✨KITTING AROUND✨
KIT SUMMERS — From World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback
kitsummers.com 

 

 

Once upon a life, I was the guy who made gravity nervous.
Then came the truck, the coma, the darkness… thirty-seven days of nothingness.
And yet—here I stand.

Not juggling clubs so much anymore…
Now I juggle purpose, healing, and helping humans rise higher than they ever imagined. You, yes, you. 

Today, my mission stretches far beyond the stage.
I’m helping people across the world live braver, brighter, better lives—
One insight, one adventure, one spark of courage at a time.

Because comparing yourself to your past self, to anyone else—
It is the quickest way to dim your own magic.
And brother, sister, friend…
You were born to SHINE. ✨

As you see, a new format for the blog.
Less mishmash and more Kit words.
Please let me know what you think.
kitsummers@gmail.com 

1)  THE BEGINNINGS 

I heard from Sharon!
Sharon Fodrovics, November 21, 2025
“Another excellent blog!!
I look forward to seeing them pop up on my Facebook page and in my email.
Your writing was excellent before you added ChatGPT.
Hope you have a wonderful week ahead…”
        ======
Phyllis Lynch, my friend for so many years >>
“I can’t wait to read this BLOG when I can enjoy and digest it!
I love all your writings, so I like to save them for when I’m not rushing around ; ).”
Find Phyllis here >> https://www.zillow.com/profile/PhyllisLynch
    =====
Jenny Ydinger.  
“As someone who has read your blog for years, I have to agree with your daughter, April. Your own words are much more engaging than when you use Chat. I’ve been meaning to tell you not to use ChatGPT, so I’m glad April spoke up. Your blog doesn’t sound like Kit anymore. You don’t need AI, Kit; you’re a talented writer!” 
Thank you, Jenny.
Jenny is a friend from years past who juggles.
Some years ago, I had a desire to be “with” Jenny.
But that faded as we both went our separate ways.
I love you, Jenny Ydinger. 

     =====
My friend, Jules Manas, wrote this >>

“I read EVERY one of your blogs religiously! It’s MY salvation.”
Thank you, Jules, a good friend you are.
    =============
I am currently living at NeuroRestorative.
I am trying to breathe through this moment—this strange, heavy feeling of being trapped here at NeuroRestorative. It’s like the walls lean in just a little too close, like my choices are being made around me instead of by me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJs-omhlsN0

I’ve lived through storms, comas, crashes, heartbreaks, and reinventions … but this sensation? This loss of freedom? This is new, and it’s unsettling in a way I never expected. I can’t even go across the small street out front to juggle or run on the grass. So close, and yet so far.

People keep telling me it’s not like jail. Myles says it with the best intentions. But from where I’m standing—right here in my own skin—it does feel confining. It feels like my decisiveness, my independence, my “Kit-knows-his-own-path” compass has been set on silent mode.

But even as this fear rises in me, I can feel something deeper inside…

A spark.
A whisper.
A reminder of who I am and what I’ve already survived.

I am not done.
I am not defeated.
And I sure as heck am not giving up my future to this feeling.

Just now, a nurse came in to “check on me.”
I couldn’t help myself—I said, “You mean to see if I’m alive or dead?”
A small joke, sure … but underneath it was the truth:
I am alive.
I’m right here.
And I’m fighting for my life in a new way—this time not with juggling clubs or hospital machines,
but with courage, humor, and the stubborn heart that refuses to dim.

I will regain my clarity. I will rebuild my decisiveness. I will find my freedom again—
even if I have to take it inch by inch, breath by breath.
This moment may feel tight and dark, but it is not the end of my story.
It’s just another chapter … and I’ve rewritten plenty of chapters before.
And I will rewrite this one, too.
   
I am living on the third floor. There are some troubled people here, even more on the first floor. The guy in the room next to mine, as I wrote about previously, bangs on the walls in the middle of the night; it’s scary. Then, the guy across the hallway moans loudly often.
   
Yes, I understand that people have suffered a brain injury, but there are those of us whose injury does not bring on things. I just found out from a nurse who opened my door that they have to check on me every half-hour. What a waste of time and money!
     
