✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟BLOG 366–Ambition vs. 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
How does it move this fast? The week barely stretches before it’s folded into Friday. Time doesn’t stroll anymore—it juggles. 🤹♂️ Meetings. Moments. Mistakes, Balls. Tiny triumphs. A call that mattered. A doubt you wrestled down. A quiet win you almost forgot to celebrate. Blink—and the page turns.
But here’s the better question:
While the balls were in the air…
Who did you become?
What did you build?
Did you juggle?
Who felt stronger because you showed up?
Make sure you’re the one getting better at the catch.
In my last blog, I planned to make my posts shorter and more fun. I managed to trim some parts, but when it came to “Things that happened this week,” I couldn’t decide what to cut; I didn’t know what to leave out. Let me know what you think.
Across the street, something new is rising.
I don’t yet know what it will become, but I remember what it was — an open stretch of grass where I tossed clubs into the sky a few times, letting them spin against the clouds. It was a quiet land. Mostly unused. Just wind and space.
Then one morning, a fence appeared.
Not the kind that whispers “maybe someday.”
The kind that says, “We’re serious.”
Soon after, the bulldozers rolled in. Earth moved. Grass disappeared. And just like that — momentum. No long pause. No mysterious waiting season. They cleared the ground and started building almost immediately.
And here’s the gift: it’s happening right outside my window.
I get a front-row seat to transformation. From raw dirt to rising structure. From nothing much… to something meaningful. Brick by brick. Beam by beam. You’ll see it, too —I’ll share photos on the blog. We’ll watch it grow together.
There’s something hopeful about construction. About progress, you can actually see. That big lawn sat mostly untouched for years. Now it hums with purpose. So often, a project is started and then nothing — sometimes for months or years. Once started, they got right on this.
A little wind?
The fields remind me of something.
Sometimes life feels like that empty field — quiet, unused, maybe even overlooked. But give it a fence (a decision), a bulldozer (some courage), and a blueprint (a vision)… and watch what happens. Open your eyes to see more of the world.
Progress–Purpose.
Right outside my window.
You must have purpose!
You must have Ambition to fuel Purpose.
Life is waiting for you!
Jump on board the life train going to your gifts!
Right now, my purpose is to write this blog for you.
At least, being here at NR, I have the gift of time to sit down and write this for you. And I don’t take that lightly. Time is a tool. A canvas. A wide, open field waiting for footsteps. But here’s the truth: this blog isn’t just for you. It’s for me, too.
Every week when I wrestle with these sentences—when I dig for clarity, trim the fluff, and polish the rhythm—I walk away changed. I see my blind spots. I spot my excuses. I uncover better ways to live. Then you read the finished product. Do you like what you read?
Writing forces me to examine the architecture of my own thinking. And with the help of ChatGPT, I sharpen the edges even more. I learn. I stretch. I grow. Writing these blog posts makes me a better person. Do you write? How about writing to me? kitsummers@gmail.com
So this is a shared workshop. You’re reading it. I’m building it.
And somehow, we’re both improving.
Now I’ll ask you something real—heart to heart:
Do these words help you rise a little higher?
Do they steady you on the hard days?
Do they nudge you to try again when it would be easier not to?
If even one paragraph helps you take one braver step, then this is worth every early morning and every revised sentence. We’re not just filling pages here. We’re building better lives—one honest word at a time. Just see your life grow!
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I HEARD FROM SOME PEOPLE >>
Larry Zeiger, who sent these words about the last blog >>
“This was one of your most beautiful and philosophical writings. You are truly a gifted writer and so passionate about life – the good and the bad. I hope you will one day publish a book of your writings. My very best to you, Kit -my most brilliant former student and friend!”
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And Phyllis >>”Love your blogs, they seriously are amazing!! I always save them for when I have time to enjoy them!!!!!!! I just wish YOU were in a better place, my friend!!!!!!! Warm regards, Phyllis Lynch
PART 2) THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
>>>>> February 21, Saturday
As usual, I rose before the roosters—so early even the sun hit Snooze. If there’s going to be any clucking today, it’ll be me—feathers fluffed, thoughts flapping, ready to peck at the page and see what golden eggs might roll out. 🐓✨ Morning doesn’t stand a chance.
My delightful daughters got me a granpa cup.
Could I be that old?
