I used to roll my eyes at those “near-death experience” stories — you know, the usual “seize the day,” “be happy,” “life’s too short to wait” clichés. It all sounded so empty, so boring, so easy.
I didn’t listen. I even looked down on them a bit.
Then illness came knocking — not some minor thing, but the kind that sticks around, the one you can’t ignore, the one that follows you like a shadow.
At last, I see clearly.
They spoke with undeniable wisdom.
Grasp the present with intention.
Allow happiness to take root.
Shed the weight of needless worries — time slips away.
Tend to the soul’s quiet needs.
Hold fast to what is essential.
But it’s not about a sudden epiphany or some romantic awakening. It’s a slow, relentless stripping away of illusions — the comforts, the distractions, the trivial pursuits that fill our days but leave us empty. It’s a confrontation with finitude, yes, but also with the subtle architecture of meaning itself.
In facing the fragility of our existence, we learn to question what deserves our attention, our care, our devotion. We realize that happiness isn’t some fleeting spark, but a quiet cultivation — an ethical project of presence, of connection, of honesty with ourselves.
This is no easy path. It demands courage to face the void without flinching, to bear the weight of solitude and uncertainty. Yet, within this challenge lies the possibility of a life truly lived — not as a rehearsed performance, but as a genuine encounter with being.
And this is where therapy can help. Therapy offers a space to face these truths with guidance and support. It helps us navigate the shadows, untangle the knots within our minds, and rediscover our authentic selves. Through therapy, the journey from illness or crisis to meaning and healing becomes possible.
So maybe those clichés aren’t clichés after all. Maybe they are the whispered wisdom of those who’ve dared to look death in the eye and chosen to live, fiercely and fully, in spite of it.