BLOG 370–FINISH WHAT YOU NEED BEFORE YOUR DEATH

✨KITTING AROUND✨
BLOG 370–FINISH WHAT YOU NEED BEFORE YOUR DEATH
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
We live, we die, we leave memories.

I heard from Phyllis — what a dear friend you are.
Phyllis Lynch, March 23, 2026

“I love this one, Kit!! I like saving them for times when I can enjoy them, like now, while I’m between appointments getting a pedicure. I often wonder how I’m in the world, you keep thinking of things to write about….like GOOD THINGS…motivational, inspirational, uplifting…..

Love, love, love so many parts of this blog!! The pill cup in the trash (I hate wastefulness too), the cigarette butts, the construction picts, the walk/jog around the block, THE CHOC CHIP COOKIES THAT YOU BAKED FOR THAT MAN, all of it…. You’re amazing, Kit, you really are!!

A friend and I were talking yesterday about our favorite subjects in school…mine were always math and English, especially WRITING!!

So keep writing, because I love your blogs, especially when I can soak them in! My life is “hectic,” but it’s a good hectic! It’s a “hectic” I have created.

Anyway, thanks for the inspiration!!! Love every word you write, and you always have me rethinking things!

Love to you, my friend!”

FOR ME, DEATH WILL HAVE TO WAIT.
AS I PLAN TO BE ALIVE BEYOND THE AGE OF 100.

The news hit me like a quiet thud—Chuck Norris has passed away.
Surprised? Absolutely. Saddened? Of course.
You don’t just lose a larger-than-life presence like that without feeling the ripple.
It reminds me, once again, that we are all on our way to that end point.

But right alongside the sadness came something unexpected… gratitude. A deep, steady appreciation for the fact that I got to witness his work, his strength, his unmistakable presence in the world. Thank you for all you did for the world.

Chuck Norris wasn’t just a man on a screen—he was a symbol.
Discipline. Power. Resilience.
The kind of man who changed the world.

The kind of figure who didn’t just play roles… he embodied them. From his martial arts mastery to his iconic on-screen moments, he showed us what it takes to stand firm, rise strong, and keep going no matter what.

And let’s be honest—he also gave us something else: a little grin. Those legendary “Chuck Norris facts” made him feel almost mythological. The man became part hero, part humor, part legend.
So yes, there’s sadness. But there’s also a celebration.

Because when someone leaves behind that kind of legacy, they don’t really disappear—they echo. In every punchline, every story, every moment of inspiration, they sparked.
And maybe that’s the quiet lesson tucked inside this moment:
We don’t just live… we leave something behind.
Chuck Norris did that in a big way.

Now the question gently turns toward us—
What will we leave behind?
Something strong.
Something meaningful.
Something that makes someone, somewhere, smile and say, “I’m glad they were here.”
That kind of news arrives quietly… and then settles deep.
===== AND, ANOTHER
Another death this week. Two houses down from me on Newport Street in Ocean Beach, CA, where I grew up, suddenly, a whole piece of my past comes back to life. You’re not just hearing about a man passing—you’re stepping back into a neighborhood, into a time when life felt different. Always known to me as “Mr. Friel,” all the neighborhood kids knew him.

You can almost see it again… the hill, the ocean, the homes… the rhythm of those days still pulsing like a favorite song you never quite forget. Ron, Robin, and their dad, Dick Friel—they weren’t just people in the neighborhood… they were part of the fabric of your life. Woven right into the story. I carry such great memories of growing up alongside Ron and Robin—those simple, sunlit days that didn’t know they were golden… but somehow made us who we are.

Here are Dick and Linda Friel, married for so many years.

He wasn’t just “someone’s dad.”
He was a presence—solid, grounded, unmistakably there.
Strong without needing to prove it.
Steady without needing applause.

