BLOG 365–FIND YOUR PURPOSE!

✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟BLOG 365–FIND YOUR PURPOSE! 🌟
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

To Learn More about Kit, Go Here >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

Once upon a life, I made gravity nervous—
Headlining at Ballys, tossing clubs with a grin.
Seven of them. A world record—
Because physics loves a good insult. 😄
Then came the truck—the coma.
     
Thirty-seven silent days offstage.
And here I am now—not juggling clubs.
But throwing purpose, grit, and joy.
Balancing healing, catching courage.
Tossing hope sky-high. 🤹‍♂️

    
The mission grew bigger than applause.
Now I lift humans. I write to stay connected.
I write because it’s how I breathe.
If these words help you, too?
That’s magic catching air. 🎉
     
What’s next on Kit’s journey through life?
Back to juggling? Back to life?
Stay with Kit and find out.
Life can get better.
Life will get better. ✨

Part 1)  THE BEGINNINGS
LIVE LIFE ON PURPOSE!!
How does it arrive so fast? The week barely stretches before it’s folded into another Friday. Time doesn’t stroll anymore—it juggles. Meetings, moments, mistakes, little wins—tossed high and spinning. A phone call here. A memory there. A doubt you wrestled down. A small victory you almost forgot to celebrate. Blink—and the calendar flips as the balls keep flying.
   
And just like that, the week is gone.
So the better question isn’t Where did it go?
How did I become while it was here? 🤹‍♂️
     
Did I grow a little stronger? A little kinder? A little braver? Did I lean into discomfort rather than back away? Did I build something—even if no one saw it? Did I write something? (like Kit’s writing this blog right now?) Because time will pass whether you use it or not. The real magic is in what it builds inside you while it moves.
   
This week’s theme—Find Your Purpose—isn’t a soft slogan to smile at and scroll past. It’s the heartbeat under your habits—the quiet engine beneath your decisions. The current is moving you forward even when you think you’re standing still.
     
Purpose isn’t optional. It’s oxygen. It’s the thing that pulls you out of bed, leans you into the day, and whispers, Keep going. It lives where your curiosity sparks, where your energy rises instead of drains, where you lose track of time because you’re fully alive.
     
Your purpose is not some distant trophy waiting on a mountaintop. It’s woven into what you love, what you practice, what you care about so deeply you’d do it even if no one applauded. It is a part of you that must always be with you. What is it you love, you desire, with passion?
     
Find that. Feed that. Follow that. Juggle that?
Because when you align with what you can’t live without…
You finally begin to live truly. 💥
     
Purpose is what turns routine into meaning, effort into direction, and ordinary days into stepping stones toward something greater. Without it, life can feel like a busy motion—like running on a treadmill that goes nowhere. With it, even sweeping a floor, writing a page, making a call, or taking a walk can feel intentional.
     
Without purpose, life drifts.
With purpose, it drives.
With purpose, your life grows.
   
And here’s the beautiful truth: purpose doesn’t always shout. It rarely arrives with fireworks or a marching band. Sometimes it shows up quietly—like a thought that won’t leave you alone. A desire that keeps tapping you on the shoulder. A problem you care enough about to solve. A person you feel called to encourage.
   
Purpose turns effort into fuel.
It gives your struggle context.
It makes patience powerful.
The purpose is to choose to build rather than drift.
     
It’s not about having one grand, glowing mission stamped across your forehead. It might be as simple as strengthening your body, helping one person, learning something new, and cleaning up what others overlook—writing words that lift someone’s head.
   
It’s deciding your days will stand for something—even if that something looks small from the outside. Because small steps, taken with intention, compound. Small bricks, laid daily, become foundations. As Friday lands and the week folds away, don’t just ask where the time went. Ask who you’re becoming.
     
Ask what you’re building.
Ask what pulls you forward.
Ask what it is you’re writing?
Because purpose isn’t a luxury.
It’s oxygen for a life that wants to matter.
   
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> February 14
Maybe the purpose isn’t hiding at all.
Maybe it’s been sitting quietly, tapping its foot. 
Waiting for you to slow down long enough to notice.
Not shouting. Not sparkling. Just steady. 🌅
   
This morning, my purpose was simple: walk the grounds and pick up cigarette butts. Not glamorous. Not applauded. Just care in motion. Tiny things add up. One becomes ten. Ten becomes fifty. And soon the message is, “This place doesn’t matter.”
So I bend down. Again. Because it does matter.
     
