I recently found myself at a mountain rave in Switzerland. Not because I had carefully planned it, no. Life simply opened a little side quest, handed me a free ticket, and said, “Go touch grass. Or in this case, alpine snow.”
Ironically, I had actually wanted to go there two years ago. Back when I was… let’s say… a slightly different version of myself. A more chaos-tolerant edition.
This year the opportunity appeared and I said yes, partly for the atmosphere, partly for fun, but mostly because I wanted to be close to Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau. The holy trinity of mountains that once made me cry on a plane like someone had just played the emotional climax of a movie inside my chest. Even when I see them from Bern on a clear day? Tears. Immediate.
So yes, I went. Mountain rave. Deep house, apparently? Observation field trip. And it was beautiful.
But here’s the funny part about personal evolution: sometimes you arrive somewhere and realize your soul RSVP’d differently than your curiosity did. Being in a huge crowd with thousands of people all running their own emotional operating systems… let’s just say my nervous system filed a quiet complaint.
Nothing dramatic. Just a subtle internal message like: “Hi. This environment is… a lot.”
Luckily, there were sun chairs. Which meant we could spend most of the day sitting, observing, people-watching like a spiritually curious anthropologist. Honestly? That part was delightful.
The real highlight, though, was when I somehow ended up on a helicopter flying close to the North Face of Eiger and circling around Jungfrau. And before you ask: no, I did not plan that either.
That’s the thing about hanging out with a spontaneous Aries. They simply wake up one morning and decide gravity and logistics are optional. I admire that quality deeply.
The flight happened so quickly my brain barely processed it. One moment I was on the ground at a rave, the next I was hovering next to glaciers like a confused mountain fairy. Truly a day.
But the moment that stayed with me most happened later. Toward sunset, when the music was still going and the crowd was still dancing, I quietly wandered away to a viewpoint. I found a small patch of earth where the snow had melted, sat down near the cliff, and just… watched the sun go down, away from everyone.
The music echoed softly from the distance. The mountains were glowing, a little Sahara dust in the air. And for the first time that day, my system exhaled.
That was the moment I felt like myself again. The day itself was wonderful: great energy, great people, beautiful scenery. I felt lucky to experience it.
But it also taught me something important. My soul has limits now. And sometimes it says no to things that are objectively great. Not because they’re bad. Not because they’re wrong. Just because they’re no longer aligned with my frequency.
So the next day I did what every sensitive person eventually learns to do after overstimulation: nervous system repair. Quiet. Nature. Slower rhythm. Letting my energy climb back to that sweet, calm place I’ve grown to love.
Because when my frequency drops too low, my old software sometimes tries to reboot. Overthinking. Restlessness. That familiar mental hamster wheel that believes everything must be solved immediately.
The difference now is awareness. I can see the pattern appear… and gently close the tab before it takes over the whole browser.
And that realization led me to something surprisingly freeing: In this phase of my life – where surrender, calmness, balance, and inner peace are kind of the main characters – I simply don’t want to operate from my old frequency anymore.
Which means some preferences are changing. Where I once loved crowded raves, I might now prefer ecstatic dance or quieter gatherings. Where busy loud bars once felt okay, I might now crave forests and lakes even more than before. Where adrenaline used to be the thrill, now it’s connection and flow.
And the funny thing is, once you taste that kind of soulful peace, you don’t actually miss the old chaos, at least not at this point in my life. Maybe there will be a point where I will be able to keep the soulful peace in chaos. Right now, I just have the tool to go back to the sweet spot as quickly as I can.
You just notice the difference. Alignment feels like breathing clean mountain air after being in a loud room for hours. And once your system recognizes that feeling, it becomes very difficult to pretend you prefer the noise.
Which, I’ve learned, is completely okay. Change is not betrayal of who you were. Sometimes it’s simply proof that your soul is finally getting a turn to drive.
Good Feelings Club 
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