I stepped out to tend my little kingdom—the garden and patio—broom in hand, morning air on my face. Today wasn’t too bad—just a handful of stray wrappers and a modest harvest of cigarette butts. Progress, I suppose. 🌱
There’s one stubborn patch by the street that always seems to sprout fresh butts overnight, like some rebellious crop. You’d think the message might drift through the smoke at some point—clean up after yourself—but apparently that memo is still circling the atmosphere.
Each day begins with the same quiet ceremony—cigarette butts wedged into the cracks, windblown scraps clinging stubbornly to corners, tiny rebellions of carelessness whispering, “No one’s watching.”
But I am.
So I bend. I gather. I drop each piece into the bag.
Not dramatic. Not heroic. Just steady. Just done.
A small corner of the world, set right again.
A quiet, stubborn vote for order over drift.
It’s proof that the simplest act—done daily, done with care—doesn’t just clean a space… it builds a soul.
Because character isn’t formed in grand speeches or flashing lights, it’s shaped in the quiet repetitions. The small straightenings. The unseen sweepings.
Clean where you can, make this a better world for everyone!
Do this with your own land and house.
Grow from there, cleaning more and more.
Do it once, and it’s a task.
Do it daily, and it’s who you are. ✨
People might notice you. Might learn. Might lift their aim a few inches higher. But growth is optional, and example is louder than complaint. So I sweep. These people don’t read my blog posts.
Because the world doesn’t improve all at once, it improves one corner at a time. And today, this corner is mine.
As usual, this being a Saturday, things are very slow all around here. The halls carry that soft, weekend hush—as if the building itself decided to sleep in. Doors stay closed. Footsteps are rare. Even the air feels unhurried, stretching instead of striding.
Schedules thin out. Energy dips. The clock seems to move with a lazy shrug. You can almost hear it saying, “What’s the rush?” But here’s the funny thing about slow days—they hand you space. Space to think. Space to notice. Space to choose.
While the world idles, I don’t have to. I can write. I can plan. I can even juggle. I can stretch my mind even if the calendar is napping. A quiet Saturday can either flatten you… or free you. Today, I’m choosing free.
It’s 1:40, and I just stepped outside to tuck a banana peel into the soil—nature’s quiet little gift back to the garden. (Free fertilizer. Zero complaints. 🍌🌱) Do not throw your banana peels or leftover produce in the trash; feed the earth: dig a hole and bury it; use it as fertilizer.
Not a soul out there. No voices in the hallway. No footsteps. Just stillness stretching itself across the afternoon. Strange. Where does everyone vanish to on weekends? It feels like the world hit pause while I slipped out to feed the tomatoes.
Maybe they’re napping. Maybe they’re scrolling. Maybe they’re hiding from their own potential. Meanwhile, I’m out here conducting small acts of growth—burying peels, building soil, investing in tomorrow’s harvest. 😄
As the afternoon settles in, my schedule is wide open. No appointments. No therapies. No movement in the halls. The world outside my door feels paused, as if someone had pressed a giant, invisible “hold” button.
And inside that stillness, the question keeps circling:
How do I get out of here?”
Not just out of the building.
Out of the waiting.
Out of the drift.
Out of this feeling of being parked while life drives by.
But maybe—just maybe—the better question is:
“What can I build from right here?”
Because I’ve seen you do this before, you’ve rebuilt a body. You’ve rebuilt a career. You’ve rebuilt a life from hospital beds and highways. You don’t just escape places—you transform them.
An empty afternoon isn’t a prison. It’s a raw material. A blank page. A training ground. A launchpad disguised as boredom.
So yes—ask the question. It’s honest.
But then follow it with another:
“What small move can I make right now?”
One paragraph. Ten throws. One conversation. One plan drafted.
Freedom sometimes starts with a tiny act of direction.
You’re not stuck. You’re in a chapter. And the chapters turn. 📖✨
DO YOUR PART TO MAKE THIS A BETTER WORLD FOR ALL OF US!
>>>>> February 22
This day is special to me. On 2/22/22 at 2:22, Beth and I were married. The symmetry still makes me smile. It felt cosmic. Timed. Like the universe winked and said, “Pay attention.” That date will always stand out on my calendar. My friend Daniel Powell was my best man (he is the BEST, after all).
