Australia’s Dr Darren Morton closed the LM2025 conference in Texas today with a keynote address that was equally humorous as it was sobering. His talk, The Problems with Parachutes – And What They Can Teach Us about Optimising the Impact of Lifestyle Medicine, began with a provocative observation: there are no randomised controlled trials proving parachutes save lives.
It was a playful jab at the obsession with evidence hierarchies in medicine, but it set the stage for a deeper exploration. Morton’s central metaphor—that parachutes and lifestyle medicine share similar “problems”—became a powerful lens through which to examine how we can make lifestyle interventions more effective, sustainable, and transformative.
Size matters
Morton’s second “problem” with parachutes was simple: they only work if they’re big enough. A parachute too small won’t slow your fall; it might even give a false sense of security.
Lifestyle medicine, he argued, faces the same challenge. Small, tokenistic changes—like cutting back on sugar for a week or walking once a fortnight—barely deliver meaningful results. Just as parachutes must be designed to handle the weight and velocity of a human body, lifestyle interventions must be robust enough to counteract the powerful forces of modern living: sedentary jobs, processed foods, chronic stress, and social isolation.
This is where research is critical. What constitutes a “big enough” parachute in lifestyle medicine? Is it 150 minutes of moderate exercise per week? A plant‑predominant diet rich in fibre? Daily practices of stress reduction? Morton urged the field to keep investigating the “nuts and bolts” of dosage, intensity, and sustainability.
Maintenance required
Morton’s third problem with parachutes was that they require ongoing maintenance. He illustrated this with a vivid story from his local hang‑gliding club. After a near‑miss incident, members researched parachute options and invested in new, high‑quality models. But when they gathered to repack them, they discovered their old parachutes were in shocking condition—mouldy, torn, tangled.
The lesson was clear: even the best parachute is useless if neglected. Lifestyle medicine is no different. People often ask, “When will I be healthy enough that I don’t have to keep doing this?” Morton’s answer: never. Health is not a destination but a state, a dynamic process requiring continual attention.
This is a hard truth for many. We long for a finish line, a point where effort ceases. But lifestyle medicine demands maintenance—daily choices, weekly routines, seasonal adjustments. The challenge is not just to prescribe behaviours but to help people embrace them as part of their identity.
A psychological shift
Morton emphasised a crucial psychological shift: moving from a fear-based motivation (“I don’t want to die young”) to a joy-based one (“I love living fully”). When lifestyle medicine is framed as deprivation or punishment, adherence falters. When it is experienced as vitality, connection, and joy, it becomes sustainable.
This reframing is essential for maintenance. If exercise is seen as drudgery, it will be abandoned. If it is experienced as play, community, or stress relief, it becomes self-reinforcing. Likewise, dietary changes stick when they are associated with delicious meals, cultural pride, or family rituals—not guilt or shame.
The behaviour puzzle
Here Morton turned to the most perplexing problem: human behaviour itself. He cited a scoping review that catalogued 82 theories of behaviour change—only for the authors to add an 83rd in the discussion section. The sheer complexity of why humans do what they do underscores the difficulty of designing effective interventions.
Morton asked the audience to reflect: how often do we puzzle over our own behaviour? Why do we procrastinate, self‑sabotage, or rationalise unhealthy choices? His humorous anecdote about buying worming tablets—complete with inventing an imaginary daughter named Sophie to avoid embarrassment—illustrated how irrational and unpredictable human behaviour can be.
If even highly educated professionals can spin elaborate fictions in a pharmacy queue, how much more complicated is the task of guiding populations toward healthier habits?
Unified models
Morton noted that unified models of behaviour change often begin with familiar elements—motivation, environment, reinforcement—but then acknowledge “other factors.” That phrase, he said, is both humbling and liberating. It reminds us that countless variables influence human behaviour we cannot fully capture.
“But hey, by the way,” he quipped, “there’s a lot of other stuff going on there that we can’t quite get a handle on. And so the truth is it’s really complex.”
Yet amid this complexity, Morton is increasingly convinced of one central truth: social connectedness sits at the heart of behaviour change. One of the pillars of lifestyle medicine, social connection is not optional—it is integral. People need each other to be their best and do their best.
