The Moments That Make Life Feel Truly Alive

Recently, while reading about the vagus nerve, I came across several psychological concepts that deeply resonated with me: Flow, Awe, and Kama Muta.

I want to record these ideas alongside some of the moments that have meant the most to me. Perhaps one day, when I feel lost, exhausted, or disconnected from life, I can come back to this page and remind myself of what truly makes me feel alive.

Flow: Forgetting Yourself, Forgetting Time

Flow is a state of complete absorption. When you're fully engaged in something, time seems to disappear. You stop paying attention to yourself or your surroundings, focusing entirely on the task in front of you. The challenge is demanding, yet still within your reach, and every small step forward brings a sense of progress and satisfaction.

I've experienced flow more often than I realized. The most obvious example is my work. Whenever I encounter a difficult problem, I can become completely immersed in it. Hours pass before I even notice. The same thing happened recently when I started learning sketching. Observing, comparing, correcting, and drawing—one or two hours would disappear before I knew it. I also experience it while playing Super Mario Odyssey. The game is designed so well that every challenge naturally leads me to want to discover the next one.

These experiences taught me something about myself. I may be happier than I once thought. I have a strong ability to concentrate, and whenever I find something both interesting and appropriately challenging, I naturally enter a state of flow. There is genuine joy in constantly exploring the edge of my own abilities.

Awe: When the World Suddenly Becomes Bigger Than Yourself

Awe is the emotion we experience when we encounter something far beyond our existing mental framework. For a brief moment, it quiets our self-focus and gives us what psychologists call a small self—a feeling of being only one tiny part of something much larger. It often leaves us more humble, more grateful, and more compassionate.

Looking back, many of the most memorable moments in my life have been moments of awe.

Reading Anna Karenina and The Brothers Karamazov, I felt as though I were meeting the minds of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky across time. Their understanding of human nature constantly expanded my own. Certain manga have given me a similar feeling. Reading Watchmen and Fire Punch, I was struck by how boldly they challenged my assumptions about storytelling and human nature.

Whenever I think about the Pale Blue Dot, I'm reminded of how unimaginably small Earth is, and how small we are within it. From that perspective, many of the conflicts and anxieties of daily life suddenly seem far less significant.

During a trip to New York, I spent hours in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Standing before ancient Greek sculptures and paintings that have survived for centuries, I was deeply moved by art's ability to transcend time. Those works pulled me out of my own small world and reminded me how vast human civilization truly is.

Nature does the same. Standing on the Hulunbuir grasslands, I became so absorbed in photographing and observing the landscape that I completely forgot the menstrual pain I had been feeling. Seeing the snow-covered mountains of western Sichuan filled me with a quiet sense of reverence. My first glimpse of Mount Fuji, walking through forests of towering trees, or simply watching an extraordinary sunset on my way home after work—all of these moments brought me a kind of peace that is difficult to describe.

Science inspires the same feeling of awe. Learning that Earth may once have gone through a period of unusually wet climate lasting millions of years, or finally understanding a mathematical idea that had once seemed impossible, reminds me just how astonishing reality is.

Whether through literature, art, science, film, nature, or even contemplating the divine—what draws me is always the same: each of them pushes me beyond the boundaries of my own understanding and reminds me that the world is far larger than I once imagined.

Sometimes I even wonder whether the enormous Buddhist grottoes built centuries ago were, in part, designed to create this very feeling of awe. Standing before a colossal statue naturally makes us aware of our own smallness—and perhaps encourages us to reconsider our lives with greater humility.

Kama Muta: Being Moved by Connection

Kama Muta is a relatively new psychological concept. It describes the emotion that arises when we suddenly feel a deep sense of connection with another person or with the world around us. It is neither sadness nor happiness, but something closer to realizing, I am connected to something beyond myself.

I experienced this vividly during a month-long business trip to the United States. Before I returned home, Wendy invited me to her house for dinner. We spent the evening talking, and she warmly walked me to my car afterward. Grace gave me a notebook with a heartfelt letter inside. Looking through that notebook, along with the photos of our hikes, dinners, and walks around Stanford while packing in my hotel room, I found myself in tears. What moved me wasn't the gifts themselves. It was knowing that they had genuinely connected with me, and that I had been able to feel their kindness and affection.

Many smaller moments have given me the same feeling. Once, while trying to get to a team dinner, I couldn't figure out where my rideshare pickup point was. A colleague who had already finished work offered to drive me there without hesitation. It was a small act, but I still remember it.

While traveling in New York, strangers often asked me to take photos for them. These brief interactions made me realize that even a tiny gesture of trust from a stranger can feel surprisingly moving.

During another trip, my husband and I sat together in Tokyo's Yoyogi Park, reflecting on everything we had experienced. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps the greatest value of travel isn't simply seeing somewhere new. It's the opportunity to build new connections—with unfamiliar places, with other people, and ultimately with yourself. Perhaps that's also why I become more outgoing whenever I travel. I'm simply more open to meeting the world.

Art creates that same sense of connection. The documentary 蒙古草原 天気晴れ (no official English title) left an especially deep impression on me. Every time I think about Puujee, who once lived so vividly and so genuinely, I find myself in tears. Simply knowing that she existed makes me want to live my own life more earnestly.

Michael Jackson's music has a similar effect on me. Whenever I listen to his songs, I feel warmth, comfort, and an unexpected sense of connection across time.

Rethinking Travel, and Rethinking Myself

Looking back, I realize that these three psychological concepts all point toward the same thing. Flow helps me forget myself. Awe helps me move beyond myself. Kama Muta helps me connect with people and with the world beyond myself.

Because of this, I've come to understand travel differently. The value of travel isn't simply visiting new places. It opens a new window into life. Whenever I stay in Beijing for too long, I begin to live on autopilot. My senses gradually become dull. I still read books and watch films, but it's much harder to immerse myself in them.

Travel changes that. I begin paying attention again—to streets, trees, museums, strangers. I also find myself reading more about the places I visit. Before my trip to the United States, I read A Short History of the United States. During my second trip to Japan, I spent much of the journey reading Kawabata Yasunari. I've even started to believe that if I want to read more, perhaps I should first plan another trip.

For a long time, I've believed that understanding yourself is one of the most important tasks in life. But understanding yourself requires opportunities—moments that reveal parts of yourself you didn't know were there. The more I experience the world, the more I realize that I don't become who I am through thinking alone. I become who I am through living.

Every book I read, every journey I take, every act of creation, every moment of awe, every experience of connection—even an evening spent absentmindedly watching television—leaves another mark on the raw stone that is my life. I hope I will always have the courage to move intentionally toward the people, places, and experiences that are worth encountering, instead of allowing habit and circumstance to quietly carry me through an entire lifetime.