Beth and I are no longer together, and that truth carries a quiet weight. Some endings don’t slam doors—they close them softly, leaving you standing there with your hand still warm from the handle. It’s sad. I won’t pretend otherwise.
But this day? This day still glows.
It rises each year with its own spotlight, whether I invite it or not. Some dates don’t fade—they imprint. They carve themselves into the wood of your life like initials in an old tree. You may walk far from that tree, but the carving remains. That moment was real. The love was real. The hope was real. And I honor that.
Life bends. Roads curve. Chapters end. But certain landmarks stand tall in the landscape of memory. No matter where my path winds from here, 2/22/22 at 2:22 will always shimmer as one of those shining mile markers.
Not because it lasted forever.
But because, for a time, it was beautiful.
Life, of course, has its own choreography. We are no longer together. Still, I carry gratitude for what was, and I sincerely hope Beth is well. Some chapters close. That doesn’t mean they weren’t beautiful while they were being written. Wishing someone peace is its own quiet victory.
This morning? I woke at 3 a.m.—no surprise there. My mind loves the early hours. I padded out to the front room and realized I’d left the trash can behind last night. It barely had anything in it. When I came out this morning, someone had put in a fresh bag. One more plastic liner is used for almost nothing—more waste.
A trash can. Tiny thing. Small irritation.
But small things are where discipline lives. If I want it handled differently, it’s on me to remember to bring the can to the bedroom at night. Responsibility isn’t glamorous—it’s practical. Quiet. Repetitive.
Order over drift. Intention over autopilot. Even in something as ordinary as a trash can. Character is built in these tiny decisions. Discipline is practiced in inches. Don’t waste anything. We can work together to make this a better place for all of us.
That’s where a life is quietly constructed—not in grand speeches or big stages, but in the small, steady choices no one applauds. The way you reset a room. The way you think one step ahead—the way you refuse to let randomness run the show.
So yes—tonight I’ll bring the trash can into the bedroom with me. Not because it’s dramatic. Not because it changes the world. But because it changes me. And that’s where everything begins. Start making your own world a better place for everyone.
>>>>> February 23
“What am I doing here?”
The question arrived before the sun had fully stretched.
Not groggy. Not dramatic. Just honest.
The kind of question that slips out before the day has laced its shoes.
It didn’t shout. It didn’t accuse.
It simply hovered there in the quiet—clean, sharp, unafraid.
And today… It refused to leave.
I’ll be straight with you. It’s been a hard one.
For therapy, I showed up a little early, as I usually do. They began a little late, as they usually do. When I walked into the room, the trash can was overflowing—paper and plastic rising like a tiny rebellion against order. I moved to press it down with my foot, steadying myself against the wall.
Diane stopped me right away. Said I could fall. Said it wasn’t safe. Yet Diane doesn’t even know my capabilities. I was balanced. I knew what I was doing. I’ve kept clubs in the air under stage lights. I’ve ridden high unicycles. I’ve rebuilt a broken body—twice. This was not Everest.
But it wasn’t about the trash.
It was about being corrected for initiative.
About feeling managed instead of trusted.
And that’s what stung.
At 10:00, the Impulse Control Group came. A card-matching game. Simple. Repetitive. Familiar. On paper, I did well. The scores would say so. But inside, I felt miles away. Most games are not for me.
Something is unsettling about watching grown adults being handled like children. I understand safety. I respect structure. Yet there’s a thin line between support and diminishment, and today that line felt blurred.
Later, I stood to grab a chair for someone who needed one. I was told to sit down. Again. It’s strange how quickly initiative becomes interruption. Once again, they were just following the book without thinking, something I detest.
From 11:00 to 11:30, I was scheduled to meet with Lilly. I showed her the notes I’d taken about the morning. She read them. She saw where I was emotionally. The session was canceled. So, no speech therapy today. There will be more in the future.
Nothing filled the afternoon.
That’s when the deeper questions began to whisper.
I have known real joy since the first accident.
I have known purpose, love, strength, and growth.
I’ve stood in applause, and I’ve celebrated quiet victories no one else saw.
But lately… happiness feels distant. Not erased. Just out of reach.
Today, I found myself wondering if life is worth living.
That is not a sentence I write lightly.
It isn’t theatrical.
It’s tired.
I also noticed something practical: there are more therapists than patients. The system could be better organized. Less idle drift. More clarity. I notice some people just drifting with nowhere to go. I write this not, but I’ve seen numerous improvements, too.
