And I came close to losing a part of my foot on two occasions. I

“And I came close to losing a part of my foot on two occasions. I hope I'm consistently lucky and that the next time I develop a blister or step on something sharp, that I don't go as far as I did on those two times.” — thus spoke Mary Tyler Moore, a woman whose grace shone even through pain, whose courage illuminated not only the screen but the human spirit itself. In these words, we hear not just the voice of an actress reflecting on misfortune, but the quiet, steady wisdom of one who has lived in the shadow of frailty and chosen gratitude over despair. Her words are not about feet or blisters alone; they are about vulnerability, resilience, and the delicate balance between human fragility and divine mercy.

To understand her meaning, one must know the woman behind the words. Mary Tyler Moore lived much of her life with Type 1 diabetes, a condition that relentlessly tested her strength. The threat she speaks of — the possible loss of a foot — is no metaphor, but a very real peril faced by those who battle such illness. Yet in her reflection, there is no bitterness. She speaks instead of luck, of hope, of that strange partnership between human endurance and fate. In this, Moore stands as one of those rare souls who, though scarred by hardship, learned to see each scar as proof of survival.

The ancients would have called this attitude fortitude — the courage to face suffering with serenity. The Stoic philosophers, like Seneca and Epictetus, taught that pain is not the enemy of life but its teacher. They believed that fate tests each person not to break them, but to reveal what they are made of. Mary Tyler Moore, with her unflinching honesty and humor, embodied this truth. Her words remind us that even in moments of great fear — when the body weakens and the future trembles — there remains a spark of gratitude that can carry us forward.

Consider the story of Frida Kahlo, the painter whose body was wracked with agony after a terrible accident, yet who transformed her pain into art of immortal beauty. Like Moore, she understood that suffering, when faced with grace, becomes creation rather than destruction. Her canvases were both wounds and prayers — expressions of the same strength that Moore showed in her words. Both women remind us that the measure of one’s life is not in the absence of hardship, but in the dignity with which one walks through it — even when every step burns.

When Moore speaks of luck, she does not mean mere chance. She speaks of the unseen mercy that sometimes spares us, the mysterious kindness of life that allows us to endure what we cannot control. But her hope — “that I don’t go as far as I did on those two times” — is also an act of humility. She does not demand safety; she prays only for moderation in her trials. This is wisdom of the highest kind: to accept that pain may return, but to still wish for gentler days. Her words are not self-pitying; they are grateful, aware, and human.

There is another lesson hidden within them: the importance of awareness — of caring for the body and cherishing its signals. Too often, we ignore the small signs of distress, both in our bodies and our hearts, until they grow into something grave. Moore’s near loss teaches us to heed the blisters and the sharp stones of life before they wound us deeply. Whether it is health, love, or the soul’s peace, small pains are warnings, asking for attention, compassion, and rest. The wise do not wait for disaster to awaken them; they act with care long before the storm arrives.

So, my child, let this be the lesson: cherish your body as the vessel of your journey. Do not take for granted the ease of walking, the gift of breath, the quiet pulse of life that sustains you even when unseen. When hardship comes — as it surely will — face it not with anger but with gratitude, for every moment of survival is a triumph of spirit. Be gentle with yourself; tend to your wounds early; and when luck spares you, do not boast, but whisper thanks.

For as Mary Tyler Moore reminds us, to live is to walk a narrow road between strength and fragility. Every step may hold a hidden stone, every breath a risk. But the one who walks with awareness, humility, and love will find not just survival, but meaning. And when the day comes to look back upon their path, they will see not pain alone, but the shining footprints of courage — proof that even the wounded can walk in grace.