Would I Choose to Be Born Again?

I came across a question the other day:

"If the world were to end tomorrow, would you choose to be born again?"

My answer came immediately. Yes. Not because life has been easy. Not because I have achieved everything I wanted. Not because I have no regrets. I would choose to be born again because, nine years ago, my daughter was born.

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. My wife was in labor for thirteen hours. She was in terrible pain. The epidural didn't work. The medications didn't help. I hadn't slept for two nights. I was exhausted, terrified, and trying not to panic.

Back then, I had already spent time as an intern in a gynecology ward. I had witnessed difficult deliveries and bad outcomes. Throughout those thirteen hours, memories of those moments kept replaying in my head.

I was scared.

Then, after all that struggle, my daughter arrived. Thank God, everything went well in the end, although not without a scare. My wife developed a severe hemorrhage after the delivery. I still remember how quickly the doctors and nurses reacted. Their calm professionalism prevented what could have become a tragedy.

Then a nurse placed my daughter in my arms. And suddenly everything changed. I had never experienced anything like it. A wave of love rushed through me so intensely that it almost felt physical.

How could I love someone this much when I had only just met her? I looked at her tiny face and thought: "This is where everything begins for her."

I imagined taking her places. Teaching her things. Watching her grow. Helping her discover who she would become.

And then, almost immediately, another feeling appeared: Fear.

A tightness in my chest. Am I good enough? Will I make mistakes? Of course I will make mistakes. What if those mistakes hurt her? What if we don't have a good relationship? What if one day she hates me? What if she yells at me when she's a teenager?

And then another thought stopped me. Didn't I do exactly that to my own parents? As a teenager, I argued with them. I yelled at them. At times, I even despised them. But why? They loved me.

And in that moment, holding my daughter in my arms, I finally understood something I had never fully understood before.

Love does not guarantee gratitude. Love does not guarantee agreement. Love does not guarantee that your children will always understand your sacrifices. 

You love them anyway. You show up anyway. You forgive anyway. At that moment, I made a silent promise. I would be there for her no matter what. I would love her. I would support her. I would do my best to become a better man because she existed.

Later, my parents came into the room to congratulate us. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I could barely speak. The only words I could find were:

"I'm sorry."

Sorry for the worry. Sorry for the difficult years. Sorry for all the times I failed to understand how much they loved me. My father put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. Then he said something I will never forget:

"It's nice to finally meet you. To meet the version of you that knows what it means to love a child."

Nine years have passed since that day. Many things in life have changed. But if someone asked me whether I would choose to be born again if the world were ending tomorrow, my answer would still be yes. Not because of my achievements. Not because of my career. Not because of the places I have visited. But because I was given the chance to receive the greatest gift I have ever known:

To love a child.

Six years later, I received that gift a second time. My son was born.

The day he came into this world deserves its own article. It was a different story, with its own emotions, its own lessons, and its own memories. But what matters here is that I got to experience that feeling again. That overwhelming love. That sense of wonder. That realization that a tiny human being could instantly become one of the most important people in your life. My daughter taught me what it means to become a father. My son reminded me that the miracle was real.

Today, when I look at my children, I know they are the greatest gifts I have ever received. More valuable than any career achievement. More meaningful than money. More important than recognition or success. And because of them, I try every day to become a better man. Not a perfect man. Just a better one.

People often say they would die for their children. But if you ask me, dying is the easy part. Living for them is harder. For them, I will live. I will train when I am tired. I will work when I would rather rest. I will sacrifice comfort for opportunity. I will keep learning. I will keep growing. I will be generous when it is difficult. I will be patient when I am frustrated. I will keep fighting through setbacks and disappointments. I will face the world again and again if it means being there for them.

So if the world were ending tomorrow and I were asked whether I would choose to be born again, my answer would still be yes. Because I was lucky enough to experience the greatest gift life has ever given me: To love my children. And if I had the chance to live it all over again just to give that gift to someone else, I would choose it every single time.