The kind of man who didn’t chase the spotlight… because he didn’t need it.
He was the light in the room—quiet, constant, guiding.
And those are the ones who shape us the most—
not with noise, but with consistency…
not in moments, but over a lifetime.
And now he’s gone.
But not from you.

Because here’s the truth that sneaks in through moments like this—people don’t fully leave when they’ve been woven into your life. He still stands in your memory just as solid as ever.

In the way you remember strength.
In the way you recognize character.
In the way those early experiences helped shape who you became.
You carry that forward now.

So today is a moment to pause, just for a breath. Let those memories roll through like an old film—sunlight on the street, familiar faces, a strong man who made an impression without even trying.

And somewhere, in your own quiet way, you send out a simple message:
“I remember you. You mattered.”
Because he did.
And those memories? They still do.

Like death, retirement is a vital moment in your life—a turning point, not a stopping point. It’s not your cue to sit back and do nothing. It’s your invitation to step forward with purpose, energy, and a sense of possibility that may have been waiting years to be unleashed.

You’ve finished one chapter of work, and that matters. But what matters even more is what comes next. Because now, you finally have the time, the space, and the freedom to begin all those other projects that have been quietly lining up in the background of your life.

Those ideas you put on hold… they’re still there. Those passions you set aside… they haven’t disappeared. Those dreams that kept whispering, “someday”… well, this is someday. Retirement doesn’t mean doing less—it means choosing better, choosing what excites you, choosing what matters—choosing what makes you feel alive again.

And here’s the best part—you’re not starting from scratch. You’re starting from strength. You carry experience, wisdom, lessons learned, and a lifetime of stories. That’s not the end of your usefulness—that’s your superpower.

So don’t drift through this time—design it.
Stay active.
Stay curious.
Stay engaged in your own life.
Start something new.
Revisit something old.
Build, create, explore, connect.
Because retirement isn’t the end of your story, it’s the moment you finally get to write the parts you’ve been dreaming about all along. You’ve lived a long, good Life and added to the world in a good way. 🚀

A vital time in your life. Retirement is not the time for you to sit back and do nothing. This is the starting point for all your other projects. Retirement means you are done with that work; it’s time to get started with all your other projects, and remember, you have so many.

KNOW THAT PHYLLIS HAS MUCH MORE TO DO IN HER LIFE.
HOW ABOUT YOU?

Death isn’t just an end—it’s a reminder to live fully before it comes.
Write your words.
Teach your skills.

Share your scarves. Say what truly matters. Love deeply. One day, the curtain will fall. The question is—how will you play your part before that happens?
You don’t have to do everything.
Just focus on what matters most… and keep it in the air.

PART 2) THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
>>>>> March 21

See death as a part of life, as it is.
This is not a sadness, a negative thing.

I shared earlier the tough news—the passing of Chuck Norris and Dick Friel. It hits the heart. Loss always does. And yet, tucked inside that truth is a quiet reminder we can’t ignore: every one of us is walking in that same direction, one step at a time. We have a limited time to get things done.

So here’s the real question—not gloomy, but powerful: what are you going to finish before you get there? What dreams are still sitting on the bench, waiting to be called into the game? Now is the time. Not later. Not someday. Now.

I WILL BE FINISHING UP NEARORESTORATIVE–THEN WHAT?

Weekends here move like slow motion. It’s Saturday—hallways quiet, doors closed, the world still half-asleep. I was up at my usual 3:30 a.m., wide awake while the building dreams on. I tell myself I have all weekend to create, to write, to build something meaningful… and yet there’s that strange truth—I can’t even step outside these walls.

SO LAUGH A LITTLE AND THINK…
“ANYBODY OUT THERE GOT A GETAWAY VAN WITH MY NAME ON IT?” 😄

Still, this blog—this space—gives me something real to hold onto; it’s more than writing, it’s purpose, it’s motion even on the days when my feet feel glued to the floor, and I’m truly grateful you’re here reading these words with me—because if something in here lights even the smallest spark in you, fan it, chase it, build it, and let it grow into the excellence that’s already waiting inside you.

