I had a debate about what it means to be “alive”. The impetus was my brother’s visit. He loves nature, hiking and camping. He takes incredible Instagram-worthy pictures of his trips, such as this beautiful winter’s sunset on Vancouver Island.

My brother’s view is that people who sit at home and avoid travel are not truly “alive”. It is through the beauty of nature that God manifests his presence to us. This is a popular view among many who love travel and adventure. It is the belief that only by coming in contact with nature (or other cultures or countries), can we experience a piece of the divine and the beauty of life.

At the other side, there is the leader of my Catholic book group, who today gave birth to her first child. It is a miracle that her and her husband prayed for many years, having suffered through five miscarriages on the way. For the short term, her life is changed — she won’t have the opportunity to travel to scenic beaches and the wonders of the world.

Does that mean she is less “alive”?

Is a mother whose life is filled with diapers and tantrums, less “alive” than an adventurous traveler who sees the world? Is she less free? Does she experience less of the divine?

There is a Belgian psychotherapist, Esther Perel, whose view on this resonates deeply. She is a child of concentration-camp survivors who distinguishes between those who survived, and those who didn’t die. I suspect Perel’s view would be that the bookclub leader who survived heartbreaking miscarriages is more “alive” than a bachelor who has never experienced such hardship. One is merely surviving, but the other never died at all.