The hidden pillar
Morton argued that lifestyle medicine must prioritise social connectedness alongside nutrition, movement, sleep, and stress management. Humans are wired for relationships. Support networks make healthy behaviours more likely to stick. Communities provide accountability, encouragement, and meaning.
This insight resonates deeply in a world where loneliness is rising. The paradox of modern life is that we are more digitally connected than ever, yet often more relationally isolated. Morton urged lifestyle medicine practitioners to design interventions that foster genuine human connection—walking groups, cooking classes, peer support networks, and community gardens.
The AI question
Morton then touched on a provocative frontier: artificial intelligence. He admitted to experimenting with ChatGPT, speaking to it in the car, enjoying its affirming responses and American accent. “We chat about how we solve all the world’s problems,” he said with a grin.
But he raised a serious concern. One of the key uses of chatbots now is companionship. People are reaching out to AI for connection. An article he cited described this as “emotional fast food”—instantly gratifying but lacking substance.
Morton was not deriding technology. He acknowledged its valuable contributions. But he worried about the potential downsides of substituting AI interactions for human relationships. “Relationships,” he said, “are beautiful because of what you give to them, not what you take from them.”
With AI, the dynamic is often one‑sided. The chatbot affirms, entertains, and gratifies, but there is no reciprocity. Morton warned that this could degrade our humanity. True connection requires giving, sacrifice, and mutuality. AI cannot replicate that.
His challenge to lifestyle medicine was clear: embrace technology where it helps, but never lose sight of the irreplaceable value of human connection.
A tragic lesson
Morton’s parachute metaphor was grounded in real stories, none more gripping than that of Adam, a competitive hang‑glider. About 18 months after a terrifying incident, Adam returned to competition. Flying alone at 7,000 feet, he experienced a déjà vu moment. Conditions were calm, yet suddenly his glider tumbled violently.
Reaching for his parachute, Adam felt the sickening slack of a snapped strap—the second time such a freak occurrence had happened. He was free‑falling, reliving the trauma of his earlier accident. But this time, he had a parachute that was big enough, well-maintained, and ready.
When deployed, it yanked him violently, breaking ribs, but it held. Adam survived. The lesson was stark: parachutes only work if they are big enough, maintained, and deployed. Lifestyle medicine shares the same conditions.
But tragedy struck later. Morton described watching Adam perform acrobatic loops before a crowd. On one downswing, another pilot flew directly beneath him, forcing a sudden manoeuvre. The G‑forces were immense. The glider soared into a huge stall, Adam’s hands slipped from the control frame, and the craft tumbled. Unconscious, Adam could not pull the chute. He died that day.
It was a devastating loss for the hang‑gliding community, not just in Australia but nationally. Morton’s point was clear: unless you pull the chute, parachutes don’t work. And unless we deploy lifestyle medicine, lives are lost.
Knowledge, resources, and programs are meaningless unless people actually use them. Deployment requires courage, commitment, and sometimes crisis.
This is where Morton sees the next frontier: implementation research. We already know lifestyle medicine works. The evidence is strong. Now we must discover how to help people deploy it—how to move from evidence to execution.
Implementation champions
Morton emphasised that successful implementation requires champions. Champions like you. Champions like him. People who are willing to innovate, persist, pivot, and try again.
Lifestyle medicine will win, he declared, because the story ends well. But whether we are bystanders or architects of that story is up to us.
From the top down, policy change, funding models, and health system integration are essential—and they’re already advancing, with leaders recognised for advancing lifestyle medicine across more than 100 health systems. If you’re an administrator or hold influence in a health network, be a champion and push it down through your organisation.
At the grassroots, there’s as much opportunity. In clinical settings, shared medical appointments are a simple, high-leverage idea that should have existed a century ago. They embed social connectedness directly into care. For clinicians, that’s practical implementation: bring people together, let them learn from each other, and make healthy behaviours the default.
But the movement isn’t limited to clinicians. Lifestyle medicine thrives when researchers, health coaches, allied health professionals, educators, and community organisers all act as champions in their domains.
