When you’re falling from a plane at 13,000 feet, you expect fear: the primal terror of a body out of place. You expect noise, too: the roaring wind rattling against your face.
What I didn’t expect was silence.
Not around me, but inside. At first, the voice inside my head screamed in fear — I can’t do this, I’m not ready — but then, when I jumped and surrendered to the sky, it went quiet.
That voice — I call it the narrator — is usually relentless. You probably know it too. Whether it shows up as words, sensations, images, or just a low-level current of tension, it’s the part that worries, criticizes, and braces for what hasn’t happened yet.
But in freefall, the narrator paused. I cried — not from fear, but from the sharp relief of being with myself without all the noise. The world became more vivid: the tug of the harness, the sting of cold air, the Alps unfolding below like an endless wave. In place of chatter was a soft joy, a sense of ease, and the unmistakable feeling of being fully here.
That silence pointed to something bigger: There are two very different ways humans navigate survival.
Two Ways to Survive
When I first jumped, my body thought I was in danger. Chest tight, muscles coiled, every cell bracing. That was what I call reactive survival — the fight-flight-freeze-fawn reflex that once saved our ancestors from predators and still fires today when a boss emails at midnight or a text goes unanswered. It’s also the narrator’s home turf: scanning for threats, recycling old stories, keeping us clenched.
But mid-air, that reflex gave way to something else: awareness. In the rush of sensation, the narrator lost its script, and presence took over. This is what I call attuned survival — sensing what’s within, between, and around us, and responding with presence instead of panic.
The real question is this: When reflex takes over, how quickly can we find our way back to presence? It’s not a clean split — we all move between reactive and attuned survival. The work isn’t to avoid reflex altogether, but to notice when it has us clenched and to practice returning to presence more often, more easily, and for longer stretches of time.
Both modes are human. Both have value. Reflex keeps us safe in real danger — the reflex that makes you jump out of the way of a car or slam the brakes without thinking. It’s blunt, life-saving in the moment. Attunement is what helps us with the long-term challenges of connection, recovery, and creativity.
The problem is that modern life keeps us braced in reflex. Every ping and post pushes us back into reactive survival. What once protected us now fuels burnout, disconnection, and a culture always preparing for impact. Yet humans have always known another way.
What Humans Have Always Known
I didn’t discover attunement in the sky. Across history, people developed practices to loosen the narrator’s grip. Monks stepped into silence. Shamans entered forests. Mystics fixed their eyes on flame, crystal, or talisman. Communities fasted, drummed, sang, and danced until presence took hold.
These traditions are diverse and rooted in different cosmologies, but they share a common thread: They interrupted the reflexive mind and created space for another way of being. By stilling thought or flooding it with rhythm, sound, or awe, they softened the stories of fear and control. In the quiet that followed, people could return to presence — not just alone, but together.
These weren’t hobbies. They were survival strategies. Reactive survival kept one body alive in a moment of threat. Attunement made it possible for groups to stay connected and resilient across time.
Now Science is Catching Up
Consider awe. Research shows that awe — triggered by vast, immersive scenes like the view from 13,000 feet — quiets the brain’s default mode network, the hub of self-focused thought. The result? Less inner noise, more generosity, more connection.
In other words, science is beginning to confirm what human practices have long pointed toward. Awe is one doorway back to attunement — a glimpse of the state our ancestors safeguarded through ritual and practice.
Major Markers of Wellbeing
When you line up the research across fields from psychology to medicine, a pattern emerges: many key markers of wellbeing shift depending on whether we’re caught in reactive survival or practicing attunement.
Health of mind & body: Stress floods us with cortisol, fueling anxiety, depression, and disease. Attunement practices like mindfulness lower inflammation and support healthier aging.
Connection & belonging: Social isolation raises mortality risk as much as smoking. Attunement through eye contact, synchronized movement, or compassion literally reprograms the nervous system for trust.
Resilience & creativity: Attunement through flow or meditation enhances adaptability, creativity, and collective resilience.
Put simply: Reactive survival keeps us alive in moments of danger. But attunement is what keeps us alive in every other sense — mentally, emotionally, socially, and even ecologically. In other words, attunement is how we not just survive, but thrive.
An Invitation
I don’t plan on skydiving every week. But I do want to keep practicing that shift: from bracing to breathing, from reactive survival to attuned survival.
We live in a culture that has forgotten how. In place of ritual, we have routine. In place of community, comparison. In place of presence, performance. But our ancestors carried dozens of ways back to attuned survival — drumming, dancing, prayer, stillness, story, awe, and so many more.
This newsletter is about remembering them — and practicing together. Each week I’ll share stories, science, history, and tools you can try right away to soften the narrator and return to presence — with yourself, others, and the world.
I think it’s quite neat how you came to perceive attunement and how it tied to your sky diving experience! Great post!
Well said!