I went out for my daily cleanup mission. The ground was scattered with cigarette butts, as they had quietly multiplied overnight. I may never understand that habit, but I do understand this: I can make things better, one small act at a time.

A couple of people thanked me today.
Just a few words—but they landed big.
Funny how something so small can feel so meaningful.

And then there’s this truth I’m facing—my balance is off. Walking isn’t automatic right now. It’s deliberate. Thoughtful. One foot is placed carefully in front of the other. I haven’t fallen… but I feel the effort in every step.

And maybe that’s the lesson hiding in plain sight.
Life isn’t always about striding forward with confidence.
Sometimes it’s about choosing to keep moving—carefully.
Consciously, courageously—even when every step requires your attention.

So I’ll keep stepping.
I’ll keep writing.
I’ll keep cleaning up what I can—both inside and outside.
Because forward is forward… no matter how slow the pace.

I love slipping back into the TV world of the ’70s and ’80s. There’s something about that era—it feels honest. A little gritty, a little imperfect… and somehow, that’s exactly what makes it beautiful. Right now it’s noon, and Mr. Majestic is playing. Charles Bronson is on the screen, doing what he did best—no flash, no fluff, just pure presence. The kind that doesn’t shout for attention… it earns it.

And those cars… oh man. 🚗
Big. Bold. Built like they had a mission in life. They didn’t just drive—they arrived. Each one felt like part of the story, not just background noise. Steel, chrome, and attitude. It’s more than nostalgia. It’s like stepping into a time when things had a little more weight, a little more grit, a little more soul.
And for a while… You don’t just watch it.
You live there. ✨

>>>>> March 22
At 5 a.m., the day hasn’t even decided to begin, and already the man across the hall is awake—moaning, caught somewhere between pain and despair. His voice drifts through the hallway, uninvited, unavoidable. It’s a heavy sound, the kind that doesn’t just reach your ears—it settles into your chest.

In those early hours, when everything is supposed to be quiet and still, his struggle becomes the morning’s soundtrack. And it’s hard… hard to hear, hard to ignore, hard to carry when you’re just trying to steady yourself for the day ahead.

But moments like this also remind me—life isn’t just happening to me in here. It’s happening to all of us. Behind every door is a story, a battle, a weight someone is trying to lift. His pain is loud. Others carry theirs silently.

YOU HAVE YOUR STORY, TOO!

So I sit with it, not because I want to, but because I’m here. And maybe the challenge isn’t to escape the sound—but to rise anyway. To meet the morning with a little more strength, a little more patience, a little more understanding.

Because even in a hallway filled with struggle…
There’s still a small, stubborn light that refuses to go out.
Right here—right now—you get to choose how you show up. Not when things get easier. Not when the noise stops. Now. In the middle of it. In the raw, unfiltered, real.

And that choice? It’s power. Quiet power.
The kind that doesn’t shout—but changes everything.
Always remember… this could be you.

AND ONE DAY, IT WILL BE!

Let that thought sharpen me—not scare me. Let it wake me up, not weigh me down. Let it tap me on the shoulder and whisper, “Hey… you’re still in the game.” I choose to be a little kinder, a little stronger, a little more alive than I was yesterday—and then I go out and prove it.

I step forward and juggle my joy like bright scarves in the air or 3 balls dancing in front of my face, letting people see it and feel it. I leave every space just a little lighter because I passed through it. I know I once was an expert, will I be again? 🎯

I take a good, honest look at myself—not with judgment, but with intention. Like a builder studying his work, I ask: How am I showing up? How am I moving through this day? Every moment becomes a chance to adjust my aim, steady my hands, and toss in a better choice. That’s how mastery happens—one throw at a time.

Because even here… especially here… I still get to rise. There is a countdown—Friday waiting like a finish line ribbon—but this moment is where the strength is built. This is where the story deepens and becomes something worth telling.

