Without being truly alive.

Wonder how many days I went through life on automatic pilot. Without thinking. Without consciously grasping that I was alive. And functioning. Didn’t give it a thought. Just went about doing my thing. Without pondering the thought that I was alive and functioning. Maybe those days have been swept away. Into oblivion. As if I never lived ‘em. Don’t remember. So many lost days. Though I admit, I probably enjoyed ‘em. Without thinking about it. Without pondering. Without savoring.  I don’t remember everything I did yesterday. Because much of it was automatic. Routine. Like driving down a country road. Without noticing anything in particular. Turns out to be a non-event. Unless I retrieve something. Particular. Memorable. That scares me, in some ways. No, not the possibility of dementia. Rather it’s more a case of not paying attention. To what I’m doing in ordinary life. Unless I’m in love. Then I seem to pay more heed. My attention is more riveted. On acts of love. On precious moments. Yes, love makes me feel more alive. More with it. More conscious. Makes me wonder if people out of love go through life without being  truly alive. –Jim Broede