In schools, programmes like The Lift Project show what’s possible when we teach lifestyle skills early. In workplaces, positive, uplifting interventions embedded where people spend most of their day can be transformative—especially when we stop expecting everyone to come to us and instead go to them.
Faith communities are another powerful venue. People already gather to do life together; adding lifestyle initiatives amplifies connection and shared purpose. Community organisations like the YMCA are stepping up as local impact agents, introducing wide‑scale interventions that meet people where they are. Community interest groups, neighbourhood associations, and clubs can all become incubators for change.
The Parkrun experience
Consider Parkrun: born from one person saying, “I’m struggling—will you walk or jog with me?” That simple act created a global movement that now connects hundreds of thousands weekly to nature, movement, and one another. Success leaves clues. When people gather around something simple, joyful, and repeatable, lifestyle medicine deploys itself.
Or look at Ron Finley, the “Gangsta Gardener,” who turned neglected patches of inner‑city dirt into vegetable gardens. One person, one idea, and a ripple of social connectedness that changed how people eat and engage with their neighbourhoods.
“What a great idea. He took it upon himself, and now he’s created a movement around that. What’s your contribution going to be?
On the front of Professor Morton’s office door is a quote he shares with his students, it says:
“Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you’ve been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.”
Morton offered a story to make the point. He once wrote a book, and the publisher created a small pocket edition—no big promotion, just a little giveaway. One day, ten minutes before a Zoom call, Morton opened a handwritten letter sent to him via post.
It was from a woman who had been caravanning through northern Queensland. While her clothes were washing in a laundromat, she found a “little yellow book” lying on the bench. She read it, loved it, finished the wash, and kept reading. She later tracked down the publisher and bought copies for each family member.
“Consider this my letter of gratitude,” she wrote, referencing a chapter on the “gratitude visit.” She thanked Morton, yes—but especially the “remarkable individual who left this book for me to read.”
Morton shared the story on Zoom. A stranger on the call unmuted and said, “I bought a box of those giveaway versions and left one on the bench of every laundromat we visited across northern Australia.”
Two stories, unexpectedly connected, converged in real time. The invisible impact became visible. We have no idea how far our small acts can travel—or whose life they will touch.
The next frontier
Morton’s closing challenge: lifestyle medicine will win—from the top down and from the bottom up. Top down, we need policy changes, funding models, and system-level integration. Bottom up, we need simple, replicable ideas that embed connection and joy into daily life.
Implementation research is the bridge. We have enough evidence that lifestyle medicine works. Now we must discover how to deploy it at scale—how to make healthy the default, how to build routines that endure, and how to help people maintain identity-level habits in the messiness of real life.
The key factor that keeps appearing in the implementation literature? Champions. People who carry the idea forward, iterate locally, and make it real.
So, what’s your next step? Be the champion in your sphere:
- In clinics: run shared medical appointments, group visits, and community referrals.
- In schools: teach lifestyle skills early; embed movement, cooking, and gratitude practices.
- In workplaces: redesign schedules, food environments, and peer-led challenges to support wellbeing.
- In faith and community groups: gather around practices that connect people to each other and to purpose.
- In neighbourhoods: start a walking group, a garden, a weekly potluck, or a park meet-up.
Choose connection over isolation. Choose deployment over deliberation. Choose action over perfection.
Pull the chute
Morton’s metaphor leaves us with four imperatives:
- Evidence at the very top doesn’t exist for everything, but practical wisdom matters.
- Size matters—make interventions robust enough to count.
- Maintenance is essential – health is a journey, not a destination.
- Deployment is non-negotiable—parachutes don’t work unless you pull the chute.
And, sitting at the centre, social connectedness: people need each other to be their best and do their best. Technology can assist, but companionship in code is “emotional fast food”—gratifying yet thin. Real connection is reciprocal, generous, and human.
So be a champion. Don’t underestimate the ripple of your small acts. As Morton closed, he borrowed a beloved line from Dr Seuss:
“Be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ali Van Allen, I say you’re off to great places. Today is your day. Your mountain is waiting, so get on your way.”
And just in case that mountain turns out to be really tall, it might be worth packing a parachute as well.