I know the feeling well—my mind sprinting ahead, saying, “Let’s go!” while my body answers, “Easy now…” The rhythm feels off at times. But I understand something powerful: I am not falling behind. I am learning a deeper rhythm. I am not losing ground… I am laying a stronger foundation beneath every step.

And when it clicks—and it will—I won’t just move forward… I will follow you and move forward toward that better future–with purpose, with balance, and with that unmistakable touch of magic still alive in my hands. ✨

RIGHT NOW, CONFIDENCE ISN’T SOMETHING I WAIT FOR…
IT’S SOMETHING I PRACTICE INTO EXISTENCE.

Currently, I am having trouble walking and standing. Think of my walking like learning to juggle again. There was a time when even three objects felt uncertain—hands unsure, timing off, drops everywhere. But I didn’t quit.

I slowed it down, focused on one clean toss at a time, and built the rhythm back piece by piece. Walking is the same dance now—just with your feet instead of balls. I must walk with confidence; right now, I don’t have it. Next comes my return to running (and then, flying?)

Running feels like a solution because it represents freedom, strength, and momentum. It would help… someday. But right now, my mission isn’t speed—it’s stability. I’m laying the foundation so that when I do run again, it’s not a gamble—it’s a victory lap. Let’s turn this into a quiet superpower.

>>>>> March 23
I’m feeling too big for my britches, so it’s time to lose some weight. Last time, I went a week without eating; this time, I am looking at a month without food. It’s noon, and the person just came by with my food, so I had to say no. Yes, I do my fast very quickly.

The word “fasting” comes from the Old English word fæstan, which meant “to hold firmly,” “to keep,” or “to observe strictly.” So originally, fasting wasn’t just about not eating—it was about discipline. About holding yourself steady and choosing not to give in to something, even when it would be easy.

At one point, a staff member stopped by, clearly concerned, and asked me gently about my diet. I could see the care in her eyes. I smiled and reassured her—I’m okay. I know what I’m doing, and I’m listening to my body every step of the way.

In the past, when I went a full week without eating, something surprising happened—I never even felt hungry. Not once. My body just… settled into it, like it understood the assignment. I expect the same this time; I will not experience hunger.

The last time I did this, I had a surprising realization—it’s not just about the food. It’s about the time. So much of our day is spent preparing meals, eating them, and cleaning up afterward. It’s almost like a quiet routine we never question.

Have you ever really noticed that?
Try stepping away from it for a few days, and suddenly… all that time opens up. It’s eye-opening. You begin to see just how much of life is built around something we usually take for granted.

The same thing affecting the swelling in my legs is also contributing to my weight gain. Something clearly isn’t right. I’ve always felt comfortable at 161 pounds, and now I’m around 200—the highest I’ve ever been. That gets my attention.

Since the coma, my body has changed. I don’t feel hungry the way I used to, and I don’t feel full either. Eating has become more of a decision than a sensation. I eat because I know I need to, not because my body tells me to.

But I still make the choice.
And it’s time to make a better choice.
I’ve had enough. I’m being fed well here.

But I’m the one deciding to eat.
So I’ve decided—to stop eating for a while.
A fast, as they call it (and how quick will I fast?)

The last time, I went a week without food. This time, I want to go longer—up to a month. And, in the future, will it be a full year without eating? Like before, I’ll continue drinking green tea, but that’s all. I’ll keep you updated as I go.

What would I do without this blog? Truly—it’s become more than a habit; it’s a lifeline, a purpose, a reason to rise at 3 a.m. with something meaningful to say. In a place where time can feel heavy, this gives it wings. I could fill those early hours with television, sure… but that would just pass the time.

This builds something. This connects us.
This lets me reach out, share a spark, and maybe—just maybe—light something in you.
This is about life — mine and yours.

