My hike around Devil’s Tower National Monument in Wyoming was coming to an end. The 1.3-mile Tower Trail meanders around the massive stone pillar that rises 1,267 feet above the Belle Fourche River. Orange construction netting lined the trail as it neared a parking area—not a pretty sight compared to the Tower behind me.

And then I saw him. Lots of people everywhere, but for just a moment, there was only this guy in front of me. He looked to be in his 20s with curly brown hair and fair skin. He wore blue shorts, a gray t-shirt and had a large physique. One hand held a phone and the other a brochure. Pretty ordinary guy, but two things grabbed my attention: his gait and the large slogan on the back of his tee.

He walked quickly, with confidence and a spring in his step. Joy seemed to radiate from the way he carried himself. Not wanting to forget that slogan, I pulled my phone from my pocket, ran up behind him, then took photos of him and his shirt. Creepy, maybe, but I did it, and he never knew it. I wanted to spin him around and tell him so many things, but I didn’t. Being much older than him, I mainly wanted to encourage him to continue living out what was written across his shirt: Go Where You Feel Most Alive. That appeared to be exactly what he was doing. He was in beautiful Wyoming and visiting a geological wonder that is steeped in Native American tradition. Much planning and effort goes into visiting Devil’s Tower because of its remote location, so I can only conclude by his holistic joy that he did indeed go where he felt most alive: the beautiful and majestic outdoors.

And then there was Connie. The year was 2008.

The trim, older lady with short gray hair wore a brown jogging suit and white t-shirt that read, “Go in the Snow.” She stood alone as she waited to board a plane to Gunnison, Colorado at DFW airport. My husband and I, too, waited to board that same 757 for a week-long ski trip at Crested Butte. With one carry-on bag, a black fanny pack and a baby blue ski jacket, she exuded an aura of peace, yet also a sense of confidence. Her body language defined contentment, and her very existence emitted a relaxed manner.

Later, as we boarded the plane and approached our seats, I was excited to see that she had boarded before us and was loading her bag in the overhead bin above our seats. The three of us were going to sit together and this was my chance to meet her. She radiated a positive uniqueness and I wanted to find out what produced it.

At age 77, Connie was also on her way to ski at Crested Butte. She didn’t learn to ski until she was 50, after her second husband died and the four kids she’d raised as a single mom were grown. Discovering how much she loved the sport, she’d joined a group for those 50 and over who enjoyed travel and participated in like-minded activities. Crested Butte was the last stop in a travel stint that had begun three weeks earlier in her hometown near Chicago. She was meeting group members in Gunnison to a ski for a week before returning home. The next month’s ski destination was Steamboat Springs.

Connie described her world travels to us in precise detail. One time she’d eaten grubs skewered on a stick and roasted over an outdoor fire in a remote country. “I wanted to experience what was indigenous to the people,” she said.

By the end of the flight, my husband and I weren’t so mesmerized by Connie’s adventures as by her passion for life. She didn’t just dream dreams, but acted upon them, living every day as if it were her last—not recklessly, but with appreciation for God’s gift of life. Her life wasn’t problem free, and yet her eyes sparkled at the chance to arise each day. She wrapped her existence around the triune God via the Catholic faith, then dove into life with unbridled tenacity. Connie refused to be defined by the limitations of excuses, least of all age.

Three days later, as my husband and I waited at a local bus stop for a ride to the Nordic center, I heard a familiar voice. I turned and saw that blue jacket. Not recognizing us in ski attire, Connie walked by with a group headed to the lifts. I didn’t call out—I couldn’t bear to interrupt her exuberant conversation.

That wasn’t our last encounter with her on the trip and I now regret that I didn’t get her contact information.

She was 77 years old in 2008. I don’t know if she’s still alive, but I do know one thing for sure about her. Like the guy at Devil’s Tower, she went where she felt most alive. They both carried themselves with confidence and brimmed with joy and contentment. Apparently, they both felt most alive in the majestic outdoors because they both spent time there.

I, too, feel most alive when I’m outdoors, especially in the wilderness. Hiking, breathing in fresh air, and communing with nature centers me. Every morning, regardless of the weather, I roll out of bed before dawn. I pour myself a large coffee, then sit on the upper back porch to pray and meditate in the dark. I wake up and come alive connecting to God and making plans to be a better version of myself. Every day I either stretch and workout with weights or do some type of aerobic activity. The exercise makes me feel mentally, physically and spiritual better. I most especially love to wakeboard, and last September I boarded 26.2 miles—the distance of a marathon—without dropping. I was so stoked by the experience that I did it again two weeks later. At the age of 62. When I dropped the rope after accomplishing each of those runs and sunk slowly into the lake, every single cell within me was alive with exhilaration. I was high on life.

So, I encourage you to go where you feel most alive and do what brings you joy. Maybe it’s the outdoors, but maybe it’s making music, painting on an easel or singing in a choir. Maybe it’s teaching ballet, writing novels or practicing yoga. Whatever it is, go do it. Come alive, then use that positive energy, confidence and peace for the greater good of the world around you.

The words of Howard Thurman say it best:

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”