What Does It Mean to Truly Live Your Life?

 What does it actually mean to live your life—truly?

This question surfaced for me while listening to the audiobook The Mountain Is You. As I worked through my own thoughts alongside the words being spoken, something sparked. The book does that—it invites deep, personal, inward work. It asks you to confront the stories you’ve absorbed about who you’re supposed to be and whether they actually belong to you.

That question—what does it mean to live?—was never clearly answered for me growing up.

I was raised on a farm in southern Alberta, surrounded by traditional values: work hard, give back, value your family—and enjoy life. But what did enjoy life actually mean? No one ever explained it. No one modeled it. My family worked endlessly, but rarely savored the small moments or celebrated them. Looking back, I don’t remember seeing much presence.

And that’s where this all starts.

What Is Presence?

Presence isn’t calm or comfort.

Presence is engagement.

It’s the opposite of autopilot.

It’s why hard things often feel more alive than easy ones.

It’s why people can have “everything” and still feel empty.

Presence is connection. And you cannot truly connect with people—or yourself—without it.

This took me a long time to understand. I don’t recall ever being taught presence, by example. Hard work and then numbing out in front of a screen is what I remember being modeled to me. 

As a kid, I was always outside—wandering, playing, exploring—without knowing why. I just knew those moments felt different. Looking back, now, I see what these memories were to me. Moments of presence—when I wasn’t performing, planning, or proving anything. I was simply engaged in my own life. They were moments where I was fully here.

This realization came to me through countless hours of therapy, self-help books, honest conversations, research, and a lot of uncomfortable inward awareness. These memories help shape the way I stay present today. 

The Weight of “Should”

Growing up, I felt I should take over the family farm. Stay close. Live in the familiar. I loved farm life—still do—so why wouldn’t I follow the path laid out before me?

But that word should carries weight.

It comes up often in The Mountain Is You, and for good reason. “Should” rarely comes from desire. More often, it comes from conditioning—quiet, inherited expectations we absorb before we ever question whether they fit us. We mistake them for duty, or loyalty, or even love, without realizing they may be pulling us away from presence rather than toward it.

But I also carried wanderlust. Big questions. A pull toward something different. That made me the odd one out—the “hippy.” The only one who left. Depending on who you ask, maybe even the one who ran away.

I also wasn’t great with my emotions. That didn’t come naturally to me—it’s something I’ve had to work hard at.

What I’ve learned since is this: there isn’t one definition of a life well lived.

For some people, fulfillment comes from stability.

For others, it comes from variety.

Some thrive in structure, routine, and clear plans. Others find meaning in chaos, movement, and constant challenge. Some people need to be pushed to feel alive—comfort feels like stagnation.

Some grow up knowing exactly what they want and what makes life worth struggling for. Others spend years—or a lifetime—not knowing, or knowing but being too afraid to try.

The traditional structure:

• Get an education

• Find a stable career

• Work your way up

• Marry, start a family

That path works for many. For others, fulfillment looks like entrepreneurship, travel, or freedom—with family delayed, redefined, or approached differently. Some want it all. Many float somewhere in between.

So the real question isn’t how you live your life.

It’s whether you actually feel like you’re living it.

Why So Many People Feel Disconnected

That question led me down a rabbit hole. Research consistently shows that a large portion of people feel disengaged from their daily lives. Gallup surveys regularly report that only about one-third of adults feel actively engaged in their work, and long-term happiness research suggests fulfillment is more closely tied to presence, growth, and meaning than comfort, money, or status.

In other words, checking the “right” boxes doesn’t guarantee that you feel alive.

When I Feel Most Alive

I know when I feel alive.

It’s when I’m experiencing new things. When I’m pushed to grow. When I’m active—whether that’s an intense workout or a brutal hike with an incredible payoff. When therapy cracks something open and I ride that momentum into uncomfortable but necessary inner work. When I accomplish something—or at least try.

Over Christmas, I had the chance to hike Mount Etna. It had recently erupted, so much of the mountain was off-limits. It was cold, snow-covered, and wildly windy—gusts over 60 km/h. The ground was uneven, and in places you’d suddenly fall through the snow. Looking over the cliffs meant bracing yourself against the wind so you didn’t get blown sideways.

On a calm, sunny day, it would’ve been a cool experience.

But that day? I felt unbelievably alive.

Because it wasn’t easy. Because it demanded presence. Because it asked something of me.

So, What Is Living?

To me, living your life shows up in the laughter, the pain, the tears, the effort. It’s that twinkle in your eye. It’s being fully here—in your body, in your breath, in the moment.

So let me ask you:

What does it mean to you to truly live your life?

And if you don’t know yet, that’s okay. Most people don’t.

If you’re not sure where to start, try journaling with questions like:

• When am I most here?

• When do I disappear from my own life?

• What pulls me back into my body, my breath, my moment?

For now, I leave you with this: we are all human. We all carry fear, emotion, and uncertainty. Doing the inner work is uncomfortable—but it’s brave. And it matters.

Meet yourself where you are—and raise the bar from there.