When the World Came Alive

Meaning and the pursuit of the unrestricted desire to know

I remember stepping out of the COG, Gonzaga University's bustling student center and dining hall, on an ordinary afternoon between classes sometime in the autumn of 2006. The moment I pushed open the heavy glass door and walked outside, something felt different. The campus courtyard stretched before me as it always did, but now it seemed startlingly strange and new. The trees lining the walkway were not just background scenery anymore – they swayed and shimmered as if alive, each leaf and branch humming with an unseen energy. The neatly trimmed hedges and patches of grass appeared to glow with an inner light. Even the concrete path under my feet seemed to thrum in quiet harmony, as though the very ground could sing.

And the people passing by on their way to class… they looked like walking flames of light. Every student and professor carried a kind of gentle radiance, as if a candle burned at their core, flickering just beneath the surface.

I stopped in my tracks, wide-eyed and disoriented. For a split second, I wondered if I was hallucinating or maybe just light-headed from a long study session. I blinked hard, but the vividness remained. It felt like stepping into a dream while fully awake. I could hear no actual music, yet it seemed the whole world around me was singing in a silent chorus. I felt both astonished and oddly calm at the same time – disoriented by the sheer strangeness of it all, yet clarified by a profound insight that I couldn’t put into words just yet. In that moment, it was as if the fabric of reality flexed, responding to something deep inside me. I had been wrestling with big questions about life and meaning that day (#philosophymajor), letting my mind wander freely in its unrestricted desire to know – and now it was as though reality itself was answering me, revealing that it was alive and responsive to my longing to understand.

My heart pounded with a mix of fear and wonder. As I took a few cautious steps forward, everything around me continued to glow and resonate with life. It was bizarre, absolutely nothing like my everyday perception, yet in a strange way, it all made sense. I felt as though I was seeing a hidden layer of the world, a layer where everything is interconnected and vibrantly alive. The experience was unsettling because it upended my normal sense of reality, but it was also clarifying. It was as if some veil had been lifted, and I was briefly shown that the world is far more dynamic and meaningful than I had assumed. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but I sensed that this moment was showing me something crucial: that my very desire to know, my honest and unrestricted curiosity, had the power to illuminate the world around me. In other words, I was discovering that knowing is not a passive seeing of a dull world – it’s a participation, a lively relationship between myself and reality.

I eventually collected myself and continued on my way, feeling like I was walking in two worlds at once: the familiar campus of brick buildings and students, and another, more luminous realm swirling in eddies within and throughout. By the time I reached my next class, the glow had faded back to normal. The trees were just trees again, the concrete just concrete. People looked ordinary once more. I might have been tempted to dismiss the whole thing as a daydream or a trick of the light. But I couldn’t shake the impact of what I had seen and felt. Somehow, I knew this was more than a momentary flash. It was a clue – a hint that beneath the surface of our everyday experience, something profound is going on when we truly yearn to understand.

The Unrestricted Desire to Know

Only later did I find the words to describe what I experienced that day. In retrospect, I see that afternoon as the first time I really felt the full force of the unrestricted desire to know – that boundless drive to understand that lives in each of us. This is the pure, insatiable curiosity that had fueled my questions and studies all along, though I hadn’t always recognized it. On that Gonzaga afternoon, my mind had been wide open, eagerly reaching for truth without holding back. And in that openness, it was as though the world opened up too. I had stumbled upon a hidden dynamic of knowing: when we truly, wholeheartedly pursue our desire to know, we engage more deeply with reality, and reality in turn yields to our questioning. My sudden vision of a world alive and aglow was a dramatic illustration of this. It was as if my intense curiosity – my unrestricted desire to know – acted like a light, and the world lit up in response, revealing facets of itself I’d never seen.

This realization unveiled something profound about the act of knowing itself. I began to understand that knowing isn’t a one-way street where we simply collect facts from an unchanging world. Instead, it’s more like a relationship. My mind isn’t just a passive observer; it’s an active participant that reaches out to reality with questions, hopes, and an openness to insight. And reality, for its part, isn’t just dead matter waiting to be looked at – it has an invitation to it, a depth that responds when engaged with genuine curiosity. In that strange moment outside the COG, I caught a glimpse of this two-way interplay. I realized I carried within me a capacity for insight far greater than I knew – an ability to see meaning and connections that aren’t obvious at first glance. That afternoon, the hidden dynamics of knowing were briefly made visible: my desire to understand met the world’s inherent intelligibility, and sparks flew.

