What if the purpose of health isn’t simply to live longer, but to live more fully?
In The Well-Lived Life by Dr. Gladys McGarey, there’s a passage from the opening pages that has stayed with me.
After nearly eight decades in medicine, McGarey reflects on patients who became so consumed with finding the perfect diet that they made themselves sick, others who were so afraid of dying that they nearly stopped living, and countless people searching for the secret ingredient that might buy them a few more years.
She offers a different perspective: perhaps the purpose of medicine isn’t simply to prolong life, but to nurture a body healthy enough for the soul to fulfil its purpose.
I love that idea.
The key to health is elusive, and yet we’re constantly trying to reduce it to something tangible. A particular diet. A biohacking tool. A workout program. A supplement. Something we can purchase, implement, measure, and hopefully be rewarded for.
We’re drawn to simple solutions for extraordinarily complex problems.
But what does it actually mean to be healthy?
To thrive means to grow, develop, or flourish in a vigorous and healthy way.
And I wonder how often our pursuit of health reflects that definition.
In medicine, we’re very good at identifying problems and intervening. We have medications that relieve symptoms, procedures that restore function, and surgeries that save lives. These are extraordinary things, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how profoundly they can change someone’s quality of life.
But treating a symptom and cultivating health aren’t always the same thing.
Sometimes symptom management is exactly what we need. It can give us the breathing room to change lanes, lighten the load, or begin the longer, more arduous journey toward better health.
And sometimes ongoing treatment is what makes a full and meaningful life possible.
But when our entire approach to health becomes focused on suppressing discomfort rather than understanding what our bodies need, I think it’s worth asking:
Are we thriving, or are we merely surviving?
The uncomfortable truth is that meaningful change often requires us to do things we don’t particularly feel like doing.
It requires effort, patience, consistency, and a willingness to tolerate discomfort.
It’s often easier to reach for an immediate solution than to examine the habits, environments, and choices that shape our health over time.
And when we’ve been doing something one way for years, changing direction can feel enormously difficult.
I understand that. I experience it myself.
But I also think there’s something powerful about choosing to do the difficult thing, not because we’re trying to punish or perfect our bodies, but because we want to see what we’re capable of becoming.
For years, fitness occupied an enormous amount of space in my life. I spent hours training for CrossFit, pursuing strength, performance, and the satisfaction that comes from discovering what your body is capable of.
And I loved it. I still love training.
Movement makes me feel alive. It challenges me, grounds me, and gives me a sense of accomplishment that extends well beyond the gym.
But somewhere along the way, I began questioning whether the amount of time I was dedicating to fitness was actually supporting the life I wanted to live.
I wanted my children to grow up seeing a mother who prioritized her health. Someone who made time for movement, challenged herself physically, and demonstrated that taking care of yourself matters.
But I didn’t want them to see a mother whose pursuit of fitness consistently came at the expense of being present for the people she loved.
And I began to recognize that my body wasn’t the only part of me that needed attention.
My mind needed to be challenged, too. I needed to read difficult books, entertain unfamiliar ideas, and remain curious about the world. I needed friendships, meaningful conversations, and relationships that encouraged me to grow. I needed time to explore my own experience of being alive.
I didn’t want to become exceptionally good at taking care of my body while neglecting all the other parts of myself that made life worth living.
So my approach to fitness changed.
I stopped measuring my commitment by how many hours I could spend training and started valuing the consistency of showing up. I still want to be strong. I still want to challenge myself and discover what I’m capable of.
But I also want to have the time and energy to be a mother, a partner, a friend, a reader, and a person with interests that extend far beyond the gym.
And perhaps that’s been one of the most meaningful shifts in my understanding of health.
I don’t want to spend so much of my life pursuing health that I forget to actually live it.
What if we stopped thinking about health as a collection of isolated problems to solve?
Losing weight. Lowering cholesterol. Managing heartburn. Getting stronger. Sleeping better.
These things matter, of course. But they’re pieces of a much bigger picture.
What if, instead, we asked ourselves what kind of physical, mental, and emotional health would allow us to show up most fully for our own lives?
What condition do I want my body to be in so I can explore the world, pursue the things that interest me, be present for the people I love, and continue growing into the person I’m meant to become?
Not because I expect to live forever.
Not because I’m afraid of getting older.
And certainly not because I believe I can optimize my way out of being human.
But because I want to experience as much of this one life as I possibly can.
Perhaps health isn’t the destination at all.
Perhaps it’s what gives us the freedom to pursue everything else.
Would that change how you approached the day?
It sure has for me.
Inspired by Dr. Gladys McGarey’s The Well-Lived Life, pages 1–3.
