I listen to my body but I'm just thankful to be alive so that I

The words of Andy Cole strike like a bell across the ages, simple yet profound: “I listen to my body but I’m just thankful to be alive so that I can.” In these words, there is the wisdom of survival, of humility, and of gratitude. He reminds us that life itself is not a given, but a gift. To listen to the body is an act of awareness, a recognition of both strength and limitation. Yet above all, his declaration is rooted in thankfulness: it is enough to be alive, enough to breathe, enough to have the chance to hear what the body is saying.

This saying comes from a man who has walked through the shadow of illness, who has known the fragility of flesh. It is not the voice of youthful arrogance that thinks the body indestructible, but the voice of one who has endured and emerged with a deeper reverence. Cole, once a warrior on the football pitch, found himself facing the trials of kidney failure and the long road of recovery. From that crucible, he learned to see his body not as a machine to be pushed endlessly, but as a companion to be honored. His words arise from lived trial, the kind of trial that strips away illusion and leaves only truth: life itself is enough.

The ancients, too, understood this lesson. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus, who lived much of his life as a slave and with a crippled leg, taught his students not to curse their fate, but to find freedom in accepting what is given. He listened to his body, to his pains and limits, and yet he gave thanks for the chance to live, to think, to speak. In his suffering, as in Cole’s, the body became both a burden and a teacher. The gift was not that life was perfect, but that life continued.

There is also in Cole’s words a call to humility. Modern life often urges us to push beyond all limits, to ignore the body’s cries for rest, to glorify relentless striving. But here stands the wisdom of a man who knows mortality firsthand: the body must be heeded. For when we ignore its warnings, we risk losing the very life we seek to enhance. To listen to the body is not weakness; it is the deepest form of strength, for it is an acknowledgment of reality and a preservation of the gift of existence.

His gratitude, however, is what shines brightest. “I’m just thankful to be alive.” In an age where many complain of minor inconveniences, Cole reminds us that the ultimate treasure is breath itself. To wake each morning, to hear the voice of loved ones, to see the sun—these are victories greater than any medal. This kind of gratitude transforms hardship into perspective. It turns what others might call defeat into triumph, for survival itself becomes a celebration.

The lesson we must take is clear: do not wait until calamity to learn to cherish your body, your breath, your existence. Begin now. Each day, listen closely—to your heartbeat, to your fatigue, to your hunger, to your pain. Treat your body as the vessel of your spirit, not as a tool to be broken. And above all, give thanks for life itself, even when it is difficult, even when it is imperfect. For to live is to be entrusted with the greatest of all opportunities: the chance to change, to love, to create, to endure.

Therefore, let each of us act with reverence. Rise each morning with gratitude. Pause in your labors to hear what your body tells you. Guard your health, for without it, nothing else endures. And when hardship comes, do not curse the trial but remember Andy Cole’s words: thankful to be alive. For in that thankfulness lies the power to endure, to heal, and to live fully until the final breath.

Thus, we are taught: the body is fragile, but life is sacred. He who listens and gives thanks walks the path of wisdom, for he learns to treasure the simple truth that to live—even with pain—is to triumph. And in that triumph, we discover the strength not only to endure, but to rejoice.