A Startling Reorientation

That spark on the Gonzaga campus marked the beginning of a journey – what I now recognize as the start of an intellectual conversion. At the time, I wouldn’t have known to call it that, but essentially it was a startling reorientation toward reality itself. My whole way of understanding the world, and understanding myself, began to shift. I realized that if the world could feel alive and responsive when I approached it with pure wonder, then I needed to rethink how I was approaching learning and truth in the first place.

This meant looking inward to understand how my own mind works when I seek to know. I started to pay attention to my questions, insights, and assumptions. I saw that understanding my own cognitive operations – basically, how I form insights and judgments – demands being authentic and faithful to that drive for truth. In other words, I had to commit to being completely honest with myself in my pursuit of knowledge. No more asking questions just to seem smart or settling for easy answers because they were convenient. I felt a new responsibility to honor that unrestricted desire to know burning inside me. I understood that authentic inquiry – really listening to my curiosity and following where it leads – is not just an academic exercise, but a way of aligning myself with reality.

This reorientation was both exciting and challenging. On one hand, it was liberating to acknowledge how much I longed for real understanding – to finally give that longing the respect it deserved. On the other hand, it meant living up to it. It’s one thing to glimpse a world of brilliant light and insight; it’s another to integrate that vision into everyday life. I knew I could no longer take knowledge for granted or treat learning as a mere means to an end (like getting a grade or winning an argument). Instead, I felt called to approach everything – from my studies to my relationships – with a kind of humble, persistent openness. This was the core of my intellectual conversion: a commitment to seek truth authentically, to let my questions run free, and to trust that by doing so, I’m somehow in harmony with a living, intelligible world.

Living and Leading in a New Light

That moment of awakening didn’t just stay in the realm of ideas; it changed how I live day to day. Over time, my priorities and habits shifted in light of this new understanding. The intellectual conversion became a practical conversion as well. It might sound abstract, but it led to very real changes in how I approach my work, my relationships, and my decisions. In fact, it’s fair to say that almost every aspect of my life – how I live, how I lead, and how I make decisions – was gradually reoriented by that experience. For example:

• In daily life, I became more present and curious. Rather than rushing past the world around me, I try to pay attention and ask questions. Whether I’m reading a book, chatting with a friend, or just walking under those same trees, I remember that there is always more to discover if I remain open. This makes even ordinary moments feel richer and more meaningful.

• In leadership, I started to encourage the pursuit of understanding in others too. I’ve found myself listening more intently to my colleagues and team members, and asking questions instead of just giving instructions. I know now that good ideas and insights can come from anywhere, and that part of leading well is creating space for curiosity. I no longer see myself as someone who needs to have all the answers; instead, I focus on guiding conversations that help everyone get to the heart of the matter. This shift has made me a more patient and empathetic leader.

• In decision-making, I’ve learned to slow down and seek insight before jumping to conclusions. That day on campus taught me that clarity comes from really engaging with the questions at hand. So, when faced with a tough decision – whether personal or professional – I resist the urge to choose the quickest, most straightforward answer. I’ll dig a little deeper, consider different angles, and trust that a better understanding will lead to a better decision. It’s not overthinking; it’s respecting the complexity of reality and having faith that my desire to know will light the way to the right choice.

All of these changes trace back to that strange, wonderful afternoon when the world seemed to come alive. I wouldn’t be who I am today without that experience. It was a moment that took me apart and put me back together in a new orientation toward truth. Even though I don’t walk around seeing glowing trees and radiant people all the time (though the experience still happens often), the memory of that vision stays with me. It reminds me, especially in moments of doubt or routine, that the world is much more alive and responsive than it often appears. When I honor my own unrestricted desire to know, I’m tapping into something real and powerful – a connection to the underlying intelligibility of the world.

In the end, that fleeting glimpse of a luminous campus was the beginning of a lasting conversion. It set me on a path of continuous wonder and inquiry. And it affirmed something I now hold deeply: if we seek truth with a genuinely open heart and mind, the very act of seeking can transform our reality. The world can come alive in response to our curiosity. Our own minds can light up with insight. And in that Light, we see light. We find ourselves living, leading, and deciding with a clarity that once seemed out of reach. In my case, it all began on that day at Gonzaga – a day when, for a moment, reality sang back to me, and I started listening in earnest.