Today is Valentine’s Day. Love everywhere. And yes, I’m sadly alone. That stings a little. But alone is not unloved. Love lives in friendships, in breath, in the words we write, in the plants we water.
If you’re with someone, hold them close, show love.
If you’re not, hold yourself gently. ❤️
   
Performance? Purpose doesn’t need a stage. It might look like watering a plant.
It could mean sending a kind text, picking up trash, and saving money rather than spending it.
This afternoon, Brett took me on a simple Costco run. Returns. Cash back.
I’ll save it. Quiet discipline. Small choices are stacking up.
No fireworks today. Just stewardship.
     
Stack enough simple, caring days in the right direction—
And suddenly you’re not drifting. You’re building.
You’re magnificently building your pathway.
     
>>>>> February 15 
Where do I begin?
At the beginning.
That’s where purpose hides—not in applause or finish lines, but in the first small decision. The brave step. The whisper that says, try. Purpose doesn’t need fireworks. It just asks you to start—messy, unsure, even trembling. Every comeback begins right here. Now.
       
It’s Sunday. You’d think a place full of people rebuilding their brains would echo with louder hope and god. But hope and god don’t always arrive in sermons or schedules. Sometimes it slips in quietly. Personal. Almost invisible.
     
At 8:30, the fire alarm exploded through the halls—sirens, boots, urgency. Firefighters searched. Nothing. All that noise for empty air. We filed back in—staff, wheelchairs, walkers, and me—and chose the elevator over the stairs. Three floors up, doors opened, small smiles exchanged. Sometimes simply going up counts.
     
I walked ordinary steps on an ordinary day, secretly wishing I had my helicopter 🚁—not to escape, just to make the exit legendary. But maybe the lesson is simpler: no blaze, no grand rescue. You hear the alarm. You walk back in. You keep going.
     
Later, I went back to the patio—my unofficial kingdom of second chances. Cigarette butts. Leaves. The usual rebellion of wind. I swept. The wind argued. I swept again. For some strange reason, I keep cleaning outside this building.
   
There’s something honest about that little battle. The breeze doesn’t care about my plans. The leaves don’t applaud my effort. But I’ve learned this much: order is rarely permanent, and that’s no reason not to create it anyway.
 
Each pass of the broom feels like a quiet vote for beauty. A small declaration that this corner of the world will not drift into neglect on my watch. The wind may win a round or two—but I’ve got stamina. And a broom. And honestly? I kind of love the rematch.
   
And for a brief, shining moment, order stood its ground. Clean lines. Clear space. Breathing room. A small restoration, yes—but never a small act. Even the tiniest patch of order pushes back against chaos. And today, that was enough.
     
And I’m tired. Not just body-tired. Soul-tired. The quiet hum beneath everything. I’m not loving being here. That truth doesn’t shout—it just sits beside me. When you’re built for motion, stillness can feel like your story paused.
     
But maybe this is a hinge, not a halt. I don’t know the next move yet. Maybe it’s smaller than I think—a conversation, a short walk, one inch forward. I’ve seen seasons turn before. This one will too. For now, this is honest: I’m tired. I’m unsure. I’m searching. And even that… is a beginning.
     
>>>>> February 16
Here we go again. The sun rises. The clock keeps ticking. Life keeps moving forward—and so will I. I may not control the whole horizon, but I can choose how I step into it. Joy isn’t always delivered in grand packages; sometimes it’s tucked inside an ordinary Monday, waiting for me to unwrap it.
     
On the schedule today? “Sports group” at 11 a.m. That’s it. Not exactly the Super Bowl of appointments. But who knows? Maybe I’ll shoot one basket that swishes like poetry. I’ll encourage someone who needs it. Maybe I’ll simply show up—and sometimes showing up is the victory.
     
11 a.m. The featured event: Ladder Ball. I watched a clip of it—ropes, bolas, friendly competition. It looked fine. Just not my thing today. So I chose not to play. And that’s okay. Not every activity is meant for every spirit. I hope the others laughed, competed, and walked away a little lighter. Take a look >>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fnaw8IEnHOk.
I had no interest in playing, so I didn’t. I hope the others benefited from that game.
   
Still… There are moments when a quiet voice asks, Am I wasting time here? It sneaks in like a draft under the door. But time isn’t measured only by applause, paychecks, or packed calendars. Sometimes it’s counted in patience practice. My muscles strengthened. In pages written. In choosing presence over resentment.
     
So I’ll move. I’ll stretch. I’ll engage where it makes sense. I’ll build anyway, even if today’s progress looks like a single brick the size of a postage stamp. Because laid daily, those tiny bricks become foundations. And foundations hold up futures.
       
Yes, there are moments I feel like I’m wasting time here. That thought creeps in. But time isn’t only measured by miles traveled or stages stood upon. Sometimes it’s measured by the patience built. Muscles strengthened. Words written. One small decision to stay engaged instead of drifting.
   