And here I am, sitting with the plain truth:
Right now, I don’t see how to make my life more pleasing.
But I have learned something about vision.
Sometimes you can’t see the road because you’re standing too close to the wall.
The man asks, “What am I doing here?”
He is the same man who has rebuilt himself before.
That question isn’t surrender.
It’s a doorway.
I may not have the answer tonight.
But I’m still here.
Still asking.
>>>>>> February 24
Up early, as usual. The halls were quiet except for one voice drifting down from somewhere near the nurses’ station: “I’ve gotta go home.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just tired. And it landed on me.
Because I can’t say those words, I don’t have a door somewhere waiting for my key. No porch light. No familiar chair angled just the way I like it. That truth sits some mornings heavily. Not crushing—but present. Like a small stone in your shoe, you can’t ignore it.
I would love to go back in a van and travel.
Then there’s the other weight I carry. Almost daily, I replay the decision about my teeth. I chose to have all my lower teeth extracted. At the time, it felt like solving a problem in one bold sweep—a clean fix. Start over. But now? I question it.
Yes, a few teeth were already gone.
Yes, there were issues.
But I should have slowed down.
Handled each one separately.
I should have asked more questions and sought another opinion. I remember reading somewhere that dental problems can affect the whole head, maybe even the body. Instead of researching deeply, I acted quickly. And now I live with that choice.
Every time I eat, the denture comes loose. I will visit the dentist later today. I will let you know. Regret has a way of visiting early in the morning. But here’s what I know—even when it stings. I made the best decision I could with the information and mindset I had at that moment. I did’t have the information I have now. Not the clarity that comes later. The information I had then. That matters.
Life doesn’t come with a rewind button. It comes with adaptation. Adjustment. Resilience. And if there’s anyone who understands rebuilding, it’s me. I’ve rebuilt my body. You’ve rebuilt your life. You’ve rebuilt your purpose more than once.
Teeth are hard.
Regret is harder.
But neither defines me.
As for “home”—sometimes home isn’t a place. Sometimes it’s a direction. Sometimes it’s something you’re still building quietly inside yourself. A steadiness. A set of values. A way of carrying yourself through hard mornings.
I may not have a porch light waiting. But I’m still here. Still thinkin and still growing. Still capable of building whatever “home” becomes next. And that means the story is not over. Not even close. Life goes on, and we live the best we can.
It’s only 6:30, and I’ve already written this much for the day. Nice.
A few minutes later, Marleen rolled through doing her weekly sweep of the hallway. Broom in hand. Steady rhythm. I thanked her, like I always do. Yes, she’s paid to clean. But gratitude isn’t about job descriptions. A simple “thank you” costs nothing and lifts everything. Say it often. Mean it every time. It’s good to connect with people; lately, I’ve been feeling so lonely.
Now, let me be honest with you. Loneliness has a way of turning the volume up on the heart. When you go long enough without companionship, even a smile can feel like sunlight after winter. I’ve caught myself feeling fond of Marleen and drawn to Nora. Not because I’m reckless—but because I’m human.
I’m 66 and planning to pass 100 with style, stories, and a strong stride. That’s the mission. Not just more years—but better years. And if there’s an intelligent, kind, spirited woman out there who wants to aim for triple digits with grit and grace? Well… we’d have some walking to do.
6:50 a.m. A nurse stopped by with my daily pill for acid reflux. I’m not a fan of pills. Never have been. I’d rather fix things with grit, green vegetables, and stubborn optimism. But for now, this is part of the program. So I take it. No drama. Just discipline.
And here’s the truth beneath the humor: I don’t want just “anyone.” I want a connection. Conversation. Laughter that surprises us both. Someone who wants to build mornings and outlive expectations. Looking for a special lady who will be my friend.
I just watched a video about a human-like robot—smooth movements. Familiar shape. Two arms. Two legs. A face that tries to mirror ours. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXA7raxsyD0 Robots seem to be the future for humans. What do you think of this?
And I’ve written about robots before. Almost all of them are designed to look like us. That fascinates me. Because let’s be honest—humans are not perfect. We break down. We get sick. We forget. We limp. We argue. We age.
So why are we building machines in our image?
Mainly because that’s what we know.
Why not create something better?
Why not four arms for efficiency?
