Philosophy · 5 minutes
Your health also helped you get this far.
The body that allowed your decisions, your work, and your plans to keep happening is also part of your journey.
When people tell the story of their lives, they tend to remember important decisions, hours of work, risks, mistakes corrected, and difficulties overcome. They almost never include another condition present throughout that time: the body that allowed all of this to be done.
Working for years requires much more than willingness. You need to be able to wake up, think, concentrate, move around, endure tiredness, and repeat these actions long enough. When everything functions as expected, however, we barely notice this dependence. Health tends to disappear from our story precisely because it remained present.
A serious illness immediately enters a biography. It can interrupt a career, change plans, consume resources, and make activities that once seemed simple impossible. Yet the years when that illness did not appear are unlikely to be remembered as important events. Continuity seems normal, although many projects existed only because it occurred.
This does not mean a healthy person did not make an effort. Nor does it mean looking after your health is irrelevant. Exercise, nutrition, prevention, and treatment can make an enormous difference. But care does not produce complete control. You can care for your body; you do not decide everything that happens inside it.
This difference matters because we tend to attribute our achievements only to conditions we can see as actions. We say we worked for ten years to build something, and that may be entirely true. But those ten years also had to be available. The organism had to remain capable of sustaining the work, plans, and decisions that followed.
Perhaps this seems merely a basic condition of existence. And it is precisely because it is basic that it almost never receives credit. What we depend on every day tends to seem irrelevant until it fails.
Your health did not do the work for you. It did not make your decisions, take your risks, or consciously endure your fears. But it allowed you to be there to do all of this.
You worked to get this far. Your body also had to let you get here.
You Were Just Lucky explores how far our authorship over our achievements really extends: what belongs to effort, choices, and competence, and what depends on conditions we did not choose, people we do not control, events we did not foresee, and even things that never happened.
It is not an attempt to deny merit or reduce our achievements to luck. It is an invitation to look more carefully at the story we tell about ourselves — and ask how much of it really began with us.