A year ago, everything was loud.

A life-changing health condition. A recent big career change. Meds that messed with my body and my mood. And under all of it, a quiet but relentless question:

“Can I actually do this?”

I still don’t know, to be honest. But I’m trying. A fundamental truth I now realise has always been there.

This isn’t a post about having it all figured out. Or some sort of triumphant declaration of victory over adversity. It’s about learning to live inside the mess, to steer instead of drift, and to keep showing up anyway.

Health: From Problem to Priority

Twelve months ago, I was learning how to live with cardiac sarcoidosis, an implanted ICD, and meds that affect everything from my sleep to my emotional stability with a side serving of keeping me alive. At times it really did feel that way around.

For a while, it felt like my body was actively working against me. To some extent it was/is, but now, it feels more like we’re trying to understand each other. Some small but meaningful progress has come from having:

• Built a daily rhythm around food I can eat and trust to support my health
• Committed to strength and mobility training I can sustain
• Managing medication and tracking the shifts in energy, sleep, and mood
• Starting to accept that fatigue isn’t a failure — it’s a signal to monitor
• Accepted these medications are always part of my life now, but they keep me safe and I can manage the side effects

I still get it wrong. There are weeks where everything derails. But I keep coming back. That’s the practice now.

Gratitude: Not Just After the Storm

This year cracked me open a bit. Which isn’t as terrible as it sounds. 

I used to feel grateful when things went well, but now I’m learning to feel grateful even when things are going sideways.

This isn’t about forcing positive vibes or being overly optimistic; it’s about possessing a quiet, “even this matters” perspective. I can’t emphasise how different living this is from simply knowing it intellectually. I’m not convinced this is even a teachable skill. I’ve tried to approach this proactively in the past, but it hasn’t sunk in. To me, truly living this seems to be born of a deeply personal experience alone.

I notice:

• The way Anna keeps the family orbit steady, even when I’m not at my best. I couldn’t be more grateful for our relationship. It’s hard to overstate how special Anna is to me. She makes me want to be a better man to rise to her example.
• The kids — in big and small ways. Seeing them growing into themselves and finding what makes their wheels really spin. Even something as simple as hearing them laughing in the next room while I lie on the couch, totally wrecked. They are just beautiful beyond description.
• A broader sense of compassion and forgiveness toward myself and the people throughout my life. We all struggle to be our best all the time. With time and reflection, it’s clear no one’s trying to wrong you. They’re either hurting or unskilled — either way, they need your help.
• The “warmth” I get from close friends and family. Even people I haven’t seen for years who literally live on the other side of the world. Their smiles are somehow always here.
• That I still get another day to do things better — or at least differently.

Gratitude, for me, has become less about perspective and more about presence.

Age: The Cogs Are More Visible Now

I’m at an age where I can see the machinery of life more clearly.

I see how easy it is to drift, to let your time get filled with other people’s priorities. I see the trade-offs more plainly, the way saying yes to one thing means saying no to something else. Medication-induced fatigue makes these trade-offs blinding obvious.

I’m not just riding the rails anymore. I’m starting to design the track — slowly, imperfectly, but consciously. That feels like being awake for the first time.

Autonomy: Taking Back a Little Bit of Time

For a long time, I felt like life was happening to me. In part, this was because of necessity, but if I’m honest with myself, it was largely because I wasn’t mindful of the impacts of always “going the extra mile” for everyone and everything. As a past friend and co-worker once put it, I was “too generous with my time”. I see that now.

This year, I tried to reclaim just a bit of space — a bit of me.

• I protect 20 minutes each morning just for coffee and quiet thinking time.
• I exercise to care for myself.
• I say “no” to things that aren’t mine to carry. This continues to be one of my bigger challenges, but seeing it is half the battle.
• I recognise my health has transformed what “pushing myself” means. These days, it’s far more about actively managing my energy so I’m present when it matters most.

If I were giving my younger self some advice in this area, I think I would simply say these two things.

1. Taking time for yourself isn’t selfish — it provides the world the best version of you.
2. Give yourself permission to matter in your own day, every day.

Of course, all this is still messy. Still hard. Still something I’m learning. But I’m getting there.

I think it’s important to end by saying the truest thing. This isn’t a victory lap. It’s just a check-in. A marker on the track. However, for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing a caricature of a good life — I’m constantly shaping my own very real one — warts and all. At least attempting to; really, that’s all any of us need to do.