The previous week, I visited Belgium and The Netherlands, and it was my first time out of the country. I soaked and wallowed in every waking moment. It was so surreal to me. There I was, a 22 year old from Atlanta, Georgia, pretending to be a member of the European Parliament (thanks to KSU's Model European Union), meeting new people, walking down countless streets and dancing with strangers. Every breath was a joyful phrase. I touched cement pillars and was embraced and held by friends and strangers alike. I walked alongside canals. I listened to the melody of church bells. I saw sunrises, sunsets and city views that took my breath away. I also cried.

There, I said it.

Yes, being in Europe for that week was so much of a sensory overload that I occasionally had to excuse myself to briefly cry. (I cry a lot, but I have a terrible habit of not allowing myself to cry in front of people. I'm still working on that) I cried because I felt and was present in all of those emotions in one week. Then it hit me.

This is life. This is the privilege of being human. I don't think any of us really understand the greatness of being a human being. Being able to live life is such a privilege. Think about your experience in the large scheme of things. There are not a lot of things in this universe that have the same experience we do: the ability to feel, to walk, to see, to smell, to taste, to think. There are not a lot of things that can form the same type of community humans do, worship the Divine the same way humans do, occasionally transcend themselves if only for a brief moment the same way humans do.

Look, I get it. Life can be sh*tty. The gift and promise of the human experience is not an easy one to hold. We live in an unfair world where it is easy to feel marginalized. People disappoint you, dreams don't work out, your heart will be broken a million times over, innocent people die, poverty reigns and the world is riddled with the motif of "Man's Inhumanity Against Man."

I can tell you that I know all too well what the rock bottom feels like. I've held those rocks in my hands, and I've felt the bottom of that ocean floor. There were moments when I felt like I had no purpose. I know what it feels like to suffocate in the daunting idea that perhaps our lives have no meaning. There were moments that I thought to myself if living was even worth it. This "rock bottom" was years ago, but I'm glad I stuck around because now I know what I would have missed.

If I weren't alive, I wouldn't be able to lay in fields and run my hands through the warm soil. If I weren't alive, I wouldn't know what it feels like to have ocean tides grab my ankles, to have the sun kiss my face, to wonder at the stars, to binge-watch Netflix with friends while we all eat out of the same gallon of ice cream with the same spoon. If I weren't alive, I wouldn't be able to know what it feels like to half-cry and half-laugh over dinners, lunch dates, coffee dates or one too many gin and tonics. If I weren't alive, I wouldn't have been able to eat waffles in Belgium or pancakes in Amsterdam.

If I weren't alive, I wouldn't be able to tell you all about the transformative power of loving and being loved. I wouldn't be able to tell you the unfathomable greatness of both platonic and romantic love. I wouldn't be able to tell you the joy that springs from the heart when you see someone you haven't seen in awhile. I wouldn't be able to tell you the times friends and family have literally saved me.

I wouldn't be able to tell you what it feels like to kiss, to hold a hand, to hold someone while they cry on your shoulder, to have someone run their fingers through your hair when you're sick, to dance with someone without reservation, to sing, to have your spine shiver at the sound of a piano in a concert hall. I wouldn't be able to tell you how it feels to be in community with others, the power that comes in confessing your brokenness or struggles, to allow yourself to cry in front of others.

If I weren't alive, I wouldn't be able to be fed the Eucharist, something I find myself craving week after week. Death and resurrection, every time it happens.

It might be a little too late to claim New Year's resolutions, but this year, and for the rest of my life, I want to be more present in my life. Fewer distractions. I want to give myself permission to feel and know every emotion. I want to see beauty in strangers and in the small things. I want to travel more. I want to interact more. I want to know (truly know) people, friends and strangers.

I want to live my life as fully as I can, because what a rarity it is to even exist.