The Red Button: Asking for Help and Finding Strength in Vulnerability

Can we all agree on something? Life in the 21st century—especially here in Canada—can be overwhelming.

Maybe that’s why I’ve spent my career at one of the world’s most awarded automobile plants (Toyota Motor Manufacturing Canada), where constant improvement is a way of life. Every day is about refining the process, making things better, and working hard to be among the best. And outside of work, I try to do the same—whether as a stone carver, a father, or a husband.

But here’s the truth: no matter how hard we strive, life can bring us to a halt.

Earlier this year, I spent nine days in the ICU with a third-degree heart block, likely caused by Lyme disease. I was unprepared for the helplessness. At first, it was disorienting and discouraging, but I slowly learned to settle in, making my hospital bed a temporary home. And I survived those days not through my own strength, but because of the countless people who supported me.

Beside my bed was a red button—a call button for the nurses. I used it sparingly, knowing they were constantly busy, but it was the most important tool I had in that room. It connected me to help when I couldn’t manage on my own.

That red button is a powerful metaphor for life.

We all have one—some way to reach out when we’re struggling—but pressing it can feel humiliating. We want to be the grown-up, the strong one, the helper. We don’t want to admit we’re small or in need. Sometimes we wait until no help is around.

But civilizations weren’t built by people who never needed anything from each other. They were built by hands that worked together.

There’s a page from The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy that says it perfectly:

“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said?” asked the boy.

“Help,” said the horse.

Even the strongest among us sometimes need to admit: “I can’t do this alone.” And just as importantly, we need to remember that we are also the help for someone else.

In a world that’s increasingly mechanized and efficient, producing all the “stuff” we could ever want, we can still end up feeling stuck. What moves us forward isn’t technology—it’s each other.