As long as I have my health, I want to be reporting somewhere.

In the steadfast and timeless words of Dan Rather, the venerable journalist whose voice has echoed through wars, revolutions, and the changing tides of history, we find a truth that transcends the craft of reporting: “As long as I have my health, I want to be reporting somewhere.” On the surface, it is the statement of a man devoted to his profession. Yet beneath it lies a deeper current — a meditation on purpose, endurance, and the sacred bond between one’s calling and one’s vitality. Rather’s words are not merely about journalism; they are about the essence of human life itself — that to live fully is to keep doing the work that gives your soul meaning, for as long as the body allows it.

In the wisdom of the ancients, health was not seen as the mere absence of illness but as the harmony of body, mind, and spirit. The Greeks called it euexia — a balanced vigor of being. To say, as Rather does, “as long as I have my health,” is to speak in that same ancient spirit: to recognize that health is the foundation upon which all purpose stands. But he goes further — he binds his health to his mission. For him, to be well is not simply to live, but to serve, to witness, to speak truth. In this, he joins the company of the old philosophers and poets who taught that the greatest tragedy is not death, but the loss of meaning before death arrives.

Throughout history, there have been those whose work became their life’s breath, who labored not for fame or reward but for the unquenchable fire of duty. Consider Herodotus, the father of history, who traveled the known world to record the deeds of men and the rise and fall of empires. Like Rather, he sought to report — not for comfort, but for truth’s sake. He crossed deserts, risked storms, and spoke with kings and commoners alike. His work outlived him, not because he was powerful, but because he was faithful to his craft. So too with Rather — whose voice carried the weight of decades, who stood in the rubble of wars and the quiet of elections, bearing witness so that others might understand. His statement is not pride but devotion: as long as breath remains, I will bear witness.

The origin of this quote lies in the twilight of Rather’s long career, when many might have expected him to retire into silence. Yet he refused. His heart, trained in the rhythm of truth-telling, could not rest while stories still needed telling. He spoke these words not to boast of stamina, but to affirm the eternal covenant between passion and purpose. For him, reporting was not a profession but a vocation — an act of service to the public, to democracy, and to truth itself. His quote reminds us that one’s purpose, once found, becomes the heartbeat of life; to abandon it would be to abandon oneself.

There is in this a profound lesson for all who labor with meaning. The body is mortal and frail, but the spirit that loves its work can transcend time. To live well is to live with direction — to wake each day with something to build, something to protect, something to seek. As the farmer tends the earth, as the healer tends the sick, as the teacher tends the mind — so does the reporter tend to truth. When Rather says he will report as long as he has health, he is proclaiming that vitality itself is sacred only when it serves a higher calling. For without purpose, even health becomes hollow; but with purpose, even weakness can become strength.

The ancients would have called this the virtue of perseverance — the soul’s refusal to grow idle. Think of Cicero, who wrote his final works as his homeland crumbled; of Galileo, who continued to observe the heavens though imprisoned by his peers. Like Rather, they believed that to serve truth, one must persist beyond comfort. Their health sustained their work, but their work, in turn, gave meaning to their health. This is the sacred circle of vitality and purpose — each feeding the other until the final breath.

So, my listener, take from this a lesson that endures beyond journalism, beyond time itself: guard your health, but not for idleness. Guard it so that you may fulfill your purpose. Let your days be measured not in years but in acts of meaning. When your body is strong, use that strength to serve; when your spirit wanes, let your devotion rekindle it. Do not retreat into comfort, for comfort dulls the soul. Instead, live as Dan Rather speaks — with the courage to keep working, keep seeking, keep creating, for as long as life grants you strength.

For in the end, the noblest life is not the longest one, but the one lived in service to truth and purpose until the final breath. Thus, when your own time comes to rest, let it not be said that you simply lived — let it be said that, as long as you had your health, you stood, you worked, you bore witness, and you fulfilled the calling that made your existence a flame in the darkness.