At 5:30 pm on Monday, 9 March 2015, at the Virgin Active gym on the corner of Main and Nicol, I died.

I was on the step machine. The gym was alive with the usual after-work energy — a steady hum of movement and conversation. It was peak hour. Packed.

Then, suddenly, I collapsed.

As I fell, I bit my tongue and struck my head. There was blood everywhere.

Fortunately, an anaesthetist, Dr Mars Goldshtein, was training nearby. Alerted to my bloodied, lifeless body sprawled among the machines, he, along with the gym manager and staff, sprang into action. They cordoned off the area and began resuscitation immediately.

After prolonged chest compressions, adrenaline injections, and a series of emergency interventions, Mars finally restarted my heart using the gym’s portable defibrillator. Paramedics rushed in soon after. I was loaded onto a stretcher and taken to hospital.

That afternoon, I had arrived for a workout. Instead, I starred in an episode of ER — or at least, that’s what it felt like. Five days in hospital. Three stents inserted into my heart.

And then, I was discharged… with a second chance at life.

Dreams deferred

Before I died, deadlines and achievements felt optional. There was always time — or so I thought. My dreams could wait. After I died, everything changed.

I became consumed by two words: “If only.”

They played on repeat in my mind. If only I had done more. If only I had pursued the things I dreamed about. If only I had spent less time talking about what I would achieve — and more time actually achieving it. If only I hadn’t waited for the perfect moment.

If only I had realised sooner that death is arbitrary — always present, always waiting. I was overwhelmed by the sense that I had left too much undone.

A disquieting truth

Here’s the unsettling truth about death: Almost no one knows it’s coming. You don’t wake up, put your shoes on, and think, “Today’s the day.”

And yet, one day — it is.

We all know, intellectually, that we will die. But we live as if that knowledge doesn’t apply to today. When death comes, it’s a surprise.

And paradoxically, we never experience it — because once it happens, we’re gone.

That morning, I got dressed like any other day. I didn’t know I was going to die. But I did.

Fortunately… only briefly.

Ironically, it happened while I was trying to get into shape — a bit like buying a guard dog for protection and then being attacked by it.

Your death

I’ll come back to mine. But first, let’s talk about yours.

After your birth, it is the single most important event left in your life. It doesn’t matter how old you are — right now, you have unfulfilled desires. Things you want to learn. Things you want to experience. The person you intend to become.

Dreams. Aspirations.

So why don’t you already have them? Why can’t you speak isiZulu, French, German, or isiXhosa — when you’ve always wanted to learn another language? Why can’t you play the guitar, piano, or drums? Why haven’t you run the Comrades Marathon?

Can you truly live comfortably knowing you might die before doing these things?

After my death

After my experience, I started asking a different question: Why hadn’t I done more? I’m capable. I’m not lazy. I procrastinate occasionally, but I’m not defined by it. So what was missing?

When the answer came, it was breathtaking in its simplicity. There was one crucial element absent from all my good intentions: There was no WHEN.

Imagine knowing the exact moment you will die. How much more would you get done? I have no doubt: if you knew precisely how many days, months, or years you had left, your focus would sharpen instantly. You would prioritise differently. Act decisively.

The same principle applies in a smaller way every day. Ask yourself, “Why am I depressed?” — and your mind will justify the feeling. Ask instead, “What will make me happier?” — and your mind begins searching for solutions.

The same shift happens when you ask: “WHEN?” When will you learn that language? When will you start that business? When will you run that race? The moment you ask when, your brain moves from vague intention to practical execution.

WHEN is the bridge between dreams and reality.

It transforms wishes into plans. Plans into action. Action into achievement. It is simple. Almost too simple.

But it works.

When you attach a when to your goals, something shifts. You feel relief. Clarity. Momentum. You’re no longer sitting on the fence — you’ve committed.

For many of us, that’s the real challenge. Our decision-making muscles have weakened from disuse. But like any muscle, they can be strengthened. Use them.

Because your time is limited — whether you acknowledge it or not. If you died tomorrow … How many “if onlys” would go with you?

Do you really need a near-death experience to take your dreams seriously? If not, then start now. Right now.

Add a WHEN to your dreams.