Right now, I am in my room on the third floor at 5:15. I am told we will have Thanksgiving dinner at 6 pm on the first floor. I will head down there in a little while. I will write words about the get-together after I have witnessed the event.
     
Since my brain injury, I seldom feel hungry. 
And I hardly ever feel full.
Surprisingly, I am feeling hungry right now.
   
My daughter, Jasmine, is trying to see what she can do to help me.
She is so good at helping me like this.
Thanks, Jasmine.
   
But, if I weren’t here >>
Where could I be?
What would I be doing?
Who would I be with?
=====
I sent some of the words below through CHATGPT.
I like how it comes out.
But, at times, I regret what I write

Regrets: Those Tiny Gremlins With Clipboards.
They love to show up uninvited, don’t they?
Sneaking into your thoughts like,
“Hey, Kit… remember that one decision?                                                                                                                                         My lovely daughter, Jasmine
Yeah, that one. Let’s poke it with a stick!” 

But here’s the beautiful truth:
Regret only has power when we stare backward longer than we need to. And you—yes, you, Mr. Resilient, Coma-Conquering, Life-Rebuilding, World-Journeying Kit Summers—you’ve already proven that you can turn the messiest leftovers of life into a four-course feast.
      
Yes, now here I am, spoon-deep in a chicken-and-rice meal, relearning the ancient art of chewing like it’s Day One at Eating School. These new choppers feel like impostors at a party I didn’t invite them to — but I’m learning their rhythm, one bite at a time, yet, if I could only go back.

Regrets, regrets–how I’d love to leap backward and rewrite that choice. Just like I once wished I could go back to the moment before that truck came barreling into my story. But life doesn’t hand out rewinds. What would you go back and change, if you could? And, can there be good in what occurs? 

Yes, instead, it can open new doors — some bright, some confusing, some downright frustrating. This newest door? I’ll be honest: I don’t love what’s on the other side yet. But I’m stepping through anyway, because that’s what I’ve always done — even when the landscape feels strange and uninviting, my writing continues.

About my writing — let me clear the air with love and precision.
Here’s how it works:
1) Every blog starts with me, my words, my heart on the page.
2) Then I run those words through ChatGPT like polishing a gem.
3) Finally, I edit what comes through CHAT to make it mine.
I’m not a puppet of the machine.
I’m the sculptor.
Chat is just the chisel.

And yes … You might notice there’s a little more “Kit” in this blog and a little less Chat.
It felt good to hear that my original voice is strong, meaningful, and worth sharing.
That matters to me.
It lights me up. Here I am — chewing awkwardly — loving fiercely — learning endlessly — and writing with the fire that’s carried me through every chapter. (Here’s the secret — “I love you”.) 

    
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK

11/22–It’s Saturday, so I am confined to this building the whole day. Working on this blog for you, wish you were here. Today I’ve even thought about not being here anymore, not being anywhere anymore. I had actually said out loud, “What is there for me in the world?” Yes, I’m hurting.
   
Still not used to this new environment, living at NeauroRestorative. But, if I weren’t here, where could I be? Especially on weekends, nothing is going on here. I work in my garden or go to the park to juggle clubs when I can.
       
This evening I got a call from Ebcot. Cindy Marvell and I had talked on the phone, and she left her phone somewhere. Ebcot found it and called the last number dialed, which was mine. I had no idea how to reach her. I had called Dave Finnigan (https://jugglingedge.com/profile.php?UserID=959) to see what he thought, since he lives in the area. Cindy found them, got her phone, and called me, so everything is alright.
                                                                  Cindy and I are in Colorado
11/23–Awake at 3 am, the world is still quiet and half-dreaming. I felt the tug of the laundry room calling my name. There’s something almost sacred about tending to simple things before the sun rises—washing clothes, fresh sheets, that small ritual of renewal.
     
Clean fabric against the skin is like a whisper from the universe saying, “Start fresh, my friend.” And thankfully, the machines here hum their support to anyone willing to press the button. So, make washing clothes a ritual. And do it with a smile.  