So I’ll go. I’ll move. I’ll participate. And I’ll keep building a future—even if today’s bricks look small. Because small bricks, laid daily, still build something strong. And, through reading my blog, you will see my life built again.
     
The head nurse stopped by to look at my legs again—the swelling was still there, quiet but stubborn. I haven’t been faithful with the compression socks, so I pulled them on, like armor for the lower half of my body.
   
Still, no one can give me a clear answer about why my legs are holding onto fluid. That uncertainty is the hardest part. When something lingers without explanation, the mind starts writing scary stories. And I can feel mine trying to.
     
Do I know exactly why it’s happening? Not for sure—but I can tell you this: swelling in the legs (edema) is common and often manageable. It can arise from simple factors such as prolonged sitting, limited movement, gravity, salty foods, certain medications, circulatory changes, or a lymphatic system that moves more slowly than it should.
     
Sometimes it’s connected to heart, kidney, or vein issues—but those are things doctors can test for and monitor. The key isn’t panic. It’s a partnership—asking questions, tracking patterns, staying consistent with what helps.
       
And here’s the hopeful part: you are doing something. You put the socks back on. That’s not small. That’s action. 💪 Small disciplines compound. Compression, gentle walking, elevating your legs, hydration—these are not dramatic moves, but they are powerful ones over time.

      =====
ChatGPT wrote >>
Fear whispers, “This is the beginning of the end.”
Wisdom answers, “This is the beginning of paying attention.”
Those are very different stories.
You’ve rebuilt your life more than once. You’ve relearned how to walk. A little swelling? That’s a problem to manage—not a prophecy. Let’s treat it like data, not destiny. Tell me—has the swelling changed at different times of day? Does it go down overnight? That pattern can tell us a lot. And we’ll take this one steady step at a time.
      =====
Here we go again. The sun rises, the clock ticks, and life keeps moving—so will I. I may not control the whole horizon, but I can choose my next step. And purpose doesn’t always arrive with fireworks; sometimes it’s hiding on an ordinary Tuesday, waiting to be lived on purpose.
   
On the schedule: “Sports group” at 11 a.m. That’s it. Not exactly a parade. But purpose can still show up there—maybe in one clean swish, one kind word, or simply showing up with a decent attitude. Sometimes showing up is the win.
       
11 a.m. brought… Ladder Ball. Ropes, bolas, friendly competition. It’s fine—just not my thing today—so I didn’t play. And that’s okay. Purpose isn’t people-pleasing; it’s choosing what actually builds you. I hope the others got some laughs and a sense of lightness. (If you’re curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fnaw8IEnHOk
   
Still, the sneaky question creeps in: Am I wasting time here? But time isn’t only measured by stages and miles. Sometimes it’s counted in patience practiced, muscles strengthened, words written, and the quiet choice to stay present instead of bitter. One small brick a day doesn’t look impressive… until it becomes a foundation.
     
Then the head nurse checked my legs again—swelling still there, quiet but stubborn. I haven’t been consistent with the compression socks, so I put them on—armor for the ankles. No one can say exactly why the fluid’s hanging around, and uncertainty is the part that tries to write horror movies in my head.
     
I don’t know the exact cause—but I do know this: swelling is common and often manageable. Sitting, limited movement, salt, meds, circulation, lymph flow—lots of ordinary suspects. And if it points to something bigger, that’s what monitoring and testing are for. The goal isn’t panic. It’s a partnership: track patterns, ask better questions, stay consistent with what helps.
     
And here’s the purpose-thread in all of it: Fear says, “This is the beginning of the end.” Wisdom says, “This is the beginning of paying attention.” I’ve rebuilt before. I’ve relearned how to walk. This is not a prophecy—it’s a problem to manage. Socks on. Small steps. Legs up. Keep moving forward. Data, not destiny. 💪
   
Sometimes I wonder if I really want to blow out the candles on a 101st-birthday cake. A century feels bold and adventurous. After that? I’m not so sure. Life is a magnificent marathon—but even marathoners don’t sprint forever.
     
Of course, one day death will step onto the stage. That’s part of the contract we signed just by being born. My hope isn’t to outrun it. My hope is simpler and braver than that: when it finally does arrive, may it find me fully alive—fully used up and fully poured out.

And truthfully? I don’t want to wait for it. I don’t want to sit in some quiet corner, watching the clock and rehearsing my exit. I want to be busy living—writing, encouraging, laughing, growing, loving—so engaged in the act of being alive that when the curtain falls, it almost catches me mid-sentence.
   
If I reach 100, wonderful. If I don’t, that’s okay too. The real goal isn’t the number. It’s the fullness.
     
