YOLO

You. Only. Live. Once.

Part 1

It’s a simple little phrase. We’ll all say it at one time or another – at least those of us who don’t believe in some form of reincarnation. We try to live by it. And when you’ve come so close to the rest of your life being yanked unceremoniously away from you, like me, suddenly this little phrase seems even more important. Right?

When I was in hospital, my brain gradually starting to function again, the impact of what had happened to me (and just how close I’d come to not having more time) started to sink in.

Suddenly my world seemed limitless, even though I was still confined to those four solid walls of my hospital room. It was full of opportunity unhindered by my previous (mostly) self-inflicted limitations. Things that had seemed so vitally important to me became meaningless.

I promised myself that I’d live more. Do more. Experience more. Take more risks. Not wait for a tomorrow that might never come. And to heck with the money. The clock was ticking and the time I had left was unknown, but definitely finite. How much could I fit in?

I asked Kim to bring me a notebook and pen so that I could write things down. I needed to make sure that ideas didn’t get forgotten, especially when my memory was so poor at that stage. I scratched down list after list in a yellow notebook.

My handwriting was unrecognizable – like a drunken spider had staggered all over the page. My hands were slowly starting to work again, but it took what felt like gargantuan efforts to even hold a pen let alone actually write.

Kim and I started to plan trips. It entertained us, helping to pass the time while I was lying in that hospital bed still attached to regular infusions of antibiotics and 24-hour heart monitoring. It gave us the chance to see a future together that we’d almost missed out on.

We talked about a trip to Florida with the kids, aka my two stepdaughters. They’ll hate me referring to them as that. (K&M: Sorry if you’re reading this!) They’re amazing young women who will turn 26 and 23 years old over the next couple of months. Florida was a special place for us as we’d had some wonderful holidays there when they were teenagers, and we wanted to make that trip once more.

We also planned another trip for Kim and I to western side of Canada – an opportunity for me to show Kim the Rockies. I fell in love with the area thirty years ago when I was lucky enough to visit after winning a TV quiz show, but he’d never been there.

Plus, I’d be able to visit my best friend from school who I haven’t seen in over 20 years and who lives near Calgary. Can you believe that she’s also a Jackie? Yep, we were Jacqui and Jackie. I can tell a few tales about the discussions we had about the spelling of our mutual name and the confusion it created in class!

Eight months after I came out of hospital we enjoyed a fantastic trip to Florida with the kids, just as we’d planned.

Image caption: People tend to think of Key West being a party place, and in many ways it is, but you can also find quiet, idyllic spots like this. One of my own snaps during that Florida trip with the kids.

But the Canada trip that we’d planned for the following spring died a death. I don’t even remember exactly why now. A trip that had seemed so important to me when I was in the hospital got waylaid by life.

Priorities changed. Trying to get a business of my own off the ground. A lack of enthusiasm to spend money on another big trip so soon after Florida. And not wanting to put Evie in kennels again for an even longer period than we’d done for the Florida trip. She loved the people there, but the other big barky dogs – not so much.

Every one of those was an excuse. We could have still gone. I could have taken time off from the business. We could have tried harder to find a better solution for Evie.

You’d think that when you’ve been so close to dying that YOLO would be top of your mind. And it is. For a time.

But very slowly what happened to me started to become more of my past than my present. As it should. But I also started to forget the promises I made to myself when that experience was still so fresh in my mind.

Over time my world started to shrink again and that feeling of limitless opportunity faded. I started to play things safe. To settle for OK. And forgot to find joy in everything around me.

The rot had well and truly set in on our YOLO plans and promises. Things were getting too comfortable. Too safe. Each day my world was shrinking by tiny (barely perceptible) incremental steps that would gradually accumulate until my world started to fold into itself.

The need for routine, and the feeling of safety and predictability that gave me, increased. My fear and anxiety about stepping outside of my comfortable little bubble escalated.

A little over two years since this journey started I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to make sure that I do something epic. I love that word. I’m not sure why. But it works in my world. Something big. Something momentous. Something to break me out of this restrictive little bubble that’s become claustrophobic.

So I’m using this post as a reminder to myself. If nobody else reads it I don’t care. Well, maybe I do really! I need to recognize that I’ve slipped up. I need to step back and once again channel that sense of limitless possibility that I had right after I got sick.

After all you do only live once.

Image caption: A world of limitless possibilities, right? Key West again after a sunset sailing trip, but it was only after we got off the boat that I snapped this incredible picture.

Part 2

When I sat down at my desk last Friday I didn’t intend to write this post. I had planned to finish another post that I’d already half written. But I’d been listening to a book on my morning walk – no surprise there – and the author had mentioned YOLO. The topic started spinning in my head. Hence part 1 of this post was what came out and the other post is still waiting to be finished.

But sometimes the weirdest coincidences happen…

That evening Kim and I were parked on the sofa watching TV. I hadn’t said a word to him about the post I’d written or my feeling that it was time to do something epic. I would have brought it up at some point but hadn’t yet broached it. And somehow – neither of us remember exactly how it happened - we got onto the topic of buying a camper van.

We’ve talked about and experienced a variety of holiday options over the years. We’ve travelled around the world, enjoyed plenty of nice hotels, and borrowed other peoples’ summer houses as far away as Florida. We’ve talked about maybe buying a summer house of our own in Denmark - somewhere near the sea (a very Danish tradition). And we’ve recently watched one of my close friends buy herself a little camper van and start adventuring with her dog. We’d never talked about buying a van ourselves – until that particular evening.

