I came across an idea the other day that really stuck with me. It was simple, but powerful.
Having multiple problems is actually a gift.
At first, that sounds ridiculous. Most of us spend a good chunk of our lives trying to reduce problems, avoid challenges, and create something that feels a little more settled. But the point being made was this: if you lose your health, or if your body breaks down, then suddenly that is the only problem you have. Everything else falls away. None of the other stuff matters the same way anymore.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized there is a lot of truth in that.
I have been lucky, or unlucky, enough in my life to deal with a few major injuries from sports. None of them were life threatening, thank God, but they were the kind of injuries that set you back for months and force you to think differently.
The first one happened in college. We were playing Fitchburg State on the quad, that big grass field right in the middle of campus. It was homecoming, and somewhere around midfield, the goalie punted a ball toward the sideline. Another player and I went up for it. We collided in the air, I started to spin, and when I came down, I landed wrong. Instead of landing on two feet, I came down on one, and my knee buckled.
I still remember the crackles and the pops.
I remember hitting the ground, rolling over, and grabbing my knee in pain. Later, after surgery, when I was back around the team on crutches, my coach asked if I wanted to watch the VHS tape of the play. Of course I did. The first time through, it was from far enough away that you could not see much detail, but it didn’t matter. What hit me immediately was how fast life can change.
One second, I felt strong, fast, ready for the best season I had ever had. The next second, everything was different.
All the challenges I thought I had at the time- classes, relationships, decisions, stress, whatever felt heavy to a college kid - disappeared in an instant. I did not care about my 8 a.m. class the next day. I did not care how I was doing academically. I did not care about late-night milkshakes with the guys or any of the normal college rhythm that had seemed so important just hours earlier.
I only cared about one thing.
Would I walk again normally?
Would I run again?
Would I play again?
That was it.
At the time, I did not understand the lesson. I was just trying to get through it. My focus was narrow and selfish, honestly. I wanted to get better. I wanted to get back on the soccer field. That was all I could see.
But as I got older, I started to realize that injury gave me something I would not have had otherwise. It changed me. It gave me perspective. It helped me understand people who were hurting, recovering, or struggling in a way I could not have understood before. It gave me a frame of reference for pain, setback, fear, and uncertainty. It made me more empathetic. It made me a better mentor. It made me more aware that what feels like a disaster in one season of life can later become one of your better teachers.
Then, years later, I was taught that lesson all over again.
I was out playing soccer with my son and some local guys on the turf. We were just messing around, and after about 45 minutes, I stepped forward and felt what I can only describe as someone shooting me in the back of the leg. I honestly thought my son had run up behind me and kicked me hard right in the calf.
He had not.
My Achilles had snapped.
People say that when it happens, there is not much pain. I completely disagree. There was plenty of pain. First, the problem was getting off the field. Then it was getting to the car. Then it became obvious thatI was not driving home. I believe my son only had his permit at the time and was not really driving much, but he drove us home while I laid there trying to make sense of what had just happened.
And once again, all the other problems in my life disappeared.
I had a business to grow. I had people in our company to lead and mentor. I had clients to serve. I had a son in college whose games I wanted to get to. I had family responsibilities. I had all the normal pressures and moving parts of a full life.
Then, all at once, I only had one problem.
Get to a doctor.
Figure out what happened.
Fix the leg.
Recover.
That was the lesson again.
All those things I had called problems before were actually signs of life. They were signs that I was healthy enough to carry responsibility, strong enough to be stretched, and blessed enough to have people, work, goals, and opportunities that demanded something from me.
That does not mean pain is good.
That does not mean struggle is fun.
That does not mean health challenges are somehow easy or romantic.
It just means perspective matters.
When your health is taken away, even temporarily, everything else gets rearranged in a hurry. The things that felt overwhelming suddenly look small. The things that annoyed you no longer seem worth your energy. You realize very quickly that if you do not have your health, you do not have much of anything.
So maybe the lesson is this: if you are carrying a bunch of problems right now, good. That might mean you have work to do, people to care for, places to go, decisions to make, and responsibilities to carry. It might mean life is full. It might mean you are in the middle of building something. It might mean you are healthy enough to wrestle with the ordinary burdens of a meaningful life.
And that is a gift.
So today, instead of resenting every problem, maybe try looking at them a little differently. Raise the challenges, the struggles, and the opportunities in front of you as reminders that you are still in the game. You are still moving. You are still able.
Because when your health goes, everything else gets very quiet.
Until then, having multiple problems may be one of the clearest signs that you still have a whole lot to be thankful for.