A moment that changed me: the missile alert promised sudden death. That awful hour taught me how to live

I was helping my mother prepare for an appointment at the Department of Motor Vehicles in Honolulu when I got the text message. “BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII,” the official alert read. “SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” The islands were already on edge because of tensions between the US and North Korea. Wary and agitated, I tried to make sense of the situation.

When I look back on that moment in 2018, the most visceral memory I have is how conscious I was of my scalp. Having never thought of it before, I remember feeling acutely aware of its presence, how odd it was that hair has follicles. In these last, precious moments, I asked my mother what, in the face of our impending death, she wanted to do next. She still wanted to go to the DMV. In her mind, we could be sitting ducks – or we could just get on with it.

I was no stranger to these emergency text alerts. Only eight days before, on the way back from picking up some milk from a corner shop while visiting my grandmother in Tokyo, I had received a similar text warning me of an earthquake about to hit the Kanto region.

Startled, I had jumped into a nearby bush in a feeble attempt at self-preservation. It had been a false alarm. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice … by now I had convinced myself that some kind of divine power had it in for me, and I wouldn’t be able to dodge this bullet twice.

Honolulu residents took shelter in storm drains, leaving homes unsecured. A friend of mine in the air force jumped into their 4×4, abandoning another car on the street with keys still in the ignition. Several people attempted to shelter in their bathtubs, praying. For my part, I paced the floor, furiously replaying all of my life decisions up until that point. I told my friends that I loved them, messages that still haunt my memory, and the group chat, years later. Then the danger passed, attributed to human error – but I was forever changed.

I had gone to visit my grandmother and mother in Tokyo and Honolulu after the breakdown of a long-term relationship. I felt as if I was stagnating in my career, and wanted to take some time to recuperate. Frustrated with many of the big life choices I had made up until that point, I had hoped that some time with family would rebuild a sense of faith and trust in life that I felt I had lost. What I got was a wake-up call.

Before this, I felt as if I hadn’t been an active participant in my own life. I didn’t want to live like that any more. That terrifying hour gave me time to reflect on the things I had been too scared to do and what I’d change given the same chance again. To shorten the list of regrets that I had.

I stopped second-guessing myself, and began to listen to my gut. It made me less of an angry cynic. I vigorously pursued my own interests. My first book was published later that year. I built up the confidence to go travelling alone. I took risks with my heart, and my career – resulting in a promotion, a transatlantic move and an impulsive summer romance with an old friend. We’re getting married later this year.

Sometimes the universe sends you a message. It starts subtly, but when you ignore the signs, it takes drastic action. When you finally get the message, the magnitude of it is immense: that action trumps inaction, every time, that there is no time like the present, that the thing that will end up killing you will never be the thing you spent all that time worrying about. So stop putting everything off and just get started.

What followed was a time when every decision was met with a resounding “yes”. I accepted an invitation from a friend to visit her home in Kyiv, five months before the first UK lockdown. Without it, I would have missed out on a vibrant weekend in a beautiful city. I am eternally grateful. That brief moment I spent in all-consuming fear is what its inhabitants now experience daily. The thought is chastening.

I still struggle against my own nature – to give in to wallowing, frustration and anger – but whenever I take a risk I remember how I felt in those moments, and that tingling feeling returns to my head. For me, that moment represented a seismic shift in the way I live my life. It was a reminder to stop waiting for things to happen, and to voraciously seek them out instead – so when I’m next faced with drastic news I can meet it without fear or regret.