>>>>>> February 17
The Quiet
At night, it gets very quiet here at NR—the kind of quiet that almost hums. Last night, though, at around 2:30, I heard a faint pounding. Not a dramatic boom-boom-boom—just enough of a thud to tap me on the shoulder and say, “You’re up.” And that was that. No drifting back into dreams. The night had handed me the morning early.
     
Shhh
So I lay there in the stillness, awake before the day officially began. The world was quiet—holding its breath—and my mind had already clocked in. Sometimes life doesn’t ease us into sunrise; it nudges us—your turn.
     
A Brick
If I’m up anyway, I might meet the dark with a little courage. These early minutes feel like bonus time—borrowed and powerful. No noise. No rush. Just a choice. And if I can choose, I can build. So before the sun clocks in, I’ll lay one small brick. 🌅.
     
2:30 am
Who knows? That quiet 2:30 wake-up call is just another invitation to think, to write, to build something small before the world stretches and starts moving again. Here I am, early morning, awake for the day. Yes, I find myself typing and reading away, welcoming the new day. Death must wait.
     
Death?
Eventually, death will make an appearance; I hope I live until then.
Thinking more about it, I don’t want to be here when death arrives.
Death is coming for every one of us.
Plan now for your future so you are ready when the time comes.
     
Life!
Eventually, death will step onto the stage. I just hope I’m still living fully when it does. The truth? None of us outruns that final curtain call. But here’s the twist—death isn’t the headline. Life is. The question isn’t when it comes. The question is: Will I be awake while I’m here?
     
Effort!
I don’t want to be half-living when my time runs out. I don’t want to drift to the finish line. I want to arrive breathless from effort, grateful for the miles, maybe even a little surprised it’s already over. Yes, death is certain. But so is this moment. So is today.
 
Plans
Plan for your future—not from fear, but from intention.
Strengthen your body while you can.
Build relationships that matter.
     
Keep Going.
Say what needs to be said.
Forgive faster. Start the thing.
Become friends with all.
     
Live Fully!
Prepare not just for the end… but for a Life that feels complete when it comes. Because the best way to be ready for death is to live so fully that when it finally knocks, you can smile and say, “I used the time.” Make the most of the time you have left. You know your end is coming; make it on your terms.
     
NO Fear
You need not fear death. It’s been walking toward you since the day you were born—and you have been walking toward it just as bravely. Not shrinking and not hiding. Living. When it finally appears, let it find you fully used up and not rusted. Not timid. Not waiting.
     
Live Bigger!
Make your last days your best days.
Laugh louder. Forgive faster—love without holding back.
Find joy in life while you can.

Do More!
Say the thing. Write the page. Take the walk. Teach that kid.
Live so completely that when the curtain lowers, you’re alright. 
The shift doesn’t feel like theft—It feels like a standing ovation. 👏
     
WHY?
I discovered why my schedule was empty today. I gently stepped outside for my usual morning ritual—garden gloves on, broom in hand, sunlight just beginning to stretch across the patio. My quiet meditation. My little act of order in a noisy world that no one thanks me for. Then, here come the vans.
   
The Vans
Then the vans rolled in. Engines humming.
Doors sliding open. Laughter spilling out.
People started filing into each van.
   
Off They Go!
So I asked, gently, “Is there a trip today?”
Yes. There was. Ahhh.
So that’s why my calendar looked like a blank page.
   
What Really Happened
In the past, during a restaurant outing, someone mentioned I’d said the drive was too far. What I meant—and practically—was that an hour on the road for a meal seems unnecessary when wonderful, affordable places are nearby.
     
THEY WERE GOING WITHOUT ME!
     
The Bus Ride
I’ll admit—it stung a bit. Not because I missed a destination. I’ve traveled enough miles in my life to know a bus ride isn’t a treasure. What touched the tender spot was the silence—the quiet feeling of not being chosen, not being seen, even for something small.
     
I’m Lost
Standing there, watching movement and momentum unfold, realizing I hadn’t been part of the conversation. Somehow, they let me drop between the tracks. I asked Diane if I could join the group, and she reluctantly said yes.
 
Blue Springs
To my surprise, we went to Blue Springs today. The Manatees were in the water, a wonderful sight. 
Great views were everywhere. I’d love to return sometime.
https://www.floridastateparks.org/parks-and-trails/blue-spring-state-park     TAKE A LOOK!
     
A Manatee?
While there today, I told people I wish I could have ridden on a manatee—what fun that would be.
Here they are >> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manatee
These big tubes were fantastic.
     
Diane
As for Diane—well, perhaps she played a part in my not knowing about today, perhaps not. I’ve sensed she’s never quite warmed to me. But here’s a truth that has set me free more than once: you don’t have to be everyone’s cup of tea. Some people prefer coffee. ☕ I’m glad you like my blog, Diane. (I like tea.)
     
