I don’t think. I feel.

We’ve all experienced those transformative “a-ha” moments that redefine our understanding of life.

One such moment for me happened in 2008 in a movie theater.

I was absorbed in Martin Scorsese’s film about the Rolling Stones, “Shine a Light.” During the film, a journalist poses a question to Keith Richards: “When you’re onstage, did your mind wander off or you’re always in the guitar?”

Keith’s reply is simple yet profound: “I don’t think onstage. I feel.”

That response struck a chord within me. It was an epiphany. The sentence encapsulated a powerful truth.

Keith sounded like a shaman, suggesting that sometimes we just have to enjoy the moment. When we think, we don’t live it, we don’t appreciate it, and—most importantly—we don’t perform at our best.

I always loved Mick, the hyperactive child constantly begging for attention, living the rock star dream and embracing a maniac approach to live performances, but that moment changed everything. Because I understood the value of Keef—the wise man in the village, telling you the ancestors’ truth.

Since that moment, I’ve shifted my focus. My overactive mind took a back seat, and I began to prioritize my feelings, always seeking to understand them more deeply.

Embracing your emotions might sound appealing in theory, but it’s a challenging journey. It forces you to confront aspects of yourself you’d rather ignore, to embark on self-improvement, and to address issues that seem insurmountable.

The journey told me that our bodies possess an intelligence that surpasses our minds, that life is fundamentally about feelings, and that a society obsessed with overthinking is fundamentally flawed. Furthermore, it highlighted a harsh reality: often, our feelings and thoughts are not in harmony.

Living a life attuned to feelings has also transformed my relationships. I learned (well, I’m learning…) to leave situations and places that affect my wellbeing, and I’m trying to move beyond small talk (“How’s it going?”) to ask others: “How do you feel about this?”.

Twenty years later, I still find myself thinking too much, and I am very far from being the wise man in the village.

But at least, I’m confident that I’m moving in the right direction.

And every time I hear the “Jumping Jack Flash” riff, I know that I’m a step closer to the real me.

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