Then I headed out to the garden—my little pocket of Earth, my morning cathedral. The tomatoes reaching out and looking red, the greens unfurling like they’re waking up right beside me … it always feels like the plants know something we humans forget: grow toward the light, even when the ground is messy.

And oh boy, the ground was messy. The garden and patio are the smoking area, too, and people toss their butts as if the Earth will swallow them without a burp. So I did what my Boy Scout heart always does—I cleaned the whole space. One hundred cigarettes, probably more, gone. A small mountain of “someone else’s problem.”

And yes, I’d probably even pick up your butt (but not, pick your butt.)
But don’t worry—I’m not applying that rule universally.
Yes, making this world a better place. 

Here’s the truth: nobody claps for the person who picks up trash.
No parade.
No thank-you card.
No nice words.
   
But that’s not why we do it.
We clean because we care.
We tend because we love.
We fix because it fixes something inside us, too.
We need you to help, too! 

The world doesn’t always reward kindness, but the soul always does (hmm, I’ve always wondered—what is a “soul?”) Every time I bend down to pick up a cigarette butt, I’m choosing the kind of person I want to be: someone who leaves places a bit better than he found them, even when no one sees.
   
Every time I’m out for a walk, if I see a lonely piece of trash, I pick it up and toss it in the nearest bin—like a tiny rescue mission for the planet. It’s such a small act, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of life … and yet, imagine if we all did that

Piece by piece. Step by step. Bin by bin.
The world would shine just a little brighter.
And we’d walk through it knowing we helped clean the planet with our own two hands.
A kinder Earth starts with these small gestures—
Little love notes we leave behind for the next person walking the path.
So yes—do your part.
Polish your corner of the world.
Wipe a smudge, lift a leaf, tidy a moment.
Not for applause.
For alignment.
And in case no one has said it yet today — “Thank you!”
       
And speaking of bright souls in my orbit — last week I mentioned Cindy Marvell being in the area and the delightful possibility of reconnecting. Last night she was too busy, which I understand. Life is a juggling act for all of us (and she’s a literal master of the art!). I’m hoping today opens a little space for us to meet. If it does, you’ll hear all about it — you know me.

11/24–It would be nice if every time I have a therapy session, the person running it had specific things for me to work on in advance. As happens so often here, she had no idea what we would do. She knows her background well and works well with people.
       
We went for a walk around the park where I want to juggle. I do need to exercise more; that is something I must put on myself. I did some running, which felt good, and I saw I could get back to it. I will work it out so I can run more often.
     
Of course, I picked up trash as we walked, and there was plenty of it. I found a big styrofoam cup that worked as my little trash bin. If you go walking or even running, bring a bag along to pick up any trash you see. Please do this for others, but, more importantly, do it for you.
   
At 10 am, I am scheduled to return to the park with someone to practice juggling clubs. On both Saturday and Sunday, someone was supposed to go over it with me, but no one showed up. So, I expect the same for today. They never did stop by.
     
During the day, I had sent an email to some of the therapists here. I wrote some hard things, but they were right. I talked to some of them, including Terrie from OT. On her way out tonight, she stopped by my room to make sure I was alright. I assured her I was and thanked her for her caring and concern.
     
11/25 — Dawn Breaks, and So Do the Words
Up at 4 am—that magical hour when only poets, owls, and slightly confused insomniacs roam the Earth.
I cracked open my blog for another round of “Kit vs. Keyboard,” and, to my surprise of surprises, a few folks wandered in later to tell me how much they enjoy reading these posts. I had no idea so many people around here were quietly following along. It felt like discovering a secret fan club… minus the T-shirts.

Then came my daily superhero transformation:
Trash Man!
(Theme song pending.)

There I was again, swooping in to rescue the patio from the endless rain of cigarette butts. I swear, smokers must think the ground is the world’s biggest ashtray. The trash can could be glowing neon purple and singing show tunes—still, plop, there goes another butt. Right on the ground near the can — butts!

