There is a way of living that keeps us busy without asking us to think very much about how we are living; I call it autopilot.
It is built from habit, repetition, and momentum. We wake up, follow familiar routines, answer emails, go to work, distract ourselves when silence appears, take the same route, have the same conversations, avoid the same fears, watch TV, and then return to bed only to begin again.
From the outside, life can appear completely fine. Productive. Responsible. Successful even.
And yet, we may hardly stop to ask whether the life we keep repeating is still the life we consciously choose, or whether we ever really chose some parts of it at all.
Autopilot living is what happens when we stop questioning our own patterns. We stop noticing what we feel. We reach for what is familiar because it is easy. We may not pause to ask whether our familiar habits are helping us or simply keeping us occupied. We react in the same ways, turn to the same distractions, and put off the same things we say matter to us.
Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes there are people who need us, bills to pay, and responsibilities we cannot put aside. We get used to telling ourselves that we will make time later, when things settle down. It is understandable. But some of what we keep postponing is part of what makes our lives meaningful to us.
There is nothing wrong with having routines. Some give our lives stability and make room for what we love. But it is worth noticing when we continue doing something simply because we have stopped considering another way.
I have known seasons like this.
From the outside, my life looked full. My work was moving forward. My schedule was crowded. Everything appeared alive with movement and purpose.
I was happy in many ways, and yet something deeper was missing. That was difficult to understand. How could I be happy and still feel that I was missing something in my own life?
I just was not fully present. I was getting things done, but being busy did not necessarily mean I was paying attention to the life I was living.
I do not want to dismiss those years or the things I gave my time to. They mattered. But my experience of them mattered too.
The cost can be difficult to recognize because nothing has to go terribly wrong. It might be the conversation we keep postponing, the idea we never explore because there is always something more urgent, or the person beside us whom we have stopped really listening to. It is the beauty we pass every day without taking a moment to notice.
It is easy to say “later” and mean it, without noticing how often we have said it before.
We can spend years this way, taking care of what needs to be done while giving very little attention to what we feel, what we need, or what we have quietly stopped hoping for. People may see how capable we are without realizing how far we feel from ourselves. We may not recognize it either until a quiet moment gives us a chance to notice, or a voice in our mind repeats itself on a loop during a sleepless night.
Becoming more present does not necessarily require us to leave our work, change our relationships, or build an entirely different life.
Perhaps the first thing that changes is the relationship we have with ourselves. We begin to take our own feelings seriously, instead of brushing them aside because there is something else to do.
It begins with a pause.
We might notice when we reach for our phone, not because we need to check anything specific, but because we feel uncomfortable having nothing to do. Or when we say I’m fine before asking ourselves whether it is even true. Or when we put off something that matters to us once again, because another task feels more urgent or someone else’s needs are easier to acknowledge than our own.
To me, those moments can feel like my soul gently asking me to wake up.
Sometimes what we notice is uncomfortable. We may discover that a commitment no longer feels right, that we miss someone, or that we have been dismissing a desire because we cannot yet see how to make room for it. But we know that our minds and bodies are not aligned.
There may be sadness in realizing how long we have ignored something that matters. I hope we can meet that realization with kindness. It is painful enough to feel we have missed part of our lives without blaming ourselves for it.
We do not have to resolve everything immediately. But once we acknowledge it, we can begin to respond.
In The Life You Choose, I write about conscious living as something we practice in our everyday lives. For me, that includes being willing to pause and ask:
Is this how I want to live?
Am I choosing this?
Or am I simply repeating it?
The answer may be that we do want much of the life we already have. Perhaps we want to listen more closely, make time for something we miss, or appreciate what has become so familiar that we barely see it anymore.
We might begin by calling the person we keep meaning to call, giving a long-held idea an hour of our time, or staying with a conversation instead of thinking about what we need to do next. Small choices, but they affect how we experience our days and how the people we love experience us.
I do not expect to be aware every moment. I still get distracted and caught up in what needs to be done. But I want to notice when that happens, because I do not want to look back and realize how much of my life I hurried through without really being there.
Because, to me, the greatest loss is not failing; it is being absent from my life.
I want to be present for the life I have, even as I consider what I may want to change. There are people I love, things I am still curious about, and ordinary moments I know I will one day miss. I want to give them my attention while they are here, while I am here.
Insight:
Think about one part of your day that you usually move through without much thought. It might be a meal, a conversation, or the first few minutes after you wake up.
Ask yourself: Am I choosing this, or simply repeating it?
Then give yourself a moment to notice what you feel, without deciding that you should feel differently. What needs your attention?
You may decide to change something. You may decide that this part of your life is exactly what you want. Either way, you can begin by giving it the attention it deserves.
Reflection from my journey — Skagway, Alaska, USA. Photograph © Amira Mor.
