Are You Sleepwalking Through Life?

I used to wake up the same way every morning. Alarm. Snooze. Scroll. Toilet. Coffee. Shower. Car. Traffic jam. Emails. Meetings. Lunch behind a screen. A second coffee. Small talk. Another meeting. Rush to get things done before going home. Groceries. Dinner. Netflix. Scroll on the toilet. Sleep. Repeat. It looked like a normal day. It was. And that was exactly the problem. Just moving through the motions with a head full of everything and a heart full of... I don’t know. Static, maybe. That soft grey numbness that creeps in when nothing’s wrong, but also nothing’s real. That’s the autopilot trap. And probably, you might know it too.

The sleepy life of doing “fine”

Living on autopilot doesn’t mean you’re miserable. It just means you’re mostly not here. You go through the day reacting instead of really showing up. The tiredness creeps in without a clear reason. There’s a kind of craving in the background, but nothing you can name. And the tricky part? It all seems perfectly normal. People around you are doing the same. The same morning coffee. The same half-hearted conversations. The same hours behind a screen. The same low-key feeling of “is this really it?”

My old life in Dordrecht

I lived in a beautiful old house from 1651, in the center of Dordrecht. Tourists stopped to take pictures and admire it. Inside old part still exists, wooden beams, high windows and a wooden floor as you see in movies about the old days. From the outside it looked like I had everything, and I did. But it didn’t feel as my life, as the life I wanted to live. Sometimes I felt like a ghost in it. I’d wake up and walk through the house without feeling it, stand in the shower without being there, rush through the day, distracted, and fill evenings with noise, food, distraction, anything but stillness. I wasn’t suffering. But I wasn’t living either. That’s what makes autopilot so dangerous. It’s a ‘silent killer’. You don’t realise what it’s costing you until you finally stop.

You don’t need a bus. You just need a pause.

I left that house and bought a bus. That was my version of a wake-up call. But you don’t need to leave your life to start living it. You just need to notice where you’re absent. Start small. Your morning is the perfect place to catch yourself sleepwalking.

Three places autopilot hides

Take the shower. How often are you actually in the shower when you're in the shower? Most people use it as a planning station. What’s next, what’s urgent, what you forgot to do yesterday. Try this instead: feel the water on your back, notice the temperature, the weight, the rhythm, and watch your mind go somewhere, then gently come back. That’s presence. No bells, no incense. Just being there.

Then there’s the coffee or tea. That first sip, are you tasting it, or just fuelling the engine? Pause before the sip. Smell it. Really. Feel it land in your body. No phone. No screen. Just you and the cup. It takes 30 seconds. And it can reset your entire morning.

Or the commute. Train, car, bike, bus — doesn’t matter. It’s dead time for most people. Not for you. Try no music or podcast for one day. Just notice. The people, the sky, your posture, your breath. Notice when you reach for your phone, then don’t. You’re not wasting time. You’re reclaiming it.

What presence is (and isn’t)

Presence doesn’t mean walking around in a blissed-out state whispering namasté to your tea mug. It means showing up. For this breath. This moment. This one task. This one conversation. You don’t have to feel good. You don’t have to love it. You just have to be there for it. That’s it.

Wake-up calls (the quiet kind)

Some moments gently shake you awake. You realise you’re halfway through your meal and haven’t tasted a thing. You hear yourself say “I’m tired” every day without knowing why. You feel more connected to your screen than your body. You forget how you got home. You realise it’s Friday and you barely remember Monday. These are not failures. But it’s an invitation. Small cracks in the surface that let you peek underneath.

What helps?

No app is going to save you. But a few things might help, if you let them. Ask yourself simple questions. Where am I right now? What am I feeling? What am I avoiding? No need to answer right now. But if you want, think about it.

Build anchors into your day. One slow deep breath before you open your laptop. Looking out the window before you pick up your phone. Touching your chest or belly before you speak. Tiny things. But they will bring you back.

And use your body. Your head is full, but your body knows what’s real. Take a cold shower. Lie on the floor. Walk barefoot. Dance for one song. Stretch until you feel something shift. Presence lives in sensation. Get in there.

And when it gets hard?

Because it will. You’ll forget. You’ll fall back into scrolling, rushing, numbing. That’s human. Don’t shame yourself. Don’t “try harder.” Just pause… and start again. This isn’t about doing more. It’s about being here for what’s already happening.

One last thing

If you’re reading this and thinking, “yeah, I know, but my life is busy,” then this blog is for you. You don’t have time not to be present. The moments you’re skipping are your actual life. No course, no goal, no breakthrough is more important than noticing that your coffee is hot. That your shoulders are tense. That you’re here, breathing, right now. You don’t need a new life. You just need to wake up in the one you already have.

With love,
Danny,