But it’s become my mission.
My odd, slightly icky task.
Someone has to do it…
My strangely satisfying mission.
So why not the guy who’s already juggling life’s curveballs?
Does anyone even notice? 

And if you smoke—Hey, today’s a great day to stop!
Right now!
This minute!
Let your lungs throw a little party.

Around 11:30, Myles stopped by, and together we called Greg Golden, the insurance wizard who’s currently financing my stay here. I told him exactly how it feels—tight, tense, and not exactly freedom-flavored.

He let me know I could go somewhere else if I wanted.

For now, I’ll stay. This cocoon may soon turn into something brighter.

Still, there’s a heaviness.

I recently watched a video of the Utah National Parks—places my van and I went.
I roamed like an old dusty wanderer with too many stories and not enough miles left.

The thought of never seeing those sandstone cathedrals again… it hurts. 

Traveling in my van was more than a lifestyle.
It was freedom painted across a map.

Losing that feels like losing a part of my soul.
I do miss my travels. 

11/26 — The Mystery of 3:33 am.

Then came the witching hour—3:33 am.

If life were a movie, this is where the spooky music would start—low, slow, ominous.
A pounding sound jolted me awake.
Sharp, apparent, absolutely real.
It came from above me or the room next door.
Like someone stamping their foot. 

One slight problem:
There.
Is.
No.
Floor.
Above.
Me.

No room.
No ceiling neighbor.
No wandering night-owl with a hammer.
Just… space.

I messaged Myles. He’s probably off in dreamland, having much more peaceful adventures than I am. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a hallway so silent you could hear a thought land.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No movement.
Just me and the building whispering back its mysteries.

Maybe it was a dream.
Maybe it was the universe knocking to say,
“Hey, Kit—stay awake. There’s still magic in your story.”
And maybe… just maybe… it was time to start another chapter.
     
I’ve spent my whole life sharing space with women—starting with my mom, who trained me early: “Seat down after pee time, mister!” (Yes, there were scoldings. Yes, I survived.)
And you know what? I’ve carried that lesson like a golden rule. Seat down, always. Everywhere. 

But here … living solo …
I can leave the seat up!
OH HAPPY DAY!
A tiny, ridiculous, glorious victory.
Sorry, ladies—but freedom comes in strange packages.

This morning, our little crew of seven headed back to https://cleantheworld.org/. We packed hygiene kits like champs, and—believe it or not—they ran out of soap while we were elbow-deep in boxes. Still, I finished what I could and kept the assembly line humming. Service is service, even when the ingredients run out.

Afterward, we celebrated with Dunkin’. I grabbed a ham-and-cheese croissant that hit the spot. It was 11:30 when we got back, and the day felt like it was stretching its arms, wondering what surprises were next.

At 3 pm, Myles swung by to escort me to the dentist. That lower retainer has been biting back, so adjustments were in order. Eventually, I want the permanent retainer—the kind that gets screwed right into the jawbone. (Titanium Kit. Robo-Smile Summers). I’ll take it.

The holiday season is creeping in, which means fewer.
therapists around and more DIY rehab for yours truly.
So… wanna help?
Or at least cheer loudly from the sidelines?

The dental visit went well—the doc shaved, tweaked, and polished that retainer until it finally sat right. No more stabbing sensations. One small step for dentistry, one giant leap for my mouth. And somewhere on the horizon, that permanent retainer awaits—another step in rebuilding this body of mine, one determined inch at a time.
   
11/27–✨ Happy Turkey Day, my friend! ✨
You know the drill—Gobble, gobble, gobble!
A day when half the country cheers for time off…
but not me, not you, not anyone who’s tasted
the juicy magic of doing work they actually love.

Here’s the truth that’s always danced through my life like a juggling club with perfect spin:
If your work doesn’t make your heart wiggle with excitement… You might be in the wrong line of duty.

I’ve always followed the Sparks:
Performing around the world
Writing books that light people up
Crafting my legendary Salsa https://www.summerssalsa.com/

When I fall in love with something or someone, I don’t dip a toe.
I cannonball. Full splash. Full passion. Full heart. Desire is there

Your work should be your playground.
Study it. Master it. Teach it.
When you rise to the expert level, the magic multiplies!
Your joy increases as your confidence expands.
Suddenly, what you do becomes who you are.

