t was the Monday of fall break, and no one was around.

I was enjoying the beauty of campus that we so often take for granted in the hustle and bustle of our schedules when it happened. The sun was shining through the canopy of changing leaves, creating beams of light across the paths around the lakes. The ducks and the geese and the swans were gliding gracefully across the surface of the waters, completing the serenity of the scene.

And I was having the most marvelous jog; the weather was perfect, no other joggers crowded the path and I didn't have to worry about getting my workout done in time for a meeting or to write a paper. Lost in the musical world of my walkman, I could not have been more content. All of a sudden and without warning, my headphones go flying, I hear the crack of the case shattering and the batteries spilling out while the world spins out of control.

I am lying in the middle of the path around Saint Mary's Lake, twisted in a way that no body ever should be arranged – even in yoga – with blood seeping into my clothes. A significant portion of the pebbles from the dirt path dig into the abrasions on my hands and knees, but the best part is the unbelievable pain shooting through my left ankle.

Now, I've sprained my ankle before. A basketball, volleyball or track season during high school was never complete without suffering this familiar injury. But I could never stay off of it for long. I had to get back in the game. I had to get back in the race. Instead of taking the advice of the doctors, I would just tape it up tight and ignore the pain.

I never took the time to let it heal properly, which resulted in an ankle so weak that tripping off of a curb confines me to my couch. But this last fall was the worst. While most of you were out having wild adventures during break – or at least got to get out of South Bend – I was stuck in my room with a bucket of ice and a pair of uncomfortable crutches as my only means of physical mobility. I had to cancel a much-anticipated trip to Chicago, and couldn't even make it to a computer cluster to check my e-mail.

The one thing I could do during my confinement, though, was think. How is that so much can change in the blink of an eye? One minute I was having a perfectly lovely afternoon, and the next I'm sprawled out in agony and covered with blood. I had taken more than the beauty of campus for granted – I had completely failed to appreciate the gift of healthy legs and the ability to use them. It was only when they were gone did I realize how much I depended on them.

How many times do we experience this with people? Too often we take for granted our blessings and never fully realize the value of the people in our lives until they are gone. How would you feel if you woke up and your friends weren't there to listen, to laugh, to comfort or to understand? Do they know how much they would be missed? Maybe you should tell them.

Because anything can happen in an instant.

• The power of an instant