A Gift
I don’t write to win popularity contests. I write because honesty matters to me. Truth, when delivered with respect, can be a gift—even if it’s not always wrapped in glitter. If someone doesn’t like my words, they are free to close the page. I hold no grudge. We are all allowed our preferences.
   
Worry?
Should I worry about what this means? No. Worry builds fences. Conversation builds bridges. And I’ve crossed enough bridges in my life to know most misunderstandings dissolve when people sit down and talk heart to heart.
     
The Garden
Tomorrow morning, the garden will still be there. The patio will still gather leaves and stray cigarette butts. The sun will still rise. And I will still show up—with a broom, with presence, with purpose. Because purpose isn’t about being included in every van that drives away, it’s about tending the ground beneath your own feet. 🌱
   
Juggle!
There was a new guy here today—bright eyes, quiet smile—
and yes… I’ve already forgotten his name. 😄
But I haven’t forgotten what matters.
I taught him to juggle!
     
3?
Three scarves. A little rhythm. A few drops. A few laughs. And then—boom—he had it. You should have seen his face when the pattern clicked. That look never gets old. It’s the same spark I’ve seen on stages, in schools, in backyards, in ballrooms.

You Can Do It!
The moment someone realizes, “Wait… I can do this.”
At this point, I’ve taught more than 25 people here to juggle.
Twenty-five! That’s not just tossing objects in the air—
That’s tossing belief back into someone’s hands.
   
Myles
I told the new juggler, “Now go show Myles what you’ve got. Let him see that untapped potential.” Because juggling isn’t about scarves or balls or clubs, it’s about discovering there’s more in you than you thought. And that? That’s the real trick. 🎪✨
   
6:00
I woke at 2:30 this morning—eyes wide open, mind humming like a well-tuned engine—and I figured I’d be stumbling around by now. But no. I’m still lit from within. Still carrying that steady, quiet current of strength.⚡ There’s something beautiful about discovering you’ve got more in the tank than you thought.
   
A Dream
There is so much waiting to be shaped. A body to strengthen. A sentence to write. A person to encourage. A small neglected corner to make it better. A dream to move one inch closer to daylight. None of it requires a parade—just participation. You must play your part, too.
     
So Much Power!
I’m always surprised that more people don’t write every bright drop from their hours. The energy is there. The opportunity is there. The sunrise doesn’t argue or advertise—it simply arrives, golden and ready. So I will too.

>>>>> February 18
It’s headed back to surgery today—round two.
Last time I was on the table, the doctor found a little “surprise souvenir” inside me—something that clearly didn’t RSVP to this party.
     
So today, another specialist is stepping in for a closer look. Think of it as a treasure hunt… except this time, we’re absolutely rooting for an empty chest. No buried surprises. No shiny discoveries. Just a polite note that says, “All clear.” 😄
     
Food has been getting caught in my throat, so they are going to go in, put a tube down my throat, and then fill that tube with air to widen my oesophagus. This is the part of the alimentary canal which connects the throat to the stomach. In humans and other vertebrates, it is a muscular tube lined with a mucous membrane.
     
Behind the scalpel performing the Endosonoscope was Dr. Shyam Varadarajulu, and he did a good job (I wouldn’t know because I was asleep at the time). After the procedure, I was rolled into the recovery room, where I did just that. 
 
Yes, the day started late—because today they worked on my esophagus—another tune-up for the well-traveled machine. I tried to outlast the anesthesia. I thought, Let’s see if I can catch the exact moment the lights go out. Brave experiment. Foolish optimism. 😄
   
First, my hearing dimmed—as if someone slowly turned the volume knob toward silence. Then sound vanished. Then the thought itself slipped through a trapdoor—no warning bell. No countdown. Just… gone. You never get to witness the precise moment of departure. The mind can’t observe its own shutdown. Sleepie time wins every round.
     
Before surgery, they took my vitals. The scale read 200. I usually sit comfortably at around 160. That extra forty pounds is water—retained, unexplained, unwelcome. It doesn’t feel like strength. It feels like carrying a backpack full of invisible bricks. And I’ll be honest—I don’t like it.
   
Movement has been limited here at NR. No long runs. No open grass. No free tossing under a big sky. For a body that once thrived on stages, parks, and sidewalks and miles of highway, that’s a tough adjustment. But here’s the turn >>
     
The place they’re moving me to?
It has a running room—space to juggle.
Space to move. Space to rebuild.
That’s not small. That’s oxygen.
     
Now it’s up to me to do the work. To coax this remarkable body back into rhythm. To drain what shouldn’t be here. To rebuild muscle memory. To earn back the lightness I love. I prefer to think of today not as surgery—but as inspection. A careful look under the hood of a machine that has crossed stages, highways, setbacks, comebacks, and more plot twists than most novels.
   
