“Only when we realize that our time is limited do we begin to appreciate the value of each day.” ~Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
I didn’t expect the journey to start the way it did.
In December 2003, I decided to take Christmas off. I booked an eco tour to Sri Lanka, traveled around the country and stayed in different places. It was something I had been waiting for for a long time.
But on the Christmas Eve flight, I started to feel sick. At first I thought it was just a stomach problem. Nothing out of the ordinary while traveling. But the discomfort quickly turned into something more serious. I started to feel deep, persistent pain in my lower back.
By the time we landed, I knew something was wrong. I reached the first hotel where a doctor was called. I remember lying there trying not to make a fuss while he examined me. The diagnosis was a serious kidney infection. I was given strong painkillers and told to rest.
It was Christmas day. Not quite the start I envisioned.
My room was a small bungalow on the beach. I could hear other vacationers having fun outside while I lay in a darkened room trying to get through the pain.
The next morning, a note was slipped under my door. The tour was supposed to start that day, but since I was so sick, the hotel manager agreed to let me stay and recover.
I couldn’t think of skipping the tour. I had come this far and I didn’t want to spend it lying in a room while the others left. So I decided to leave.
I took the medicine with me and told myself I would make it.
Looking back, I didn’t feel like anything significant happened. No warning. I didn’t feel that this decision had any weight beyond whether I would enjoy the trip or not. I just didn’t want to miss out.
We left the hotel and headed inland to the start of the tour. It wasn’t until the next day that something went wrong.
We saw the news on television, but it was in a foreign language and difficult to understand. There were images of destruction, water, confusion – something like a tsunami.
Our tour guide said it was Thailand. This was partially true. As the day went on, more and more information came in.
Back then, only a few people on the tour had cell phones. They started getting messages—short, vague, but enough to cause concern. Both were said to have been listed as “missing”. It didn’t make sense.
Then I managed to call a friend back in the UK. She answered the phone crying. He kept saying, “Thank God… thank God”.
I didn’t understand at first.
And then it became clear. People thought we were dead. The hotel we were staying in – the one we left in the morning – was flooded.
The scale of what happened was still unfolding, but the reality was already there. We were in that place then, and for completely mundane reasons, we were no longer there.
There was no dramatic moment. Just a quiet, sobering realization that things could have turned out very differently.
Once our families confirmed we were safe, the immediate tension eased.
Later we asked to take it to the affected area. It was much closer than we expected.
The rest of the trip took on a different tone after that. As a group, we did our best to help where possible. It didn’t seem like much that happened, but I felt it was important to try.
When I got home, I wasn’t prepared for the reaction.
The messages, the calls, the number of people involved – it was overwhelming. People I hadn’t spoken to in years followed the news to see if we were okay.
It was an emotional time, but not in the way I expected.
What stuck with me was not just what happened, but how many people cared.
I had never really stopped to think about it before.
Life simply went on as usual. But being put on the other side, even if only briefly—that people thought they had lost him—brought a different perspective.
Something stirred. Not suddenly, but enough. Over time, this shift became more noticeable.
I started looking at things differently – what mattered, where my attention went, what I felt was important and what wasn’t. I found myself helping in ways I hadn’t thought of before.
This eventually led me to spend time in Southeast Asia, volunteering and working with communities in Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. I was once invited to stay and work in a Buddhist monastery and help support blind students.
There wasn’t a single moment when I decided to change direction. It was quieter than that. A gradual turn rather than a sudden leap.
Looking back now, I think about how it all started. Not with the tsunami. But I didn’t want to with the disease. The discomfort I tried to experience. The thing he felt was hindering him.
At the time, this had to be resolved, ignored.
I’m not trying to explain what happened. I don’t feel the need to give meaning or attach a conclusion to it, but now I see it differently.
Not everything that disturbs us is against us.
In fact, not everything that seems to be a problem.
And not everything important appears as we immediately recognize it.
This journey began with me resisting.
It unfolded in a way I didn’t understand.
And it left me with something I didn’t expect.
I still think about how close everything was. But more than that, I think about what happened next, and how easily I might have missed that too.
About Neil Burgess
Neil Burgess is an Akashic Records reader and teacher with over 30 years of experience working with people from all over the world. Her work focuses on helping individuals gain clarity and perspective in a grounded, practical way. After a life-changing experience in Sri Lanka in 2003, Neil spent extended time with Buddhist monks in Southeast Asia and sought a more purposeful direction. Visit it at globalakasha.com. and learn about it this is where I get an Akashic Records reading.