Now here I am—Thanksgiving Day in a hospital.
And oddly enough… I find the joy anyway.
No matter your circumstances, you can always find happiness.
Life puts us in strange places at times, unexpected chapters,
funny little detours. But purpose doesn’t disappear—it shapeshifts.

This morning, I wandered outside to clean up the garden area
(you know me … guardian of the butt-free universe).
And what do I find?
Nine empty bottles of Hennessy Cognac!–Nine!
Someone’s been running “Thanksgiving Underground.”
Tattle-tailor–me–humm.
Spoiler alert: alcohol is not on the approved holiday menu here.
Not cool—so yes, I’ll be letting Myles know. But hey … at least the adventure never sleeps.

Wherever you are today—hospital room, kitchen, highway, or cozy couch—remember this:
Your purpose travels with you.
✨ Your passion is portable.
Joy is something you make, not something you wait for.
And, I do hope the turkey bird flies in your direction.   
     
The nurse peeked into my room a little while ago—just a crack in the door, a slight pause, and a gentle, “Are you OK?” It’s a question I rarely know how to answer. Some feelings don’t fit neatly into yes-or-no.

Tonight, they held a Thanksgiving meal downstairs. About twenty of us gathered—patients, survivors, wanderers in recovery. Some in wheelchairs, some shuffling slowly, some simply staring into a world only they can see.

And as I looked around the room, I felt this ache—this deep tug of compassion mixed with grief. So many lives bent, bruised, or broken in ways you can’t neatly stitch back together. People carrying injuries you can’t see by just glancing … even the staff, even the visitors, even me.

And yes—if I’m honest—I’m part of that “damaged” group too, though it’s still strange to picture myself that way. My heart remembers a different Kit, the one who flew across stages and danced with gravity. Sometimes the contrast hurts.

They hadn’t even served dessert yet, but the heaviness in the room grew too much. So I quietly slipped away, climbed back to my room, and treated myself to some ice cream—a slight sweetness at the end of a complicated night.

But even in all of this—the sorrow—the reflection—the fragile humanity—there’s something tender:
We’re all still here.
Still trying.
Still showing up.
Still finding moments of sweetness — even when the world feels cracked.

And that, in its own way,
It is a kind of Thanksgiving.
A quiet, brave one.
       
11/28–At first, I wasn’t sure I’d have enough to fill this week’s blog.
I sat there wondering if my days had given me anything worth sharing —
anything meaningful, anything that might stir a heart or crack a smile.
For a moment, it felt like the well might be dry.

But life, that sneaky storyteller, always hides treasures in the corners.

Once I started looking closer, I realized I had plenty to choose from. Moments big and small — the victories in therapy, the surprise conversations, the frustrations, the laughter, the memories, the quiet reflections at 3 am, even the cigarette butts I pluck from the garden like I’m harvesting a bizarre crop — all of it adds up to a life worth writing about

My days are not empty; they are overflowing.
Sometimes I forget to notice the sparkle until I start typing.
And best of all…
I’m happy you’re here reading my words.
It means the world to know that someone out there is walking through this wild chapter with me — sharing the highs, the lows, the lessons, the laughs. Your eyes on these sentences give them purpose. Your time gives them weight.

Thank you for showing up. 
Thank you for caring enough to read.
And thank you for being part of this journey with me.  
   
3) BLOG 352–Comparing Yourself
✨THE DAY KIT SUMMERS STOPPED SHRINKING✨

Somewhere between sunrise and that first playful wink at the day, 
I fell into the old trap—the Comparison Cave.
Me against you.
Me against me.
Not just comparing myself to others … but to the old Kit.
The flying-club phenom.
The gravity bully.
The guy who made audiences gasp.
   
And yeah—it stings to admit that this chapter may have taken its final bow. It brushes the heart in that quiet, aching way … the way memories do when they’re still warm. I may not get my juggling back—not the way it once blazed across stages and made audiences forget gravity. But I still try. Oh, do I try.