This body has been through storms. And it’s still standing.
Still repairable.
Still responsive.
Still mine.
Still yours?
     
And yes—I even gave myself a fresh haircut. 😄 Because if you’re going to rebuild the engine, you might as well polish the hood. We’re not done yet. Not even close. So here’s to steady hands, sharp eyes, and simple answers. Here’s to removing anything that doesn’t belong and keeping everything that does. And if I pop back up later with an update, you’ll know the adventure continues—because this story? It’s not done being written.
       
I’ve walked this road before, so I know the choreography. Get your clothes off, put on your robe, then lie down on the gurney. Next comes the IV—tiny needle, big mission—delivering the “sleepy juice” that sends me off on a brief vacation from gravity.
   
My veins like to play hide-and-seek. Deep. Shy. Olympic-level competitors. Most of the time, the anesthesiologist ends up working from the back of my hand—apparently, that’s where the plumbing still believes in cooperation. The rest of my veins? They prefer privacy. Curtains drawn. No interviews.
     
I’ve been told that, after so much blood was drawn way back when, the flow learned a new rhythm—quieter, lower, less eager to rise to the surface. Maybe that’s true. Or maybe my veins are just independent thinkers. Either way, we find a way. We always do. As they say, “Hey blood.”
     
And every single time, I grin and tell them, “Go for the juggler vein (after all, you know me),” That usually earns a laugh. And honestly? If you can make the medical team chuckle while they’re poking you with a needle, you’re already winning the moment. 🎪
   
I’ve juggled clubs before crowds, sold salsa jars by the thousands, and entire reinventions of a life—but this? This is a quieter magic. Everyone needs a passion; writing is mine right now. And at 2:00 in the afternoon, back in my room, tapping away—I’m not passing the time. I’m shaping it. ✨
   
There’s something electric about coming back to the page. No spotlight. No applause. No standing ovation. Just a quiet room where thought meets courage—and neither one flinches. It’s a private arena—a mental gym. A place where excuses get stretched, doubts get spotted, and ideas do push-ups until they grow strong enough to stand on their own.
   
Writing like this doesn’t pat me on the back. It challenges me. It sharpens me. It asks, “Is that the best you’ve got?” And I love it for that. Because every time I return to the page, I’m not just arranging words—I’m expanding my mind. 💥
     
Some people unwind with television.
I unwind by stacking words like bricks—steady, deliberate, alive.
Letter by letter, word by word, paragraph by paragraph.
   
Every idea I lay down is proof of motion—proof that I’m not just passing time… I’m transforming it. Are you enjoying the read? I certainly hope so. While others watch stories, I build one.
     
Each paragraph is a quiet rebellion against drifting through the hours. Each sentence plants a flag in the ground and declares, I am present. I’m not fading into background noise. I’m shaping my thoughts. I’m carving meaning out of ordinary minutes.
   
While others scroll, I sculpt.
I’m still here.
Still creating.
Still becoming. ✍️✨
   
1:00–I had OT with Terrie (See, I did not write ‘Terry’). She had me continue a project to go to California and make two stops: one at a national park and another at a movie studio, all on a $2000 budget. This was for my organizing and executive functioning.
   
I had let her know that I’ve traveled through Europe 3 different times, up and down in Japan for a month, and then to Australia for a month and New Zealand for a month. I had no problem anywhere, and it was all done after my accident.
   
I let Terrie know I wasn’t really into it, and she mentioned I might be leaving soon, anyway, so we went out and picked lettuce. There is so much out there growing now; I hope more people from NR go out and pick their own lettuce. Back in my room by 2, writing words once again, my current passion.
     
Terrie doesn’t know what to do with me. She has looked through her Occupational Therapy guidebook, and doesn’t really know what else might help. Also, I have said “no” to many therapy offerings; that’s my bad. She is trying to help, and I’ve tried to help, too.
 
Back in my room by 2:00—door closed, world softened, fingers back on the keyboard. And just like that, I’m home again. I am enjoying my writing. Writing has become my current flame. Not a flicker. A steady burn. Words line up like willing volunteers, waiting to be tossed into the air and kept aloft—organizing and plopping words where they go, a great joy for me.
   
It’s evening now—5:33. The day is winding down, and so am I. Dinner was simple: rice and a little Mexican food. Nothing fancy. Just food… and freedom.
   
Jasmine and I were speaking by phone. The guy across the hall made his loud noises as he did. Jasmine even heard him and asked about the guy. There is no reaching him, a regrettable situation. To know that your life will go nowhere? I would not want to live like that.
     
