by Don Kindred

It is nothing short of a miracle to be born a healthy human being.

Breathing in that first rush of air, stretching unfamiliar arms, crying first tears as life 

announces itself with urgency and wonder. In that moment, we are given an extraordinary gift: a chance. A chance at movement, growth, connection, love. A chance at a healthy life. But that gift, as miraculous as it is, is not permanent. It is borrowed, not owned.

For much of our early lives, we assume health is a right. We expect our bodies to work, to heal, to recover. We push them, test them, sometimes neglect them, trusting they will be there tomorrow just as they were today. Youth has a way of convincing us that strength is guaranteed and time is generous.

But somewhere along the way, quietly and often without warning, health shifts from being a right to becoming a responsibility.

That realization has come into sharp focus for me recently. My wife was diagnosed with ALS, a disease that cruelly and methodically takes away what most of us never think twice about: the ability to move, to speak, to breathe. It is a diagnosis that changes everything. Not only how you see the future, but how you understand the present, and how precious this moment truly is.

When illness enters your life, it strips away illusion. You begin to notice the small miracles you once overlooked: walking across a room, holding a hand, speaking a sentence without effort, taking a deep breath. These are not ordinary acts. They are privileges.

Health, I have come to believe, is not just a personal condition. It is a stewardship. As we age, caring for our bodies and minds becomes an obligation not only to ourselves, but to those who love us and depend on us. It means paying attention. It means prevention when possible, adaptation when necessary, and always, compassion.

This issue of the San Clemente Journal features health because it touches every part of our lives, the physical, emotional, and communal. Health is not simply the absence of illness. It is an act of intention. It is found in how we eat, how we move, how we manage stress, and how we show up for one another. It is in early screenings, honest conversations, and the courage to face a difficult diagnoses with grace.

Most importantly, health reminds us of our shared humanity. None of us are immune to change. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. But all of us, today, can choose awareness, gratitude, and care.

If there is one message I hope you take from these pages, it is this: do not wait for health to be taken from you to understand its value. Honor it now. Protect it where you can. And when it falters, as it inevitably will for many of us, meet it with resilience, love, and community. 

Because the miracle was never permanence.

The miracle was just the chance.