Three weeks ago, I celebrated the 6th anniversary of my sudden cardiac arrest.
For those who have followed my blog from the beginning, you know that the first years of my second life were not easy. Actually, they were very hard. Physically, mentally, emotionally… and not only for me, but also for the people closest to me.
A sudden cardiac arrest does not end when the ambulance leaves, when you leave the hospital, or when the doctors tell you that you were “lucky”. In many ways, that is only when the real journey starts.
Since that day, I have been given more than 2200 extra days.
That sentence still feels strange to write.
2200 days that were not guaranteed. 2200 mornings I could wake up again. 2200 chances to see the sun rise, drink a coffee, go for a walk, hold a hand, laugh, be quiet, worry, recover, learn, and simply be here.
The first part of those extra days was mostly survival. Trying to understand what had happened. Trying to accept that my heart had stopped for 19 minutes. Trying to live with the fear that it could happen again. Trying to get used to medication, check-ups, an ICD in my body, and a mind that no longer reacted the way it did before.
But fortunately, I can now say that things have settled.
Not because everything is back to how it was before. It is not. And it will probably never be. But because I have found a new rhythm of life.
Over the last 1500 days or so, I have slowly learned to appreciate life again. Not in a loud or dramatic way, but in a calmer, more intentional way. I have learned to live with more gratitude. I have learned to slow down. I have learned to protect my energy. I have learned that peace is not something that just happens. Sometimes, you have to design your life around it.
One of the most important things I learned is how important it is to say “no”.
And I say it more often than I want to.
No to opportunities.
No to meetings.
No to pressure.
No to things that would have excited the old me.
No to things that look harmless from the outside, but that I know are not harmless for me.
That is not always easy. Sometimes it feels selfish. Sometimes it feels like disappointing people. Sometimes it feels like I am closing doors.
But I know my limits now.
Even more importantly, I know what can happen when you ignore them.
I know what stress can do when you accept it as normal. I know what can happen when you stay in autopilot mode too long. When you keep running in the hamster wheel because everybody else is running too. When “busy” becomes a badge of honour. When exhaustion becomes proof that you are doing well.
I see it almost daily in my interactions with former colleagues, friends, and people I meet professionally and privately.
I see the stress in their eyes. I hear it in the way they talk. I feel it in the constant urgency. The full agendas. The endless calls. The need to always be reachable, always productive, always one step ahead.
And very often, when I gently reflect that back to them, I get the same reaction.
“Yes, but you are fortunate.”
“You can slow down, not me.”
“I have family responsibilities.”
“I have financial obligations.”
“This is just how it is.”
“I will slow down later.”
I understand that reaction very well.
Because I was the same.
I also thought I had good reasons. I also thought stress was part of the deal. I also thought I could handle it. I also thought that slowing down was something for later, for retirement, for people with fewer responsibilities, or for people who were less ambitious.
But I was wrong.
I was not strong. I was running at 200 km/h against a wall.
It took a hard lesson and a high price to open my eyes.
I do not write this because I have all the answers. I really do not. Everybody’s situation is different. Everybody has responsibilities. Everybody has things they cannot simply walk away from.
But if I could go back to my first half century, I would do some things differently.
I would take stress more seriously.
I would listen to my body earlier.
I would stop confusing pressure with purpose.
I would not wait for life to force me to slow down.
I would say “no” sooner.
I would protect my peace with less guilt.
When I now see business gurus talking about getting the maximum out of everything, waking up at 5am to beat the rest, never slowing down, never retiring, never switching off… it gives me the chills.
I also had my period of joining the 5am club.
The early bird gets the worm. Start your day at 5 and you are ahead of 85% of the rest. Push harder. Do more. Use every minute. Optimise everything.
Maybe some of it works.
Maybe it does put you ahead.
But ahead of what?
If it slowly destroys your health, if it makes you obsessed with success, if it turns life into a permanent race, then maybe the problem is not that you are not disciplined enough. Maybe the problem is that your priorities are no longer right.
I am not against ambition. I am not against work. I am not against doing meaningful things. I still like to contribute. I still like to help. I still enjoy using my experience where it can be useful.
But I no longer want to pay for success with my health.
That price is too high.
So, to anyone who recognises something in this, I would simply ask: reflect on it a little.
Not later. Not when things calm down. Not when the next project is finished. Not when the mortgage is paid. Not when the children are older. Not when retirement comes.
Now.
And please do not say what I probably would have said before my incident:
“It will not happen to me.”
Because it does happen.
It happens to people who are successful. It happens to people who look healthy. It happens to people who are still young enough to think they have plenty of time. It happens to people who believe they are in control.
I was one of them.
Six years later, I am grateful to still be here. Grateful for those 2200 extra days. Grateful that the last 1500 of them were no longer just about surviving, but about slowly learning how to live again.
A quieter life.
A slower life.
A more intentional life.
Not perfect.
But mine.
And for that, I am deeply grateful.
