How stocking shelves helped me define “aliveness”

At The Gathering School, we help people "Learn the Art of Aliveness." But what does "aliveness" actually mean? Is it just that we're breathing, conscious creatures? Or does it refer to something more—the 'eros' that makes life worth living?

For us, it's the latter. Aliveness involves presence, play, feeling, and connection—four pillars that serve as our philosophical guiding lights.

But first, the promised Trader Joe's story as a way to understand where these pillars came from.

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When I arrived at Trader Joe's, burnt out from a 'career move' job, I had no idea this role I presumptuously called an 'employment rest stop' would teach me so much about aliveness.

The funny thing about stocking shelves and ringing up Mandarin Orange Chicken at a 1990s-era cash register is that you find space to slow down. And slowing down leads to rest, rest leads to recalibration, and recalibration leads you to question your inherited assumptions about what defines a 'good life.' I had time to remember who I was and who I wanted to become. In that unexpected environment, presence, play, feeling, and connection quietly began returning.

When I joined the store art team, making temporary signs taught me to focus not on the final product, but on the arc of my hand as I rounded out my 'R's, the rhythm of my breath affecting the straightness of my lines. For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about the outcome—I was in my body, feeling the work. Presence became an embodied reality, not a distant philosophical topic.

Since everything we made was impermanent, I suddenly felt permission to play again. There was no room for perfectionism because there was no 'forever.' I could experiment, mess up, try again. Play became freedom.

After 25 years of being the person I thought I was 'supposed' to be, being a replaceable crew member freed me to feel my emotions. To grieve the roles I'd played to survive, the institutional hypocrisies that jaded me, the toll of staying in unhealthy places out of 'professionalism.' But I also got to feel my silly, messy side again—the one who always had a witty comeback, who loved to swear and crack dirty jokes. I had permission to stop performing 'fine' and let my emotions move through me.

Amidst the quirky crew, the endless food puns, and the sore muscles, I remembered what I actually love: a good meal, rich conversation, laughter, making something with other people. Not climbing the ladder I'd inherited or proving my worth through productivity. Just…being human, together. Belonging simply because I existed, not because I was extra special.

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These four practices—presence, play, feeling, connection—became my definition of aliveness. Not as abstract concepts, but as lived experience. And they became the foundation of The Gathering School.

Over the coming weeks, I'll explore each pillar more deeply—what it means, why it matters, and how we practice it. But for now, I want you to know: this is what we're building toward. A life that's fully awake. Fully felt. Fully alive.

Next week, I'll start with presence—and why learning to inhabit our bodies might be the most radical thing we can do.