“I don’t have time to be ill.”

He said it lightly. Half a smile.

I recognised it because years earlier, I’d said the same thing in different words.

Extra sessions.

Extra teaching.

Extra responsibility.

I called it commitment.

It was always temporary.

Temporary has a way of becoming baseline.

I didn’t notice the small trades I was making. The gym postponed. The evening clinic that ran over. The messages answered at 10:43pm in the blue light of the laptop. Each one felt harmless. Each one was a withdrawal.

I used to think about health as a single line: stay active, drink water and eat healthy.

But life is less linear than that.

Imagine two accounts.

One holds your longevity i.e how long you live.

The other holds your vitality i.e how well you live while you’re here.

I was attentive to the first.

Exercise when possible and avoid junk food.

The second account was slipping into overdraft.

Joy, energy and presence with the person in front of me.

You can extend your life while shrinking the experience of it.

We’re often making that trade without noticing.

If someone offered you ten extra years at the end but bed-bound, dependent, unable to move freely, would you take it?

Many of us are signing that contract in instalments.

The hopeful part is this: vitality compounds.

One protected lunch.

One earlier night.

One honest boundary that feels mildly uncomfortable.

One walk without filling the silence.

Health behaves like compound interest.

Miss one 20-minute walk and nothing changes.

Miss it for ten years and your body keeps the score.

If your vitality were a bank account, what would the last seven days show?

Before your next clinic, take sixty seconds.

Ask yourself:

Am I investing today or withdrawing?

Kind regards,

Erwin