Dear Friend,

Your story arrives at a fascinating intersection between youth's beautiful illusions and life's persistent realities. Let me share a thought that might seem strange at first: our resistance to health insurance often has less to do with financial calculations and more to do with our complicated relationship with mortality itself.

Consider why we find it so easy to insure our phones, our cars, even our travel plans, yet hesitate when it comes to our own bodies. Is it not curious? The same person who might carefully protect a ₹50,000 smartphone against damage might balk at protecting their irreplaceable health. This isn't mere irrationality – it's a profound psychological mechanism at work.

Your initial response – "Abhi se? I'm only 25!" – reveals something we all share: a deep-seated belief in our own invincibility, what psychologists might call the 'immortality complex' of youth. It's not just about being young; it's about what being young means to us: unlimited potential, boundless energy, and yes, the luxury of imagining that serious illness happens only to others, preferably much older others.

The Covid experience with your father and your own accident serve as what philosophers would call 'memento mori' – reminders of mortality. But they're not just reminders of our fragility; they're invitations to a more mature relationship with uncertainty. The selling of your mother's jewelry – that painful transaction – wasn't just about raising funds; it was the material cost of an immaterial misconception.

Your friends who still think you're paranoid are experiencing what I call the 'immortality echo chamber' – where young people reinforce each other's illusions of invulnerability. It's rather like a group of people standing on a beach, convincing each other that tsunamis are merely stories invented by worried parents.

The real insight here isn't just that we should all get health insurance (though we should). It's that growth often involves embracing what we'd rather ignore: our vulnerability, our dependence on others, the simple fact that youth, while wonderful, isn't an impenetrable shield against life's uncertainties.

When you pass that hospital now, you're not just remembering a financial mistake. You're experiencing what philosophers call 'practical wisdom' – the kind that comes not from books or lectures, but from living through consequences. Your story isn't really about health insurance; it's about the gradual, sometimes painful process of accepting that preparation isn't paranoia – it's wisdom.

Perhaps the next time someone says, "We're too young to worry about all this," you might reply, "We're exactly the right age to start thinking about it." After all, wisdom isn't about age – it's about understanding that life's greatest certainty is its uncertainty.

Maddy

P.S. Sometimes the most mature action we can take is to admit that we're not invincible – and to plan accordingly.