High on life

Why happiness isn’t the same as aliveness, and how chosen risk brings you back to life

“You sound so alive,” said three different people to me on three different occasions in December.

Hearing the same, oddly specific sentiment multiple times got my attention. What were they hearing?

The context made me even more curious. My 2025 was tough. The first half was one of those periods that makes you start believing in reincarnation, because you must have been a real arsehole in a past life.

I was dealing with a chronic injury, wild demands from the tax department due to some (still unsolved) mystery and the joys of running a small business during an economic crisis. I learnt things, grew stronger, all of that. But overall, it was just hard.

Then the second half took a turn. One particular event had an especially profound impact. It didn’t make my life easier or more comfortable, but it did make me feel unmistakably alive.

I was reminded that happiness and aliveness aren’t the same thing.

When we want to be happy, the natural question is, “What makes me happy?” I have a list like that in my iPhone notes: “nature, sunrises, dancing, quality time with my family and friends…”

But that’s only half the story. There’s more to it.

So what creates that feeling? Where do we find it? How do we cultivate it?

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The turning point

I called Mum and Dad from the car on the way home. As I relayed the events of the last three days, I noticed that despite the 38-degree heat, I was shivering. My whole body was covered in goosebumps.

“I think I’ve gone into shock.”
Mum: “I’m not surprised.”

I noticed something else unusual. Despite the distinctly unideal nature of what I was describing, including a few near-death experiences, my voice had a joyful, almost ecstatic enthusiasm.

A day of gruelling hiking with zero sleep, thanks to camping in 80km winds. The insane rush of adrenaline when I faced a black snake in strike position, ready to murder me. Getting lost in an active landslide area without service.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

These don’t feature on my “things that make me happy” list. Probably fair to assume they don’t feature on many.

Yet here I was, high on life.

This was my first solo multi-night hike. For years, maybe decades, I’d dreamed of doing it. But I’d hesitated, thanks to an appropriate level of informed fear.

It was a Grade 5 track, which means you need to be able to handle potentially dangerous and unpredictable conditions without assistance. If something goes wrong, you can’t rely on getting help quickly.

I was prepared. I had an emergency rescue device. But unpredictable danger is part of this kind of adventure.

I didn’t do it for the danger. I’m not a masochist. I did it because I love hiking, and everything it requires of me, from learning new skills to stretching my mental and physical limits.

I’d metabolised friction into strength. I’d faced my fears, pushed myself, and developed resilience. Real risk, paired with genuine desire, offered me an opportunity to build character.

My aliveness wasn’t about comfort, or pleasure, or even adrenaline. It was the feeling of being fully in contact with life, living in a way that matched my values and the kind of person I want to be.

Truth is, the best things in life aren’t free. They come at a price. But that price isn’t money. It’s courage and commitment.

Obstacles and leaps of faith define all meaningful achievements. To become people we’re proud of, we must face our fears and stay true to our standards. Love, of anyone or anything, requires risk and vulnerability.

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The quality of your risks determines the quality of your life

If you were purely in pursuit of happiness, you might assume the goal is to eliminate problems. But a good life isn’t defined by the absence of difficulty. It’s defined by the kind of difficulty we face. The goal isn’t to have no problems. It’s better quality problems.

That’s what 2025 reminded me.

Vulnerability gives life meaning. Risk gives life significance. It’s only because we have something to lose that our choices carry weight. Risk is part of the price we pay for aliveness. But not all risk is equal.

Low-quality risk is often vague, chronic, and misaligned. It’s the kind that happens to you, drags on, and quietly corrodes your confidence and capacity, like ongoing job dread, hiding a mistake, or consistent health neglect.

High-quality risk is chosen. It’s specific. It’s connected to a desire you actually respect. It asks something of you, and it gives something back, whether that looks like asking for a raise, ending a relationship you’ve outgrown, telling a hard truth, or doing a Grade 5 hike solo because you’re a little bit crazy.

My 2025 was full of vulnerability, uncertainty and exposure. But the first half was the low-quality kind. The kind you don’t choose, then have to do mental gymnastics in hindsight to build a “why I’m grateful this happened” narrative.

And the problem is, there’s only so much the nervous system can hold at once. When we’re already overloaded with low-quality risk, we cap our capacity for high-quality risk. When your bandwidth is being consumed by financial insecurity, relationship anxiety, and steady self-betrayal, your capacity gets spent on the wrong things.

We need to actively and skilfully manage this capacity, because life offers endless ways to spend it on unworthy substitutes. Drama in place of significance. Entertainment instead of vitality. Intensity instead of passion.

You get sensation. But you don’t get aliveness.

None of us is living risk-free. We’re all living with uncertainty. The question is whether you have any capacity left for the risks that would expand you. If you’re already carrying too much, even high-quality risk can tip you over.

This is why asking “What makes me happy?” isn’t enough. We must also ask: where is my risk capacity being spent? Do I choose it? Is it enlarging me?

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Choosing aliveness

It would be easy to write off my aliveness as the pendulum swing after a hard year. Or the satisfaction of ticking an item off my bucket list. But that would oversimplify it. I’ve had plenty of difficult periods and bucket-list adventures. I’ve never been told I sound “so alive”.

What felt different was the quality of the risk. It was aligned with what I love and who I wanted to be. There was an intimacy between inner truth and outer expression that deepened into self-trust and expanded my self-image. Along with both came a new sense of freedom and possibility, grounded in respect for who and where I am now.

That’s how I now think about aliveness. Joy and excitement can be part of it. But it’s the felt “rightness” of living in accordance with your values and your potential. It appears when you’re in contact with freedom, choice, responsibility, and finitude. Aliveness is born from transforming through risks you respect.

That’s what the second half of 2025 gave me. Not ease. Better problems. Chosen risk.

To feel happier, we can ask what problems we need to stop solving. To feel more alive, we can ask what problems we want to start solving.

Don’t ask what risks you’re willing to tolerate. Ask what risks you’ll respect yourself for choosing.