Wheels instead of fragile knees?
Vision that sees in every spectrum?
A mind that calculates and creates at the same time?
It surprises me that we keep copying ourselves instead of improving on the design. Maybe it’s familiarity. It could be comfort. We may be trying to understand ourselves by recreating ourselves.
Or maybe… We don’t actually know what “better” looks like yet.
There’s something bold about building in our own shape. It says, “This is the template.” Even with our flaws. And that raises a bigger question: If we’re imperfect… and still the model… what does that say about us? Maybe the human form isn’t about efficiency.
It could be about connection.
Now that’s something no robot has mastered yet.
And until they do?
We’re still extraordinary (YES, YOU!). 💥
I just received my schedule for today.
It’s blank.
No therapies.
No appointments.
No structure.
Nothing.
And I won’t pretend that didn’t hit me in the chest.
The calendar has been thinning out lately—fewer sessions, fewer names, fewer boxes filled with purpose. But today? Today, it feels like someone erased me with a quiet swipe.
I find myself wondering things I don’t want to wonder.
Did I say too much in something I wrote?
Did I step on toes without knowing?
Am I being avoided?
That’s where the mind goes when the page is empty.
But here’s the truth: an empty schedule doesn’t automatically mean rejection. It might mean staffing shifts. It might mean restructuring. It might mean something entirely ordinary that my imagination is dressing up in drama.
Still… it feels strange. I’m used to motion. I’m used to juggling days packed with effort. I rebuild. I practice. I show up. A blank day feels like being benched in the middle of the game.
And I don’t like sitting on the sidelines.
But maybe—just maybe—this is a different kind of day.
A day to write. A day to sharpen.
A day to train in ways no one schedules for you.
If the therapists build their own days, I can build mine too.
I’ve rebuilt a body. I’ve rebuilt a life. I can certainly build a Tuesday.
Let’s see what I create with it.
I went out for my daily tour with the “Clean-Up Crew”—population: one. 😊 Hi there.
Only six cigarette butts today, courtesy of the usual suspect who treats the curb like an ashtray: a light day, all things considered. The rest of the place looked good. Swept. Steady. Cared for.
It may be working. The world may shift an inch at a time.
Not many people say anything. No applause. No parade.
But I still show up with my bag and my quiet mission to clean.
I still bend down. I still pick up what others toss aside.
Because order matters. Care matters.
And even if no one claps…The ground and I know.
11 am, time for my dental appointment. They made some adjustments to my denture to improve its fit. It did fit better until I got back and tried to eat some lunch. Right away, the denture came out. I was quite disappointed. They set up an appointment for me to see a specialist next month.
I recently discovered there’s a way to anchor dentures with little posts inserted into your jaw. Apparently, they snap in beautifully. They also charge beautifully. Each post costs a pretty penny.
That is the path I’m heading toward.
Unfortunately, I am not pretty… and my pennies are on a strict diet.
Right now, my smile is doing the best it can with what it’s been given—but it has aspirations. Big, Broadway-level aspirations. We’re talking “standing ovation” teeth. The kind that don’t slide around like they’re auditioning for Dancing with the Stars.
If there’s any way you could help me financially with this upgrade, it would be nothing short of spectacular. Monumental. Smile-changing. Feel free to reach out, and I’ll be happy to share the details. 610-400-3233 or kitsummers@gmail.com
Who knew that investing in your future could literally mean investing in your bite? 😄
>>>>> February 25
It was 2:15 a.m. My mind hovered in that hazy space between dream and decision, wondering if I should just surrender to the day and get up. Then—without trumpet or warning—into my room stepped a man on a mission. Not for conversation. Not for tea. For blood. A vampire was at my door early.
I asked why the midnight vampire visit was happening. He shrugged gently and said they often draw blood in the middle of the night. No grand explanation. Just routine. Well, nothing says “Good Morning!” like a needle before dawn. That sealed it—I was officially awake for the day.
Now, here’s the fun part: I’m not an easy target. My veins like to play hide-and-seek. They run deep, as if they prefer privacy. But this fellow? Calm. Skilled. He found a vein on the back of my hand and drew what he needed quickly and cleanly. Professional. Efficient. I half expected him to say, “Thank you for your donation, sir.” And just like that, the day began.
