I looked at the X-ray image while waiting for the doctor to enter the examination room. I could see a metal clip on the right side and some tiny shiny particles scattered around the joint — marks and remnants of past surgeries. I then skimmed through several illustrations explaining common joint injuries posted on the wall.

The doctor opened the door; we shook hands, introduced ourselves, and he sat down, turned to the monitor, and selected a new image. This one had measurements comparing the space between the tibia and femur in both knees. He looked at me and said, “See how there’s no space on the outer side of your right knee? The meniscus and the cartilage are gone. Bones are rubbing against each other. That’s arthritis.”

I proceeded to tell him how my knee got to this point, how it all started with an ACL tear playing soccer back in 2013 and a failed reconstruction surgery from the first doctor that treated me. I’ve had two reconstruction surgeries in total.

He did the ‘Lachman test’ to assess if my ligament was strong. “It’s loose,” he said, “see how it moves compared to the other knee?” He looked at me, “your ACL is not functional.”

I was coming to this appointment hoping that I would get a solution to the instability of my knee. I didn’t. Instead, the diagnosis wasn’t very exciting. That I just have to live with it for the rest of my life, doing most things I enjoy but limiting any impact sports, like soccer. Or have another complicated surgery that wouldn’t necessarily guarantee me normal stability.

Getting sad for not being able to play soccer anymore is an option. Getting angry at myself for choosing the wrong doctor back when the injury happened is an option. Getting frustrated for not finding an easy solution is an option.

I choose to embrace it as it comes. That’s the better option. “Bring it on,” I told my wife when I got home. I’ll just do yoga, cycling, keep myself in shape and lightweight, and live with it. One day at a time.

That’s life. Unexpected and challenging events happen all the time, redirecting our paths, causing us pain and a little suffering. Everything that happens, happens for your ultimate good, the Yogis constantly repeat. Every heartbreak, every accident, every tragedy, every loss, every achievement, every disease, every single thing is meant to teach you something. Everything is supposed to happen the way it’s happening.

That’s why I love the Yogi philosophy. It has helped me cope with this injury. It has made me see things from a broader perspective. It has helped find acceptance, surrender, understanding, and peace of mind. It has helped me navigate daily struggles with grace, with enthusiasm, and with a good mood.

To find the sense of humor even in the darkest moments. To find contentment with what’s in front of you. To love what happens, because it’s your path, unique to you and exactly what your soul needs to unfold.