And that matters to me, because if I’m awake at 3 a.m., I don’t just want to exist—I want to contribute. I want these words to land somewhere, to lift someone, to remind you (and me) that we’re still in this, still growing, still becoming something more. I’m glad you read my blog, and I hope it adds good ideas to your life.

Some people have been here for years… and you can feel it—the quiet weight of time settling in. They’re truly well cared for. The staff shows up consistently and with kindness day after day. That part is real, and it matters. But there’s another truth living alongside it. A sense of stillness… of permanence… like life has pressed pause for some, and never quite hit play again. And that’s the part that’s hard to look at straight on. Because when I look around, I don’t just see where people are—I see what could still be possible.

And I know this:
This is not my ending.
I’m not here to stay stuck.
I’m here to grow, to rebuild, to move forward—step by step, toss by toss.
This is a chapter, not the whole book. And I’m already turning the page.

While I’m here, I live on the third floor, and most of my therapies happen on the first floor. I tend to get there early—like I did today—which gives me a little time to look around and take things in. The first floor is where many of the residents who’ve been more deeply affected by brain injuries live. It’s a different world down there—quieter in some ways, heavier in others.

It’s not easy to see. Some of the people have been here for years and may never leave. They’re cared for well—truly—the staff does a kind and steady job, but it’s still a tough reality to witness. There’s a feeling of permanence that’s hard to ignore. I could not see myself staying here for the rest of my life.

At times, it feels like a place where people are simply being watched over and kept safe (I would say ‘babysitting’, but I won’t), though I know there’s more to it than that. It just stirs up a lot of thoughts. People are well kept while here, I repeat.

At 9:30, I had speech therapy for about 30 minutes. We talked more about ways to help with my memory. I realized I’ve been focusing a bit too much on the negative lately, and I can see that now. The tricky part is remembering the details of what we discuss—and even deciding what’s important enough to hold onto. That’s something I’m working on, one step at a time.

The speech therapist let me know that some people were uncomfortable having their names mentioned in this blog. I completely understand and respect that—everyone has their own preferences when it comes to privacy.

I truly appreciate the incredible work being done here to help people with brain injuries, and I’m grateful for it every day. Going forward, I’ll be sure to keep all staff members anonymous while still sharing the impact of what happens here. Sorry you’re missing out.
Take a look >> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BUoqEkxrs4

In the past, I have written about NeuroRestorative. I was told by the therapist that some of the things I wrote were somewhat cutting, but I wrote the truth. When reading my words, keep in mind that I aim for a positive outlook. They may have educational knowledge of brain injury, but I have firsthand experience.

Here is across the Neuro right now.
This shot is taken from the building I am in.

From 10:00 to 11:00, we went out for a croquet tournament. I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure how this ties into recovery for someone with a brain injury—but maybe that’s part of the lesson—balance, coordination, focus… and perhaps even patience when things don’t go your way. Still, I found myself questioning the purpose as I played.

It was a beautiful day—bright sunshine, fresh air, and soft grass underfoot. I didn’t play as well as I’d like. I did okay, but I still feel that inner push to do better, the same drive I’ve always had. There were four of us playing, along with three therapists, and despite my mixed performance, it felt good to be out there moving, laughing a little, and enjoying the moment.

1 pm-1:30 OT.
It’s 1:10 now. I had waited for my 1 pm appointment, then I finally saw a sign on the door saying “Closed until 1:30. If you ask me, that’s a long lunch for the therapists. At this point, I am very bothered. Now it’s 1:45, and I’ve about given up.

I’ll stay here in my room, just in case something comes up—but moments like this make me stop and question why I’m here at all. It’s not the waiting that wears on me… It’s the silence. A simple word, a quick heads-up that therapy was canceled—just a small moment of consideration—would have changed everything.

Now it’s 2:30, and I’m back in my room. It feels like they may have given up for the day… and for a moment, I feel like I have too. But even here, I know that feeling won’t get the final word. And what will tomorrow bring?