Some days, it’s not even fun anymore. Often, it feels like picking up old juggling that no longer fits my hands. But I keep reaching anyway—not because I have to. But because deep inside, a piece of me still whispers:

“Give yourself one more chance…
Not to juggle as you did,
But to discover who you are now.”

This isn’t the end of your artistry, my friend. It’s just a new show, a new act, a new kind of wonder you haven’t met yet. And you—of all people—know how to make a spotlight out of the dimmest room. You’re not losing juggling. You’re gaining the next fearless version of Kit Summers.
 
Ever since waking from a 37-day coma, I have held tight to the belief
I’d climb back to peak juggling. But life—the sneaky teacher—keeps
Whispering a new truth:
“I may not juggle like the past Kit …”
     
But I’m becoming something even more extraordinary.

A storyteller. A guide. A spark-thrower.
A friend who wants to help you live better.
A man who turns challenges into fireworks.
   
And you?
Do you compare yourself to everyone else’s highlight reels?
Or to who you were yesterday?
   
Because Roosevelt was right: “Comparison Steals Joy”.
And joy is a jewel we don’t hand out like coupons.
Hold and keep whatever joy you can.
   
Then—POW!—clarity smacked me like a juggling club:
I’d stepped out of my own story and into someone else’s costume.
Silly me. I’m not them. And neither are you.
   
No one has lived through your storm.
Or had your triumphs.
Or your wild rebounds.
No one has danced your dance.
Never has anyone juggled like you!
No one has run your race with such precision.
     
The only competition?
Yesterday’s you.
   
So I pulled my shoulders back, breathed deep, and whispered my new mantra:
“I’m not here to be better than THEM.
I’m here to be better than I CAN BECOME!”
   
And suddenly, the world clicked back into color.
Birds auditioned for backup vocals.
The sun winked like, there he is.
   
So here’s the deal for both of us:
Stop Comparing.
Start Becoming.

Move your body. Feed your joy.
Practice gratitude—it keeps the inner sky bright.
Measure progress in kindness, courage, and spark.
   
Shine your strange, glorious colors.
You’re not here to fit in—
You’re here to lead.
And oh, what a trail you’re blazing.
     
The Final Whisper
Your life isn’t a competition.
It’s a creation.
A masterpiece in motion.
       

4) A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET

“Don’t compare yourself!
        You’re the best!”
— Kit Summers
   
“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
— Theodore Roosevelt
     
“Don’t compare your life with others.
There’s no comparison between the sun and the moon.
They each shine when it’s their time.”
— Anonymous
   
“To be yourself in a world that is constantly
Trying to make you something else is the
greatest accomplishment.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
   
“Your path doesn’t look like anybody 
else’s because it can’t, it shouldn’t, and it won’t.”
— Positivity Surge
   

you start labeling yourself and others.
Avoid this practice if you want to have high self-esteem.”
― Dr Prem Jagyasi
     
“When you compare yourself with others,
you start labeling yourself and others.
Avoid this practice if you want to have high self-esteem.”
― Dr Prem Jagyasi
     
“Comparison is the root cause of all evil.
Why compare when no two people are alike?”
― Haresh Sippy
   
“Look in the mirror rather than at your neighbor.”
― Frank Sonnenberg
     
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Do you compare yourself to others, or to yourself?
This week, no comparison.
Do your best and celebrate your accomplishments.

I used to perform here, Balboa Park, San Diego >>

6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 353 ― ― Good Memories are Worth Any Cost!  

7) Final Thoughts 
Because the best is always still ahead.
So juggle joy like it’s the air you breathe.
The horizon holds more than you can yet imagine.
Your present moment is not the finish line—it’s your starting block.  
Chase sunsets as if they’re secret treasures waiting just for you.
Laugh so loudly that tomorrow leans in to listen.
Live as though you’ve only just begun—
BECAUSE YOU TRULY HAVE!

        
Do you like the new blog format?
Please, let me know >> kitsummers@gmail.com