Last night, a bit of rice lodged itself in my throat (again) and turned a small moment into a tense one. Tonight? Food slid down easily. No hesitation. No alarm bells. Just swallow… and peace. And tonight, I taste more than dinner, I taste relief.
   
I am deeply grateful for how the surgery went today. To eat without fear—what a gift. Something so ordinary, so automatic for most people, suddenly feels like a victory lap. Sometimes progress isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It’s a spoonful of rice going down smoothly. It’s confidence returning bite by bite. It’s a smile on my face saying “thank you.”   🍽️
   
>>>>> February 19
I just looked back at this blog—wow, it turned into a marathon. I trimmed a few stretches where it wandered, tightened the laces, picked up the pace… but somehow “My Daily Doings” decided to hit the gym and bulk up. It’s grown strong. I suppose that’s what happens when you live wide awake—there’s simply more to say. 🏃‍♂️💨
Be sure to let me know what you think of my blog.
     
Marlene is just finishing up here, sweeping and mopping the large hallway. Each time it turns out so nice. And, each time I tell her “thank you.” Yes, it’s her job, but a thank you does wonders. Thank people as often as you can.
     
And, every Friday, she stops by to clean each residence. I keep mine quite tidy, so she doesn’t have to clean so much here. I will be ready for her in the future, though. This is a necessary job that benefits everyone here. Thank you for adding to others’ lives when you can.
   
9 am, just had OT with Maura and Terrie. We played the game “Sequence.” She said it was to work on visual scanning, memory, object identification, and sequencing. It was a group game meeting with the other patients I have been with. I won, by the way.
   
10 am, right now. Maryann is meeting with a group for yoga/exercise. I let her know I would not be attending. I can exercise in my room in my own way whenever I need to.
   
At 11, I met with my speech therapist, who does not want her name used in this blog. She asked me to tell her who was with me at the 9:00 game. I could not think of the names of those who were there. I knew the people I just could not think of their names. The therapist suggested that I write details of things like who was there, but I did not tell her that I did not care who was there in any way.
   
Someone from NR stopped by to ask me what I wanted to happen to me if I were to die. Legally, I do not have the necessary paperwork to deal with this. In death, I want my naked body to be put out into the wilderness so my remains will feed the small animals and bugs. Just curious, I asked if she had a gun.
   
>>>>> February 20
Up before the sun—5 a.m.—laundry humming, day already in motion. While most dreams were still stretching, I was spinning socks into action. Sleep may try to steal the clock, but I like to negotiate with it. A little less drifting, a little more living. And yes—a shower too. Clean clothes, clean skin, clean start. A freshly polished Kit, ready for lift-off. 🚀
     
I heard from my old friend Jules Manas yesterday. We’ve traveled a long stretch of years together. He told me he preferred my writing from before ChatGPT. That made me pause—in a good way. I don’t see it as a replacement for my voice; I see it as a sharpening stone. I still bring the spark, the stories, the scars, the laughter. This tool simply helps me tune the instrument.
   
It stretches my thinking, widens the doorway, and invites new rhythm. Going back would feel like trading a telescope for binoculars. But I’m listening. Growth doesn’t mean losing yourself—it means refining what’s already there. Tell me what you think. I genuinely want to know.
     
Then Jules said something that landed right in the center of my chest: my blog helped carry him through some hard stretches. Those are not casual words. Those are anchor words. When someone tells you your sentences steadied their steps, you don’t shrug that off. You sit with it. You honor it.
   
That’s why I rise early. That’s why I wrestle with paragraphs before the world fully wakes up. If something I write steadies you, nudges you forward, or keeps you company on a steep climb—even for a few minutes—then this whole beautiful effort is worth it.
   
I don’t want my words just to pass the time. I want the words to strengthen your spine. I want them to stir your thinking. I want them to sneak a grin onto your face when you thought the day had forgotten you. If my words can walk beside you for a stretch of road, then we’re not just writing and reading—we’re building something together. And that? That’s purpose in motion. 💛
     
But I do find myself looking around and wondering—where did all the therapists vanish to today? Did they slip through a secret door? Is there a conference of Brilliant Minds happening without me? Ah well. I wonder why nothing is scheduled?
     
If the schedule is light, I’ll make it heavy with purpose. A little movement of my own. A few strong sentences. Maybe some juggling in spirit, if not in space. When the program thins out, that’s when we get to design our own. And I’ve never been afraid of building my own stage. This blog goes out today, which should do the job.

All that’s on the calendar today is “Fun Friday Movement Group and Games.” I think I’ll graciously tip my hat and sit this round out. Not every dance card needs my name on it. I’ll report back if the plot thickens. 😄
   
At 10:00, we gathered as a group and followed along with a stretching and movement video. I joined in—arms up, shoulders rolling, doing my best impression of a flexible human. Movement is medicine, even when it’s choreographed by a screen.
After that, the real gymnastics began.
     