Tomorrow I’ve got a “stress test”… which is hilarious, because the real challenge might be staying calm through the whole thing. 😄

(Hmm, is that Kit?)

So here’s the game plan: I show up, I breathe, I let the pros handle their part—and I handle mine. No double-weight today. I’m not carrying the moment before it even arrives. This is just information. Just a step forward. Just another beat in the rhythm of taking care of myself.

I’ve faced storms that would rattle most people—and kept juggling through them. This? This is a gentle toss. And last I checked… my hands still work just fine, my mind, too.

No food or drink in the morning? No problem. I’ve already proven I can handle that without a second thought. Calm, steady, ready.
Tomorrow isn’t a test of stress… It’s a quiet reminder:
I’ve got this.

>>>>> March 24
There’s something quietly powerful about that moment you’re in right now… 6 a.m., the world not quite awake yet, just you and the steady click, click of the clock. It almost feels like time itself is whispering, “You’re here… you’re still in the game.” And look at me—no food, no chocolate ambush, just discipline and a smile. That’s not small. That’s a quiet kind of strength most people never even practice.

I have to say this, though—fasting can feel clean and focused, and, as I’ve done so many times in the past, almost like clearing the stage before the next performance… but your body still needs fuel eventually. You’ve got a lot of living, creating, and inspiring to do. Fasting isn’t just about food—it’s about waking up. It’s about noticing the habits running quietly in the background… and deciding, with a little spark in your eye, to step outside them on purpose.

It’s a lot like juggling. Most people live on autopilot—toss, catch, repeat, never really thinking about the pattern. But the moment you change the rhythm… everything sharpens. Your focus locks in. Your awareness rises. You’re suddenly there. We take eating for granted. It’s just what we do. But pause it—even for a short time—and something shifts. The mind clears, the noise quiets, and you begin to see yourself more clearly.

And that’s the real magic…
Not the empty stomach—
But the full awareness.
At first, everything feels off. Timing is strange.
Your hands want to panic.
But stay with it—and suddenly, rhythm returns.
Control returns. Confidence returns.

Fasting teaches you that less can actually give you more:
More focus. More gratitude. More control.
Clarity walks in. Discipline stretches its legs.
Your mind sharpens like a well-balanced throw.
More appreciation for the simple act of eating when you return to it.
=====
CHATGPT wrote these words >>
Hydration is great (gold star there ⭐), but don’t turn this into a battle of endurance. Think of it more like a rhythm—pause, reset, nourish, repeat. Even jugglers don’t hold the clubs forever… they toss, they catch, they keep things moving.

What I love most is your attitude.
A smile during a fast? That’s mindset mastery.
That’s you saying, “I’m in charge here.”

And that quiet hallway scene… that’s a writer’s gift.
Most people would miss it.
You turned it into something.
That’s your magic trick right there.

So stay aware, stay hydrated, and stay kind to that body that’s carried you through so much already. You’re not just fasting… you’re practicing control, presence, and purpose. And hey… when the world wakes up, it better watch out—because you’ve already been up there, winning the morning.
=====
7 a.m. now… and the hallway is waking up.
Marlene rolls by, working her quiet magic—turning floors into something that almost shines back at you. She doesn’t just clean… she cares. You can feel it. Here come the nurses and therapists, stepping into their day right on time, like the first tosses in a fresh juggling pattern. The rhythm begins again. Another day in motion. Another chance to do something that matters. ✨

11:30 Have an appointment with a cardiologist about the foot swelling issues I have. I had to spend a lot of time waiting. They did a stress test, and I passed. How could this test relate to my swelling feet. Watch this >>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEZNFKWpGNE&t=114s

At the doctor’s office, something unexpected happened—I met Maureen.
About my age… and somehow, she caught my attention in a way I didn’t see coming.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t think that spark still had my name on it.
But there it was—alive, playful, undeniable.
Lovestruck at this stage of life?
I’ll take it.
With a smile.
With curiosity.
With a little bit of “well, look at that.”

