One moment I was strolling down Mt Taranaki in the sunshine, the next I was flat on my face in the dust and the holiday was over.
Two broken bones, surgery, three nights in the wonderful care of Whangārei Hospital and one bright red cast later, and as someone Thomas calls the world's most impatient patient, I'm coming to terms with the facts of life: The only certainty is uncertainty and no one with a busted leg, no matter how motivated, can manage without help.
Maybe we find accepting uncertainty – and frailty - harder than earlier generations. Brought up in comparative plenty and safety, the challenges for us middle-class kids have been mainly about self: A fulfilling job, a fitter body. Everyone a potential superhero/kung-fu master/business tycoon if we could only find the discipline/guru/shiny bullet-proof suit.
Earlier generations, enduring the Great Depression and World War II, experiencing polio, measles and diphtheria up close and personal, did not have the luxury of imagining it was all in their control. From their hard-won knowledge that luck never lasts and individuals cannot resist the tides of history they created the lasting institutions of our state: A public health system and a social welfare safety net, built and maintained by collective responsibility. They built these defences precisely so we could live without fear and uncertainty. But of course the truth is that individual safety always depends upon maintaining that collective responsibility – whether it's road rules, taxation or mask-wearing - each doing our bit, knowing that together we manage better than we ever manage alone.