But we’d both individually thought, or perhaps even dreamed, about having a camper van and the freedom it would offer. I even had a book sitting in my office on touring around Scotland in a camper. We’d just assumed the other person wouldn’t be onboard. Wouldn’t be interested. Wouldn’t want to live a simpler life. We were both so wrong!

Light dawned. The ideas and energy started to fizz. We couldn’t stop talking. It could be a fantastic opportunity for us. We both needed a change. Something new. A fresh challenge. The chance to spend more time out in nature. To see new places. Live more. And it had the added advantage of adding an extra spare bedroom that would sit right outside our house at busy times like Christmas.

And the best bit - Evie could be part of the whole thing and come with us wherever we went in the van. She loves an adventure and the chance to be with us. Open the car door, or the trunk, of our SUV and she’s in like a shot. She may be small, but she jumps like a gazelle – much higher than you’d expect considering her size. She’s always so excited and never wants to miss the opportunity to come out and see what’s going on in the world around us.

Image caption: A totally gratuitous picture of Evie as I mentioned her - any excuse! Here she was in the kitchen last week, watching Kim with rapt attention, in the hope of getting a treat. And for once I managed to capture her phenomenal cuteness at just the right moment!

I fully expected to wake up the next morning (Saturday) and in the cold light of day to pick holes in the idea. To pull it apart until it was no longer existed. As I’d done so many times in the past. To have huge regrets about saying that I thought buying a van of our own was a good idea.

But I didn’t. Neither did Kim. We were moving fast, going full on epic, and buying a van. We couldn’t stop talking about it.

Already on the Friday evening Kim had found and fallen in love with a van that he’d found online. Typical for Denmark the dealer was closed on Saturdays, but would be open Sunday. We started to put together a long, long, long list of questions to ask.

As soon as they opened at 11am (Sunday) Kim was on the phone. It all sounded good and definitely worth taking a look at the van.

By 9am Monday we were on the road, driving to the other side of Denmark to see it. By 2pm we’d done the deal, agreed for it to be delivered to us in a couple of weeks, and were driving the three hours home again. In the space of around 66 hours we’d turned our lives upside down with a potentially life-changing purchase.

Image caption: Let me introduce Wilma… now I know to the aficionados out there you’ll tell me that this is a motor home and not a camper van. But does a label matter? She’s just lovely Wilma to us.

We were like a couple of kids at Christmas – giddy with excitement and energized by the gazillion possibilities that having a little house on wheels was going to give us.

When we got home we started going around the house finding things that we’d need in the van. Plastic glasses, bowls, and plates. Fleece blankets. Sheets and duvets. Big roll of kitchen paper. A bread knife that we had spare. A couple of baseball caps – we were already assuming sunny days. Flip flops - the important things in life, but which color to take?! The pile started to grow in the middle of our guest bed.

Then I woke up Tuesday morning…

I’m not sure I even had to wake up. I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink all night. Not far from the truth. I’d tossed and turned all night. My brain racing and spinning. Thoughts colliding and exploding in my brain. A tidal wave of anxiety and total overwhelm was crushing me. I couldn’t think. My stomach was tied in knots.

I was horrified. How could I go from so happy and excited to this? I wanted to just pull the duvet over my head and stay there.

I forced myself out of the house and I walked. One foot in front of the other – repeat. And I kept on walking. Longer than our usual morning dog walk. Allowing the feelings to wash over me. Not trying to push them away. Reminding myself to look up and look around me. Even managing a small smile when a red squirrel ran across my path – in my world they’re luckier than a black cat!

And gradually I realized something – the jigsaw puzzle pieces started falling into place. I may be 58 years old as of this past Sunday, but I’m still getting to know myself. Trying to get better at reading the signs. In this case the signs couldn’t have been more obvious in terms of their meaning. The anxiety and overwhelm were a sign that we were doing exactly the right thing.

It wasn’t about the (huge) amount of money we’d spent. It was all about me. This whole camper van idea was pushing me so far out of my comfort zone that I was having a hard time absorbing it, let alone adapting.

It was all so fast. I’d had no time to process anything. My safe little bubble, that had been almost imperceptibly shrinking smaller and smaller every day as the months have passed, was being blown to smithereens.

The pain wasn’t pleasant, but I knew that with time it would pass. I wouldn’t hide from it or ignore it. I didn’t need to rationalize it or attempt to explain it away. I had to just let it be, for now. Accept it. After all – no feeling is forever. And nor is a van – if it wasn’t for us then we’ll simply sell it.

I know, wholeheartedly, that we’re going to change our lives for the better, in a truly epic way, with the help of our little home on wheels. Watch this space for tales of our #VanAdventures with Evie in tow.

And remember – however hard it is sometimes - you do indeed only live once.

If you enjoyed this post please do click on the heart, add a comment, and/or share it on as that will help more people find Hold My Hand and my writing.

COMING ON 1^st MAY – my ‘book in parts’. In weekly posts I’ll be sharing my book Hold My Hand: A Journey Back to Life chapter by chapter. I’m so excited to finally share my story with a wider audience and to have the opportunity to get your thoughts and feedback.