I had to hit the emergency stop button
Sometimes you realise why clichés become clichés. It's not because they’re clever. It's because they’re true.
This week I’ve been ill. Properly ill.
I got shingles last weekend and it hit my right eye.
If you're unlucky, shingles can make you go blind. And my right eye is the only good eye I have left (long story).
So suddenly I’m not thinking about deadlines or workouts or whether I should finally sort out my inbox. I’m thinking about whether or not I'll be blind by next weekend.
And if that happens, how will I entertain you with these newsletters if I can't see to correct the tpyos?
When you go from “busy” to “survival” in the space of a day, it does something to you.
It strips away the performance.
And it forces you to ask: what actually matters when you’re not okay?
The Weird Privilege of Not Noticing Your Health
When you’re healthy, your body is like good Wi-Fi.
You don’t think about it. You just assume it'll work.
You wake up. You move around. You see things. You eat. You sleep. You do your day. You complain about minor inconveniences like a normal person.
Then something breaks.
And suddenly you realise how much your entire life depends on a thousand tiny systems quietly doing their job.
This week, pain has made everything difficult. Not the big things. The boring things.
Like opening my eye.
Like sleeping.
Like reading a book (I can't right now).
Like looking at a screen for more than a few minutes.
Even thinking clearly.
Pain is unbelievably disruptive. It turns your attention into a single spotlight that points at one thing: stop this.
And that’s the part nobody really understands until they’ve experienced it.
You can empathise. You can be kind. You can say “that sounds awful.” But you don’t get it.
Not really.
Which is why, when people say, “Health is everything,” it sounds like the kind of thing printed on a mug.
Until you lose it for a week and realise: oh. Right. That's what they meant.
Experience Is a Terrible Teacher (But We Keep Using It Anyway)
Lying here on the sofa, doing absolutely nothing except trying not to panic about my eye, I've had time to think.
Most of us learn through experience.
We need the mistake. The injury. The breakup. The near miss. The scare.
We need life to hit us in the face before we believe.
And that’s a problem, because some lessons arrive too late.
You see this most clearly with kids.
You tell them things that are statistically, boringly, undeniably true.
“Don’t cross the road without looking.”
“Put your seatbelt on.”
“Don’t do something stupid for a laugh.”
And they nod, half-listening, because the human brain has an incredible ability to believe that reality applies to everyone else.
Teenagers die crossing the road every day.
And yet every teenager thinks: not me.
I didn’t think I’d ever get shingles either. I didn’t even really know what shingles was. I’d heard the word. Filed it under “older people stuff.” Moved on.
So the uncomfortable truth is this:
Knowing something isn’t the same as believing it.
Belief is what changes behaviour.
And belief usually needs emotion.
Which usually needs experience.
Which is… inefficient, to put it politely.
The People Who Win at Life Learn Without Bleeding First
I’ve met a few people in my life who have a rare skill.
They can learn from other people’s experiences without needing to replicate the suffering personally.
They hear a story. They absorb the message. They adjust.
No drama required.
That’s not just wisdom. It’s a superpower.
Because the world is full of free lessons, if you’re willing to take them:
- Someone you know burns out. You notice the warning signs in yourself.
- Someone’s relationship falls apart. You pay attention to how you show up at home.
- Someone gets seriously ill. You stop postponing the basics: rest, boundaries, check-ups, the conversations you keep avoiding.
Most people don’t do this.
Most people nod sympathetically and then go back to their normal patterns. Because normal feels safe. Until it isn’t.
This week has made me ask: what am I currently treating as “not my problem” that absolutely is my problem?
Not in a paranoid way. In a grown-up way.
In the same way you lock your front door. Not because you expect to be robbed today, but because you understand how the world works.
The Hidden Cost of “I’ll Do It Later”
Illness has a brutal way of exposing how much of life runs on the assumption of continuity.
I’ll do it later.
I’ll get fit later.
I’ll rest later.
I’ll call them later.
I’ll sort my finances later.
I’ll deal with that health thing later.
I’ll stop working like this later.
The problem with “later” is that it’s imaginary.
Later is a story you tell yourself so you can stay comfortable today.
And most of the time, it works.
Until a virus shows up and clears your diary for you.
This week I had to cancel everything. Fun things, work things, all of it.
And what shocked me wasn’t the inconvenience. It was the speed at which it all became irrelevant.
When your body is in trouble, your calendar becomes optional.
It turns out the world keeps spinning without your 3pm finance meeting.
Who knew?
Which brings me to a sobering little realisation:
I am not as essential as I thought (or wished).
That’s both humbling and oddly comforting.
So What’s the Lesson (Without Turning This Into a Poster)?
I’ve been trying to turn this into something useful. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?
We want suffering to mean something. We want a neat takeaway. We want the universe to be running some sort of personal development scheme.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes it’s just shingles.
But there are a few things I don’t want to forget when I’m better and my brain inevitably tries to sprint back to normal.
1) Gratitude isn’t a mindset. It’s a contrast.
When you’re well, you don’t feel grateful. You feel neutral.
You only feel grateful when the baseline gets removed.
So maybe the move is to create contrast intentionally, before life does it for you.
Not fake gratitude. Not “I’m thankful for oxygen” nonsense.
Just small acts that remind you the basics are not guaranteed.
2) Your health is the platform. Everything else is an app.
Work. Relationships. Creativity. Parenting. Money. Plans.
None of it runs if the platform crashes.
This week reminded me that health isn’t “one area of life”.
It’s the thing that makes every other area possible.
3) Don’t wait for the lesson to become physical.
If you can learn without bleeding first, do that.
Pay attention to other people’s stories. Not as content. As warnings. As guidance. As free data.
Because experience is an expensive teacher.
What I’m Doing Next Week (Assuming I’m Not Still in Hell)
If you want something practical from this, here are a few actions I’m taking, and you can steal them.
1) Do a “health admin” sweep
Not extreme. Not obsessive. Just adult.
- Book the appointment you’ve been postponing.
- Refill the prescription before it becomes urgent.
- Get your eyes / teeth / whatever checked if it’s been ages.
- If you’re eligible for vaccines you’ve ignored, ask your GP about them.
(No heroics. Just maintenance.)
2) Cancel one optional thing before your body does it for you
Pick one commitment that exists purely because you didn’t want to disappoint someone.
Reschedule it. Pause it. Drop it.
See what happens.
3) Tell one person the truth about how you’re doing
Not “busy.”
Not “fine.”
Not the highlight reel.
Just one honest sentence to someone safe.
Because when you’re ill, you realise how much you need other people. And it’s better to build that habit now, while you still can.
4) Teach your kids the boring stuff again
Roads. Bikes. Alcohol. Phones. Sleep. Friends.
They won’t listen.
Do it anyway.
You’re playing the long game.
If you’re reading this while healthy, congratulations. That’s not sarcasm. That’s genuinely good news.
And if you’re reading this while unwell: I’m with you. This week has been brutal. I wouldn’t recommend it.
But I will say this: when you get back to “normal”, don’t rush past the clarity.
It’s rare.
And it’s useful.
Until next time,
Jon "Pain Meds Are Great" Kaye
Choosing to live more deliberately