Kaitlin and I used to celebrate every time we got malaria...

(Or the importance of having a low threshold for celebrations)

Kaitlin and I used to celebrate every time we got malaria. 

And in the Tanzanian township we called home for a year, there was plenty of malaria, thus, plenty of celebrations. 

We'd test ourselves for the parasite by stabbing our thumb with a pin, smearing our blood on a broken glass slide, turning on a lightbulb connected to a car battery to dry it quickly, and then looking through a high-school-grade microscope to spot the malaria cells between our regular, albeit now sickly blood cells. 

Whoever got the first positive result got to wear the 'sick shirt', a XXXL grey polo in the pile of charity drop-offs that none of the students would dream of being spotted in. Then we'd cook up the 'Scoop In,' our invented dish of a small piece of beef carved off the decaying, fly-specked carcass at the local butcher, some kidney beans, one avocado sliced up, and some stock flavoring. The malaria victim, wearing the sick shirt, would scoop spoonfuls, taking care to get beans, avocado, and some beef all in one go. Malaria is no joke, and we never wanted to downplay its horrors - it still kills a million people every year. But in the face of fear, we decided that we'd get through it each time with some sulfur tablets, optimism, and a bit of luck. 

(This photo is after our fourth Scoop In dinner, both positive for malaria this time.)

These days our celebrations are a bit different. Last week, Kaitlin and I celebrated completing the sale of a business we co-founded, and we dressed up nice and went out to our special restaurant for lunch. A beautiful afternoon. 

I've learned that life flies by too fast not to stop for a moment and celebrate. So the next time the thought comes into your mind, 'Should we celebrate this' don't walk; run towards a big XXXL-sized yes. Open a bottle of something, put on your best clothes, eat a nice meal, and raise a glass to life and living deliberately.