At the start of this year, my brother-in-law, Phil, placed a lighthearted bet with our dog, Macy. I allowed the wager to proceed fully knowing that our canine companion possessed no cash of her own and could therefore lose little more than a chewed toy. The gambling moment had been prompted by sobering news: both hound and human had been diagnosed with incurable cancers that had reached a stage where it was time to stop medical treatments and allow the disease to take its course. While it is a heavy subject, there are life-changing moments ahead and, crucially, a thread of humor running through it all.
Macy lost the bet badly—thank goodness she never discovered the complexities of blackjack—and departed in March. Phil has now passed away as well, with his funeral scheduled for this week. This column, however, is not really about either of them. Instead, it is an exploration of the age-old question: "But what does it all mean?" Because when Phil placed that bet earlier in the year, he added a couple of powerful, self-imposed caveats that revealed a profound sense of human agency. He declared that he was not going to die before 5 September, the date when he and my sister were planning to throw a major party to celebrate her milestone birthday alongside a significant wedding anniversary. Furthermore, he stipulated that when the time finally came, he would pass away in a hospice of his own choosing rather than at home.
I headed straight to the big shindig from The Monocle Quality of Life Conference. My partner picked me up directly from Heathrow Airport, and I had to change my clothes in the back of the car as we hurried to ensure we were not too late. It was an astonishingly vibrant and joyous night, even though I walked into the room fully aware that this would be the final time all three of my sisters, their respective partners, and my own partner would ever be gathered together in one room.
In the days immediately following that grand celebration, where he had successfully held court and welcomed loved ones, Phil’s health predictably declined. He was taken to the hospice as planned, but on the very first night, shortly after his family had left his side, he passed away. I have since talked about this phenomenon at length with my sister: how that specific date marked on the calendar kept him going, and how even his fierce determination to make it safely to the hospice kept him alive for one final day. He had an overarching purpose and a concrete plan, and his body seemed to obey that internal timeline.
Last week, while I was traveling with the Monocle crew at the Livex liveability summit in Abu Dhabi, I had the opportunity to host a panel discussion centered on how we create healthy, thriving cities. I quizzed three remarkable individuals on the topic: Dan Buettner, the acclaimed writer and researcher who has popularized global studies around "blue zones," which are distinct geographic regions known for exceptionally high concentrations of centenarians; Max Lugavere, a highly successful author and podcaster who focuses heavily on nutrition and brain health; and Khaled Ghattass, an author and human-behavior expert who brought a vital Arabic perspective to the conversation. Naturally, we touched upon diet and daily exercise regimens, but a deeper theme quickly surfaced—the fundamental importance of your life possessing a clear sense of meaning.
During the panel, Ghattass shared some stark and striking examples illustrating this psychological and physiological connection. He noted that if your romantic partner passes away, you are statistically 60 percent more likely to die yourself within the following year. I can only hope that my sister does not get any similar ideas, as there is a definitive limit to how many days I can reasonably take off work. He also elaborated on why people who transition into retirement so frequently succumb to sudden illness and rapid cognitive decline. He recounted the personal story of how his own father’s mental health visibly diminished after he stopped working, and how, by purposefully adding a sense of responsibility back into his father’s daily routine, he managed to reverse the decline. By putting his father directly in charge of managing the family’s finances, his father’s engagement and mental sharpness flourished once again.
Buettner’s extensive demographic research strongly supports this fundamental idea. He explained during our discussion that long-lived people across the globe tend to cultivate social circles that naturally reinforce healthy behaviors, supported by strong family ties, active faith, and reliable friends whom they can call upon whenever needed. Buettner also pointed out a fascinating correlation regarding altruism: people who regularly volunteer tend to maintain significantly lower body mass indexes than those who do not engage in community service. He added that in Okinawa, one of the world’s primary blue zones, the local language does not even have an indigenous word for "retire."
The broader takeaway is clear: if you want to keep going, to stay physically resilient, and to keep your brain sharp and alert, you need to be able to answer that simple, grounding question—what am I here for? And ideally, you should be able to answer it before you have even had your morning wholegrain toast. Based on these trajectories, it looks like I might end up shuffling around Midori House as a nonagenarian someday. Perhaps I can oversee the office drinks trolley. I reckon I would be rather good at that.
