Sick days

My wife and I contracted covid this weekend, and it has me thinking about sick days - those unintended intermissions in life. As a kid, they were like winning a day-long vacation (assuming the symptoms weren’t too debilitating). As an adult, sick days feel like being sentenced to solitary confinement while still being expected to perform all the usual responsibilities (and we tend to only take them if the symptoms are debilitating). Either way, for me, these experiences have invariably led to profound realizations and, quite often, an overdose of mindless entertainment.

As a child, the allure of a sick day was undeniable. It's no surprise that quaffing some cough syrup, playing video games, and getting cozy to my favorite movies and shows could be preferable to taking math tests and attending history lectures.

I remember learning a nifty trick while watching E.T. as a child. I could fake a temperature if I held a thermometer up to a light bulb. I tried it once and was stunned when my mom called bullshit as if she had some clairvoyant abilities. In hindsight, I can see how a 150º temperature might have been a giveaway.

During those childhood sick days, I vividly remember watching reruns of Growing Pains. On one occasion, Kirk Cameron's typically shallow-minded character, Mike, had an uncharacteristic epiphany about life going on without him when he missed school. At that moment, I, too, realized that while I was at home, nursing an actual cold at that time, the world kept spinning. The playground still buzzed, and math problems were still solved. It was a subtly powerful lesson in the grand scheme of things, making me feel insignificant and vital at the same time.

As an adult, sick days take on a new meaning. They often morph into work-from-home days or answer-emails-in-pajamas days. After all, the show must go on, even if the main performer is down with covid. Though laden with responsibilities, these adult sick days offer unexpected opportunities to pause and reflect.

It reminds me of Austin Kleon's blackout poetry, where he blacks out words in newspapers, leaving behind a unique, standalone poem. Much like finding life in parts of the day that aren't crossed out by meetings or commitments, we can find beauty and purpose in what is left when we remove everything else.

Like Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said, "Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away." This rings true for our lives and our sick days.

There’s gratitude gained through loss. We often don't appreciate good health until it slips away, even momentarily. I never appreciate the ability to breathe more than when I can’t breathe easily. It’s one thing to miss a lecture, and it’s another thing entirely to miss your sister’s law school graduation party due to catching covid, like my wife and I did this weekend. In all likelihood, it’s an event that won’t be repeated, well, ever. There’s something profoundly saddening about missing those singular moments in life.

As they say, you often don't know what you've got till it's gone. Like finding parking in paradise, or something like that. (No judging, I have a fever)

Sick days may take away our routine health and keep us from important moments, but they can offer profound insights, renewed gratitude, and an unexpected chance to slow down. With this involuntary taking away of things, we reflect on the things we truly need, the things we can never make up for, and the things we can do without, after all.

And, of course, they provide an excellent opportunity to perfect the art of making chicken soup. Or, you know, ordering for takeout.

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