We went around in alphabetical order, each of us naming something related to an outdoor outing. The catch? You had to repeat everything; everyone before you had already said. 😄
Now that is a mental decathlon.
   
For a room full of brain-injured folks, it wasn’t just a game—it was a workout for the mind. Names, objects, order, recall. Listen carefully. Hold it. Repeat it. Add your own. Pass it on. Memory under pressure.
   
Was it hard? Absolutely.
Was it worthwhile? Also yes.
Sometimes progress doesn’t look like a standing ovation. Sometimes it looks like someone squinting in concentration, whispering, “Okay… picnic basket, hiking boots, sunscreen…” and refusing to give up.
That’s how you rebuild. One stretch. One word. One brave recall at a time.
     
11:15 now. What’s a Kit to do? For the rest pf the afternoon I spent time finishing and organizing the place where I now live, my residence, as they say. I’d love to go for a walk, but I’m required to stay in my room. That’s the hardest/worst part of being here, I’ve lost all my freedom.
     
I’ve made this place sound bad; the weekends are even worse. It seems that all the other patients stay in the room on weekends and do nothing. I want to go out –to walk, to run, to ride a bike, to ride a unicycle. But, rules, rules. Yet, this is the current life I have chosen.
   
Part 3)  BLOG 364–FIND YOUR PURPOSE!
There I was—15 years old—staring at the wide horizon of my life—no master plan. No blueprint. Just juggling clubs and a feeling. Performing felt right—not because thunder rolled from the heavens—but because something inside me leaned forward.
   
That’s how purpose begins. Not as a lightning strike. More like a quiet pull.
A whisper: “There is more in you than this.”
Instead of asking, “Why am I here?” try asking, “What interests me right now?”
Then take one small step toward it.
   
Purpose changes because you change. Some seasons build skill. Others build strength. Some build resilience you didn’t ask for but deeply need. You don’t need a twenty-year map. You need the courage for today’s step.
   
Purpose isn’t found like lost keys. It’s built—brick by brick—each time you choose action over avoidance, contribution over complaint. It grows when you help someone, practice something meaningful, tend a garden, write a page, or refuse to waste the day.
     
Your past doesn’t disqualify you—it equips you. Every mistake is material. Every setback can be shaped into service. I’ve used my coma to help others. Clarity rarely comes before movement. It comes because of movement.
   
Purpose lives where three things meet:
What moves you? What energizes you? What helps someone beyond you?
Start small. Improve what’s within reach.
Replace “Why me?” with “What can I build from this?”
Replace “What’s the point?” with “Who can I help today?”
   
You don’t wait for purpose.
You choose it—again and again.
And in choosing it, you don’t just find your purpose.
You become your purpose.
       
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—palm-sized sparks we tuck into our pockets for the long walk home. They carry oversized wisdom in travel-size form, compact enough to memorize, powerful enough to steady a storm. One clean sentence can quiet a racing heart, straighten a crooked thought, or give courage a gentle shove when it’s dragging its feet. The best ones don’t bark orders. They don’t pound podiums. They lean close and murmur, “Keep going. You’re closer than you think.” It’s sometimes that soft glow—barely brighter than a firefly—is all the light we need to take the next brave step.🚶‍♂️💡
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
     
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
– Oscar Wilde
   
“Your main purpose in life should be to find joy.”
– Kit Summers
   
“If you don’t build your dream, someone else will hire you to build theirs.”
– Tony Gaskins
   
“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.”
– Joseph Campbell
     
“The best way to predict the future is to create it.”
– Peter Drucker
     
“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.”
– Mahatma Gandhi
   
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
– Lao Tzu
     
“The only impossible journey is the one you never begin.”
– Tony Robbins
     
“You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.”
– Martin Luther King Jr.
     
“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”
– Theodore Roosevelt
   
“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.”
– Mark Twain.
   
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
DISCOVER YOUR PURPOSE(S) THIS WEEK!
A single engine does not power you. You’re a jet with multiple turbines—curiosity, service, creativity, love, growth—all humming beneath the surface. Most of the time, we don’t lack purpose… we simply overlook it.
   
It may be strengthening your body.
Encouraging one person.
Building something quietly.
Refusing to drift.
   
Notice what pulls you forward.
What gives you energy instead of stealing it?
What makes you lean in?
Then reach the future with purpose.
     
Don’t tiptoe through the week.
Shift into drive. 🚗💨
Even a slow roll beats sitting in neutral.
Don’t just exist—ignite your engines.
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 366–Ambition!
Write me today—kitsummers@gmail.com

PART 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!