Most days don’t begin with intention.
They begin on autopilot.

I wake up and start doing things my body knows by heart. Brush my teeth. Shower. Make the bed. The routine runs itself while my brain is still loading. It’s efficient. It’s impressive. It’s also a little funny, because I’m technically awake but not fully here yet.

It feels like a plane cruising steadily, systems humming along, no one touching the controls. Everything’s working. No turbulence. Just… flying.

I’m up.
The day is moving.
I’m not exactly in charge yet.

Then, somewhere along the way, awareness shows up.

It doesn’t knock. It doesn’t announce itself. Sometimes it just arrives. The sunlight feels warmer than it did a moment ago. Colors sharpen. I notice my coffee tastes better than the first sip did. That’s usually when I realize I’ve shifted from doing things automatically to actually choosing them.

That’s the moment I go from being awake to being aware.

And it doesn’t only happen in the morning.
It happens all day long.

It shows up after the first stretch of work, when your brain suddenly opens every tab at once. In the space between conversations. On a walk where your body keeps moving but your mind jumps three hours ahead. In those pauses where everything slows just enough for a single thought to surface.

Okay. What now?

Awareness is powerful. It drops you fully into the present. But when it flips on too fast, it can feel like someone turned the lights on too bright. Suddenly every sound is louder. Every thought wants airtime. Every decision feels urgent, even when nothing is actually wrong.

That’s the moment awareness stops feeling grounding and starts feeling like pressure.

There’s a reason for this. Awareness runs through the part of the brain that plans, prioritizes, and decides what matters next. It relies on a delicate chemical balance to keep things moving smoothly. When that balance is off, motivation turns into restlessness. Focus sharpens until it feels like tension. The body releases stress hormones just in case something needs immediate attention… even when it doesn’t.

The system isn’t broken.
It’s just doing too much at once.

That’s why awareness needs guidance. Left alone, it can turn into overthinking. Into scanning. Into the feeling that everything needs your attention at once. But when awareness is regulated, those same systems work together. Focus steadies. The body softens. Decisions feel clearer. You’re present without being braced.

Somewhere between drifting on autopilot and gripping the controls too tightly is where I feel best. Present, but relaxed. Engaged, but not wound up.

That’s cruising altitude.

It’s also the moment you become the pilot of your own plane. Not by micromanaging every system or fighting the air around you, but by placing your hands on the controls and choosing direction. Deciding where your attention goes. What deserves energy. What can wait.

I try to prepare for that moment before the day fully takes off. Small things. Clothes laid out. A loose plan for meals. A little extra time in the morning in case my dog decides today is a stop and smell every single rose kind of day. That way I’m not watching the clock or feeling behind. I can let him linger. I can linger too.

Everyday life pulls us toward extremes. Either we stay on autopilot too long, moving through the day half-present, or we tighten our grip and try to control everything at once. Responsibilities, expectations, and constant input make it easy to forget ourselves somewhere in the middle.

But just like they tell you on airplanes, you have to put your own oxygen mask on first. Not because anything else matters less, but because you can’t guide anything if you’re already overwhelmed.

Letting the day unfold doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means staying aware enough to notice when you’re drifting and calm enough to guide yourself back. Taking the controls without gripping them. Trusting that you don’t need to monitor every system to keep moving forward.

When awareness is steady, the body follows. The mind clears. The day becomes something you’re part of, not something you’re chasing.

Maybe that’s what cruising altitude really is.
Not constant effort.
Not total rest.
Just a balanced awareness that carries you smoothly through whatever the day brings