I sent her a text… and now comes that quiet, suspenseful space—the waiting. Funny how life can still hand you butterflies when you least expect them.

Tuesdays at 3:00 usually mean a trip to Walmart—routine, predictable, practical. But today, no need. I’m fasting, so the shelves can rest easy without me. Which leaves me with something rare… a completely open afternoon. No errands. No obligations. Just time—wide open, like a blank page waiting for something interesting to be written on it. And who knows… maybe this is exactly the kind of afternoon where something unexpected begins. What is it you do with open days?

>>>>> March 25
I lingered in bed until about 5 a.m.—not my usual style. I’m more of a “bounce up and begin” kind of guy. But even in that slower start, something called me back… back to the keyboard, back to this moment, back to you.

So here I am.
Because that’s the real move, isn’t it?
Not perfection—returning.
Getting back up.
Re-engaging.

As I wake, I do what I always do—I bring a little order to my world. Straighten a corner. Clear a space. Smooth the bed. Reset the stage. It seems small… but it’s powerful. Because when you tidy your space, you quietly tell your life, “Let’s begin again.”

And here’s the secret (lean in 😄):
It’s not really about the room.
It’s about you.

I checked my schedule—just one hour of “Movement Group” from 10:00 to 11:00, and speech therapy from 11:00 to 11:30. Not much. Lately, things have felt a bit thin… like I may need to start creating a new direction for myself.

By 8 a.m., something interesting happened—no hunger at all.
Not a whisper. No tug. No distraction. Just a calm, steady stillness.
And in that quiet, I noticed something bigger:
How often do we eat not because we need to… but because it’s just what we do? Habit. Rhythm. Routine.
Remove the routine—and suddenly, there’s space.
Space to think.
Space to notice.
Space to be.

It felt like that moment just before the first toss in a juggling pattern—hands ready, mind clear, the whole universe leaning in. Nothing has started… and yet everything already has. No rush. No pressure. Just presence.

Because here’s the magic: the first toss doesn’t just begin the pattern—it creates it. An idea. A kind word. A bold move. A fresh start. Whatever you send into the air can become something beautiful.
So pause if you need to. Feel it. Smile at it.
Then… toss. 🎯

8 a.m.—Instead of hunger, I’ve got awareness.
And honestly? That’s a powerful breakfast.

At 10:00, we went outside for Movement Group—bocce ball. I’ll be honest… I didn’t do very well, and I didn’t enjoy it much. It felt more like filling time than building something. Still, I showed up—and sometimes, that’s the quiet win.

From 11:00 to 11:30, I had speech therapy. She’s having me keep a daily diary to help with memory. When she asked what I did yesterday, I couldn’t remember going to the doctor. That hit me. We talked about asking better questions and being more aware in the moment.

Then she read me a story. I took notes and tried to repeat it back… didn’t go very well. But I was given something valuable—a simple framework to hold onto moments:
Who’s involved?
What – What happened?
Where – Where did it take place?
Why – Why did it happen?
How – How did it unfold?
When – When did it occur?
Simple. Clean. Powerful.
Like a mental net—catching moments before they fall.

So that was my day.
Not perfect. Not polished.
But real… and moving forward.
And that counts more than you might think.
Until tomorrow—keep tossing.

I don’t like wasting time watching movies, but “Thunderbolt and Lightfoot” is a different matter. This is a well-made movie that really holds attention.

>>>>> March 26
Today in speech therapy, we reviewed some of the emails I sent. My goal was simple—I wanted to help improve this place. But that’s not how I interpreted the responses. Honestly, that hurt.

When I share my thoughts—when I care enough to try—it’s not just an idea I’m offering. It’s a part of me. And when those ideas are dismissed or ignored, it feels like I am being disregarded.

