Last night, our family gathered at the house, including my newly adopted daughters (my sons’ wives), to celebrate my birthday.
With our 21-year-old heading to California for a couple of weeks, we took advantage of a not-often-enough moment when everyone could be home at the same time.

These nights become more meaningful the older I get.

The evening started exactly how I like it.

My wife made one of my favorite meals, a Mediterranean chicken and artichoke dish with coconut rice and an off-the-chart salad. That was followed by a homemade gluten-free ice cream cake, which briefly convinces you it’s healthy… until your common sense catches up.

After dinner came gifts and one of our favorite family traditions. Every birthday, we sit together on the couch and everyone either shares something about the birthday person or gives them a card. The cards are always homemade…drawings, stick figures, inside jokes, and artistic interpretations that occasionally require clarification.

Then came the card from my 11-year-old.

He explained that he had drawn a picture of my Bible.

I stared at it for a moment and said,
“I know I’m almost 60 and getting older… but I hope this isn’t prophetic.
Because that looks an awful lot like my coffin.”

Everyone laughed.

I made a mental note to stay mobile.

After that, I made my birthday request, since all my older boys were together.

I asked if they’d play pickleball with me for half an hour. Some quality male bonding.

We played doubles. We laughed. We competed just enough to keep it interesting. It reminded me of when they were younger and we’d all play paddle tennis back in California.

Life went from “someday” to “how did we get here?” pretty quickly.

My oldest son’s birthday is tomorrow, the day after mine. It doesn’t feel that long ago that my cousin Sheryl threw us a joint birthday party thirty years ago. My 30th birthday and my son’s first.

Now here we are.

Thirty years later, he’s turning 30. He’s getting married in a few months. Our 21-year-old is flying across the country to celebrate with him. And in just a few weeks, our other son and his wife will welcome our first grandchild, Piper.

Our family is expanding quickly and I’m grateful for all of it.

I’m also grateful for the opportunity to keep showing up.

For dinners.
For games.
For celebrations.

Not just present in the room, but able. Able to move, respond, participate, and enjoy the moments as they’re happening.

There are no guarantees when it comes to health. You can do many of the right things, and ultimately our time and future rest in God’s hands. Still, I want to be a faithful steward of the body He’s entrusted to me, so I can continue to serve others well and say “yes” when the opportunity comes.

This season has reminded me how much I value being able to respond when life calls.

We often take simple abilities for granted:

Getting down on the floor with a grandchild and getting back up again.
Turning when someone calls your name.
Moving, reacting, lifting, and participating without hesitation.

It’s easy to overlook those abilities, until a crisis shows you what’s missing.
I see that every day in my practice.

The goal isn’t waiting for a problem.
It’s preventing one by improving how well your body responds to everyday life.

If you want to do that, without adding another routine, try this:

1. Practice transitions, not workouts.
Get up and down off the floor once a day, no hands if possible. Life rarely asks you to hold a plank; it asks you to change positions smoothly.

2. Reclaim your blind spots.
A few times a day, slowly turn your head left and right like someone just called your name. Neck mobility keeps your brain oriented and your body responsive.

3. Breathe low, not big.
Once or twice a day, take five slow nasal breaths, expanding your ribs instead of lifting your shoulders. A body that can’t breathe well rarely moves well.

That’s it.

No equipment.
No outfit change.
No pretending you’re “training.”

Just small reminders to your body that it still needs to respond, especially when life doesn’t give you a warm-up.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Dr. Derek “Not Done Yet” Taylor