices?

Every day, we meet people stretched thin by the pace of contemporary life—partners who care for each other yet feel depleted, individuals negotiating between desire and overwhelm, people trying to reconnect to themselves and others against a backdrop of pervasive uncertainty and disconnection.

These realities are zapping our sense of joy and connection. 

As many of us zombie walk our way through meal planning, a 9-5 that may feel unstable right now, childcare, and trying to make time for family and friends, many things that once mattered deeply to us (self-care, hobbies, new adventures) fall by the wayside.

And sex? If it’s not scheduled, it’s probably not happening. 

Not when our brains are convinced that doomscrolling in bed will provide us more dopamine and relief than initiating foreplay.

And yet, our awareness of this reality doesn’t make it any less painful. 

Long before bringing our phones to bed (and to the bathroom, work meetings, and the dinner table) became commonplace, reconciling our dual needs for togetherness and separateness had long been a challenge. 

Sustaining safety and adventure in the same relationship is a balancing act—hard to do when our fractured attention has become a permanent fixture of our current society. This is how many of us live now: out of sync, out of balance, holding on.

So again, what does it mean to cultivate aliveness in a time of disruption? 

We could focus on defining “aliveness” and practical ways to access that precious state of awe and presence. But let’s take a moment to redefine “disruption.” Perhaps by tapping into that word’s multiple meanings we can look at the challenge differently.

The word “disruption” has a double-meaning. 

It can refer to the painful interruptions that drain connection, but it can also refer to the catalytic sparks—the moonshots—that push us to reimagine how we love. 

No one likes a disruption, but they wake us up, don’t they?

A wrong turn. A misunderstanding. 

A lost opportunity. A huge mistake. An illness. 

Some disruptions yank us out of our complacency; some instantly remind us of what and whom we stand to lose. Some make us fight for what matters and others reveal what doesn’t matter as much as we thought it did. Some disruptions instruct us to be curious instead of holding on for dear life to whatever certainty we can find.

So, what to do? 

Feeling alive isn’t only about noticing the beauty all around us, listening to great music, dancing, drawing, laughing, trying new things. 

Real, deep, meaningful connections require tolerating ambiguity, taking risks, and stretching beyond our comfort zones. Just past that edge is where desire lives. Most importantly, aliveness isn’t something we wait for; it’s something we cultivate, reach for—and practice.

We practice aliveness by leaning into certain disruptions: asking new questions, directing our attention to something different, taking a detour together on an unfamiliar road. 

We often think of relationships as places we go to feel safe, and safety is important. 

But relationships are also places that ask something of us. 

They ask us to stay engaged, to remain permeable, to resist the slow drift into indifference, to problem-solve, to try and fail, and try again.

To be alive is to be in relationships—with others, yes—but also with uncertainty, with change, with the parts of ourselves that are still unfolding. 

The disruptions are not going anywhere. But neither is our capacity to meet them differently. And in that space, in the way we respond, repair, and reimagine, we begin again to feel something, not just stable and secure, but alive.

Let’s Turn the Lens on You

A Small Disruption, Chosen

Pick one small moment today where you would normally go on autopilot—and interrupt it deliberately.

• At dinner or in bed, leave your phone in another room and ask yourself (or a partner): “What’s been on your mind lately that you haven’t said aloud?” Then stay with the answer. No fixing. No pivoting.

• The next time you’re feeling the urge to withdraw (scroll, multitask, shut down), do the opposite: name it. “I’m checking out right now, but I don’t want to.”

• Break a script you always follow. For instance, when someone asks “how are you?,” don’t just say “good, and you?” this time. Pause for a moment. You don’t need to answer fully with lots of details, but answer honestly.

Afterward, reflect: 

1. What did this disruption cost you? 
2. And what did it make possible? 

Aliveness doesn’t come from novelty alone. 

It often comes from risking something in the presence of another.

Esther Perel