I went down a Youtube rabbit hole this last week and landed on some Olympics highlights from this past winter.
One highlight that stood out was Gold medal snowboarder Shaun White, going down the halfpipe for the first time in years since he retired.
After he got down to the end, he looked back at the route he had just come down,
And he started crying.
He wasn’t crying tears of joy like he did when he won a gold medal years ago.
These were tears of doing something that used to bring him so much joy, something that had quietly disappeared from his life without him even realizing it was gone.
And I couldn't stop thinking about that.
How many things in your life were once a source of real joy, and just... stopped?
Not because you chose to end them. But because life got busy, time passed, and one day you just never did them again.
You had a catch with your dad. Then one day you had it for the last time — and neither of you knew it.
You had a friend who you talked to every week. Then the calls got less frequent. Then one day you realized you hadn't spoken in two years.
Your kid used to sprint toward you at pickup, arms wide open, genuinely excited to see you. Now they shuffle out and get in the car without looking up.
You didn't get a warning for any of it.
Psychologists call the broader pattern "unknown lasts" — the quiet endings we never see coming because life doesn't announce them. No music. No dramatic goodbye. Just an ordinary Tuesday that turns out to be the last time.
And here's what hits hardest for healthcare workers specifically:
You've spent your entire career optimizing for later. Study now, live later. Grind now, enjoy later. Survive residency, the real life starts after.
But later has a habit of arriving without the things you were waiting to enjoy it with.
The parent who was supposed to see you finally slow down. The version of yourself who still loved the thing you used to love. The moment with your kid that you kept meaning to be more present for.
None of it waits.
Shaun White getting teary-eyed on a halfpipe wasn't just nostalgia.
It was the look of someone who realized how long he'd gone without something that once made him feel alive — and how easily we let that happen without noticing.
Could this be the last time?
Ask yourself that occasionally. Not to spiral into anxiety — but to pay a little more attention. To linger a little longer. To put the phone down for that one moment.
Because the last time rarely feels like the last time. Until it already is.
💊 This Week's Prescription:
Call the person you've been meaning to call. Text the friend you've been thinking about. Do the thing you keep saying you'll get back to. Pick one. Do it before next Sunday.
Hit reply and tell me what it is. I read every one.
— Dr. Mike