Last updated on January 26th, 2019 at 08:56 am
I don’t have insurance. Of any kind whatsoever. No medical insurance, no householders insurance, no life insurance, no death insurance, no social insurance… nothing. I haven’t had any since 1997 and had arrogantly adopted the meme of my then partner: “I don’t insure anything I cannot afford to lose.” And yes, we had money—lots of it.
We had a few houses, a farm, boats, many cars, several aircraft and a lodge next to the sea. We travelled a lot, sailed and dived and flew. Things broke, got stolen, sank and crashed and were replaced and repaired or not. We got ill, sometimes hospitalized, tested, tweaked and put back together again in some semblance of working order. Our lifestyle attracted, and it wasn’t the good stuff.
During the almost three decades of my first marriage, we had all the insurances that life expected—medical, house owner’s, householder’s, life, death, old age, car—you name it, we had it. What we had, we insured. And we got ill, we lost, broke, had stolen, filled in the forms, argued the points, dealt with assessors, squirmed at the settlement figures—but that is what life expected, not so? Not only expected—it was demanded… by law!
Then, almost nine years into a troubled relationship, the day came that I had to make a choice: Stay with the money and most probably lose my life through means foul, or walk away from it all and learn to live again. I walked away.
I had made a small investment that would earn interest for my lifetime allowing me to live without concern—IF I made the correct choices.
For a year, I disappeared. No one knew where I was—not my friends, not my children or any of my family… “The Lam” would describe it well. It was a year of re-evaluating: What are my needs, my wants? Making lists titled “Keep” and “Lose.”
But first there was the list titled “Find” and it had only one item, “me.” I had to find me—the me I had misplaced. The me who believed we are created perfect, we have immense ability to heal ourselves and others; we can do anything if we put our minds to it; we were put on this planet to explore and learn and do good things for our fellow man; the power of our intent moves things to and away from us—the choice is ours.
And so, for a year without family, old friends or medical relief and with only the clothes on my back and other minimal stuff (my computer and camera are necessities!), I rented a house next to the sea and spent the days confronting some extremely aggressive opponents: Anger, pain, sorrow, bitterness, shock, horror, loss, drug and alcohol abuse—were faced alone. There was no other way, as only I could fix me—not all the medication, consultation, counselling, booze or drugs—only me.
I meditated, walked the beach, climbed rocks, wrote poetry and music and even started writing a book about my life which I deleted after page 220. It was a hard year, a wonderful year and I emerged from a cocoon battered but with an astounding inner beauty. Wings torn and ragged, light bright.
The lists were easy once everything was in the correct order: Find – me; Lose – stuff; Keep – me. And me includes my health and what I need to get where I am going and do what I must do, which is again, only me.
And I made a deal with the Universe: You look after me and I will look after you.
Aged 54, I set out on a journey across the world with a suitcase, backpack, laptop and camera. I have kept flying to the minimum as I don’t like airports and, except for take-off and landing, flying is beyond boring. I travel by road—bus, minibus, foot. I sometimes put my head on pillows that have to be beaten into submission to stop them crawling away.
Into less than seven years I squashed many countries for anything up to two years: India, Thailand, Mexico, Laos, Uganda, Cambodia, Switzerland, South Africa, New Zealand, Singapore, Malaysia, Canada, U.S., Philippines, Kenya, Malawi and Greece.
I’ve had my “fright nights” with close calls on things like air disasters, tuk-tuk crashes, diving miscalculations, malaria (many times), luggage going astray (always returned intact), computer failure, forgetting where I put things and leaving them behind… little irritations and a few big scares.
But no insurance—nothing.
Do I take care of my health? If that means drinking bottled water, washing fruit and vegetables before eating, covering my face with a protective mask against dust and fumes, washing my hands every time I touch something questionable, using antibacterial unguents, having flu shots and vaccinations, having meals only from trusted restaurants, buying food from stores—good lord, no.
I drink the water on tap, eat from street vendors, buy fruit in markets and eat it on the way home, walk cities filled with all manner of fumes and smog, and tramp dusty roads that throttle the breath from trees. Clothes are shopped for in markets—preferably secondhand. I get cuts and bruises and even broke a bone in my foot. I hug beggars, cradle HIV/AIDS infected babies, touch the sick, repair the wounded… without surgical gloves!
Nature thought of everything. We have hair in our noses and ears and around our eyes to trap dust and harmful particles; the capillaries of our hearts, lungs and other organs (never forgetting the skin is our largest organ) adapt to all sorts of circumstances if we give them the time to do so. Our bodies have mechanisms to cope with all manner of bacteria and germs, strengthening our immune systems. When last have I had a scan or smear or examination? Is it 10 years now?
“But, what if something is wrong, wouldn’t you want to know so it can be caught in time?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“How can you say that? Are you a doctor?”
“Because I know and yes, I am my own doctor.”
I have had malaria (recurring) more times than I care to think about—the last time almost two years ago. My health is my gauge of the road I am walking. If I have taken a wrong turn, my health suffers and all manner of lurgy attach themselves. Then I put the universe on notice that I intend moving back to the correct path when I heal. I heal.
Computers and cameras break and I repair or replace them. Fortunately this hasn’t been often. The only time I misplace things is when my thoughts are scattered—note to self: unscatter yourself.
Recently, under pressure (you are not getting any younger, you know) from an acquaintance, I looked into getting health insurance. It felt wrong. I saw him get sick, or have something bother him and even with insurance (Medicare/Medicaid—the difference still confuses me) he wouldn’t go to a doctor as it wouldn’t be covered. I saw things break that couldn’t get fixed as the excess payable under the cover, was more than the repair. Everything he had was owned by the insurers: House, cars, health, disability, death, travel.
Insurance supposedly covers the “what if.” What if I get sick, what if I have an accident, what if I lose something, what if something gets stolen?
What if you/it doesn’t?
The Law of Attraction is a powerful law, but it works both ways. To pay ridiculous amounts of money to insure against “what if” attracts exactly that. It changes a mindset from “I will not lose; I will not get sick, I will only walk in light and abundance” to “it’s OK if I get sick and lose things, break things. I pay insurers to cover that. As long as I pay my premiums, have my annual check-ups, I am covered.”
And with that mentality, we move exactly those things to us and at great cost. We are surprised when insurers point us to the clause written in fine print that absolves them of the need to pay.
I refuse to fall into the same pit. To insure against “what if?” beckons it. Many times I have been asked:
“What if you get sick or have an accident?”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I said so.”
“What if you get old and frail and need to be put in a hospice to die gracefully?”
“I won’t. I will never get old, I will never get sick, I will never die. When it is my time to leave this planet, I will simply disappear—Poof! And I will be gone.”
“Do you mean to say that you can think yourself well?”
Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Think yourself well, think yourself whole, think yourself cared for, think yourself a being of perfection with the ability to heal, mend and walk with courage. Think of yourself in abundance.
What if your umbrella was a more stable law and, on jumping, you flew?