By 3:20 a.m., I was upright, fingers on keys, typing these words for you. Wide awake. Slightly amused. Slightly puzzled. Wondering what kind of day starts like this—and what it might grow into. Strange beginnings sometimes carry powerful endings. I’ve learned not to judge a sunrise by its first shadow.
So here I am, tossing sentences onto the page while most of the world still negotiates with its alarm clock. I even try to make my paragraphs about the same length—have you noticed? It’s a small discipline, a quiet rhythm. Balance on the page, like clubs in the air. Structure gives freedom. Order gives flow.
And now this paragraph stretches just enough to match the others. See? Even a 2:30 a.m. blood draw can turn into something creative. Life doesn’t always knock politely. Sometimes it shows up with a needle. But if you’re awake anyway… You might as well write. 🌅
It’s 6:29 now, and the place is beginning to stir. One by one, the employees arrive, stepping into another day while the night quietly clocks out. They keep this world turning in three steady shifts, through darkness and dawn, while most people sleep. The building never truly rests—it just changes hands.
Time goes on. The person who delivers the schedule sheet each day gave me mine — nothing was on it! Well, there was Bocce Ball at 11 am. Five patients and two therapists are over at the park awaiting us. Someone throws a little ball out onto the grass. Then, each person rolls or throws 4″ balls out to the little ball. The one closest to the little ball is the winner.
See: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkZTlXKOnbc
(I didn’t do very well.)
Because I awoke at 2:15 and have been awake since,
I will be going to sleepies early.
I hope you have a good sleep tonight.
>>>>> February 26
Back onto the therapy stairs, I find myself starting with the OT Group at 10 am. OT from 10:00-11 am, then comes speech from 11-11:30 — and that’s it! I could use more, just don’t exactly know what.
I arrived early, as usual. OT is starting 5 minutes late with Maura and a group of six patients. We did another game. Maura was having fun, as we were. It was basically a civility class at the beginning of the US. I did learn some things, but did they help with the brain injury? And, out of the word “Valentine’s”, we had to find words contained therein. Along with Maura’s help, we found over 50 words, such as “lent”, “enliven”, and “native”.
I don’t know how I can improve with their help. A few things, though: balance techniques can be explored, and my enunciation can improve, too. Then, of course, my juggling needs improvement — but that’s such a personal thing.
With Lilly, I did memory tests on the computer. I did ok, but saw that I could do much better.
But I feel like I have chased all the therapists away from me, and no one would want to work with me anymore.
Today I found out how the name “bobcat” came to be. I thought it was from someone named “Bob” who developed it. But, no, it’s because the animal has a little “Bobbed” tail. Did you know that? If you did, why didn’t you let me know?
>>>>> February 27
Wow. The day before my birthday. It feels like standing on the edge of a diving board—bouncing a little, peeking over, wondering how the splash will sound. What will I do on the big day? Will I celebrate quietly? Loudly? With cake? With courage? With both? Will you think of me?
It lands on a Saturday this year—no alarms rushing the morning, no weekday excuses. Just a wide-open space on the calendar waiting to be filled with color.
What will I do, what will I do?
Maybe that’s the real gift—not knowing… and getting to choose. 🎉
As usual, I was awake before your alarm sounded.
Before the world stretched.
Before the coffee machines hissed.
Before the first groggy hand reached to silence the beeping box of obligation.
I was already there—eyes open, thoughts lining up like disciplined little soldiers ready for inspection. 🌅
There is something almost mischievous about beating the alarm. It feels like winning a tiny, invisible race. The clock says, “Get up.” And I whisper back, “Already done.”
These early hours belong to the bold. They belong to the builders. The dreamers. The quiet warriors who choose intention before interruption. No noise. No rush. Just possibility stretching wide like an empty stage waiting for the first toss.
When you rise before the alarm, you’re not reacting to life—you’re stepping into it on purpose. That small act says something powerful: I lead my day. My day does not drag me.
And in that stillness?
That’s where plans sharpen.
That’s where courage gathers.
That’s where excellence quietly ties its shoes.
So yes, I was awake before the alarm.
Not restless. Not pressured. Ready. 🚀
BLOG 366 — Ambition vs. Purpose
In my last post, I wrote about PURPOSE. But then another word stepped into the room and cleared its throat—AMBITION. They sound like cousins. They both push. They both move you forward. But they are not the same. These two met at a crossroads, and the conversation that followed was electric.
Ambition arrived first—polished shoes, bright eyes, wind at its back. It carried blueprints and bold plans. “We’re going somewhere,” Ambition declared. “Faster. Higher. Bigger. Let’s build something impressive.” Ambition is the spark—the engine. The fire in your chest that says, Try again. Push harder. Don’t settle.
Now—here’s the magic—bring them together. 🔥
Let ambition be the engine.
Let purpose be the steering wheel.
Use what you discover to adjust your course. Make one bold tweak. One brave decision. One small but deliberate step. That’s how magnificence is built—not in fireworks, but in daily choices stacked like bricks.
Move forward with clarity and intention, and watch what happens. Your life won’t just improve. It will expand. It will multiply. It will rise toward excellence in ways you cannot yet see. Your life will go so far forward, you will be amazed.
You are not here to drift.
You are here to build something extraordinary.
Now build it. 🎉
It’s why mountains get climbed, clubs get juggled, books get written, businesses get built, and impossible tricks get practiced until they become possible. Ambition asks: How far can I go? What am I capable of? Why not me? And thank goodness for that.
Then Purpose stepped forward quietly. No megaphone. No rush. Just steady eyes and a compass held close to the heart. “Where are we going?” Purpose asked. “Up!” Ambition shouted. “Up is always better.” Purpose tilted its head. “Up where?” And there it was—the tension that lives inside all of us.
Ambition grows as you grow. It evolves with your skills, your dreams, your hunger to achieve. Purpose runs deeper. It is your built-in why—the quiet engine that has been there all along. Ambition focuses on what you want to attain. Purpose focuses on why you exist. Ambition is milestone-focused. Purpose is value-focused. Ambition wants achievement. Purpose wants meaning.
Ambition can flare hot and fast. It can chase applause, titles, and shiny trophies. But it can also be beautifully quiet—learning a new skill at 70, writing a page at 5 a.m., rebuilding after life knocks you sideways, and you accidentally juggle your ego instead of the balls. Ambition isn’t about fame. It’s about forward. It’s the grin after a setback. The decision to try one more time. The voice that says, “I’m not done yet.”
Here’s the twist: ambition without purpose can become noise—busy, loud, impressive… and empty. It becomes the “more trap.” More success. More recognition. More achievement. And still somehow not enough. Purpose without ambition becomes a dream that never leaves the couch—beautiful intention with zero motion.
But when they shake hands, everything changes. Ambition provides the fuel. Purpose provides the direction. Ambition builds the ladder. Purpose leans it against the right wall. One wants altitude. The other wants alignment. The best life—the electric, grounded, deeply satisfying life—is when success is in service of significance. That’s when the work feels lighter. That’s when victories feel deeper. That’s when setbacks become teachers instead of verdicts.
So here’s the quiet question waiting at your own crossroads: Is your ambition serving your purpose? Or is it just keeping you busy? Because ambition doesn’t demand perfection. It just asks for courage. And courage, my friend, is something you already carry.
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.🚶♂️💡
And, I’m waiting to hear from you. How about it? kitsummers@gmail.com
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
“Ambition is the path to success.
Persistence is the vehicle you arrive in.” — Bill Bradley.
“Use Ambition and Purpose to achieve wonders in the world!” — Kit Summers.
“Ambition is good, but purpose is better.
In the end, those who contribute the most win.” — @trinnywoodall’s Instagram
“A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead.
A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive.” — Pearl Bailey.
“Ambition means tying your well-being to what other people think.
say or do… Self-reflection means tying it to your own actions.” — Reddit user.
“Ambition is enthusiasm with a purpose.” — Frank Tyger.
“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions.
Small people always do that, but the really great make you.
feel that you, too, can become great.” — Mark Twain
“Your purpose isn’t something you discover,
But something you ultimately choose yourself.” — Benjamin Hardy
“Ambition is the desire to rise higher in the world.
Aspiration is the desire to become a better person in the world.”— The New York Times.
“Ambition is the outcome you want to attain.
Aspiration is the person you want to be to get there.” EMPaulG
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Figure out your Ambitions this week. Gather ideas for purposes in your life.
Use this information to make changes toward the magnificence that you want.
As you go forward with this information, your life will multiply toward excellence!
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 367–Travel, Where do you Start?
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!