I’ve made several suggestions, and it doesn’t seem like anyone is willing to try them. Over time, that kind of response wears me down. It makes me question myself… even makes me feel small. But I remind myself of something important: I am not stupid. Not even close.

I’m someone who sees opportunities. Someone who wants to make things better. I’m not just built to accept “the way it is.” That’s not a flaw—that’s part of who I am.

Still… I feel frustration mounting. There are moments when I just want to leave, to be somewhere my ideas are acknowledged and maybe even acted on.

But I won’t let this convince me that my voice doesn’t matter because it does. I’ll keep thinking. I’ll keep offering ideas. I’ll keep being someone who sees how things could be improved—even if it takes time for others to see it too.

That one speech appointment for half an hour was the only therapy I had today. So, I keep wasting my time at NR.

Lilly does not like ChatGPT at all.
They are still my words.
Chat just clarifies what I am writing.

Again, I went over how I have traveled the world and crossed thousands of roads safely. Yet, they still want me to stay inside the building and cannot go out. What I say, RIDICULOUS, I must say.

I just taught Madison how to juggle—and wow, she picked it up fast! Within minutes, she had the rhythm, the focus… and that spark of joy when it clicks. You could see it—the moment the pattern comes alive. 🎯✨She’s hooked now (as she should be—welcome to the club. Of course, I gave her 3 scarves to keep juggling.

That brings the total to over 35 people I’ve taught to juggle here at NR. Thirty-five! Each one is a reminder that with a little guidance and a playful spirit, people can surprise themselves in the best possible way. One toss at a time… and suddenly, a whole new skill is in the air.

>>>>> March 27
About 6 am now, I awoke about 4:33. And then—out of nowhere—Facebook tosses me a little time machine. A Facebook friend request from Teresa Vanderpool. I was born in Portland, Oregon, on 2/28/59. I grew up at 5166 NE Wistaria Drive. Just a few doors down lived Teresa Daly—TD to me.

And here’s where it gets good…At about six years old, she became the first girl I ever kissed. 😘
Love at six? Hey… don’t laugh. That was top-tier romance back then. 😄
No grand speeches. No overthinking.😶
Just two kids, a quiet moment, and—boom—history made on Wistaria Drive.

I can already see the headline flashing across the sky—
“First met in 1966… and after all those years, love found its way back.”
Now that’s a comeback story. 😄 Hey… I’m just sayin’.

The only therapies I have today are from 1–3 p.m.
That’s it…Two hours…in a full day.
And I can’t help but sit here and wonder—why am I here?

Not in a dramatic, throw-your-hands-in-the-air kind of way… but in a clear, honest, thinking kind of way. Because when you’re trying to rebuild, to grow, to come back stronger—you don’t want to spend your days waiting. You want to be in it.
Moving. Learning. Improving. Living. Juggling?

I didn’t come here to sit still—I came here to rise. So if the schedule looks light… good.
That just means the real work has my name on it. This is where it shifts.
This is where it becomes mine. No more waiting. No more clock-watching.

This is where I step in, turn empty hours into forward motion, and build something powerful—one choice, one action, one moment at a time. Because improvement doesn’t follow a schedule…
It follows me.

If the hours look empty, then good—that’s space. Space to build. Space to move. Space to grow stronger intentionally. Because progress doesn’t only happen when someone gives you a plan… it happens when you decide to become the plan. So yeah… it looks like I’ll have to push myself. Good. That’s where real power resides.

Because progress doesn’t only happen between 1 and 3.
It happens whenever I decide: this moment counts.
And I’ve still got a whole lot of moments left today.

It’s about noon—lunchtime—and still… no hunger knocking at the door. Not even a polite tap. 😄 No lunch for me today. And honestly? I feel clear. Light. Present. Like my body and mind quietly shook hands and said, “We’ve got this.”

A few people have shown concern—kind hearts, looking out for me—and I appreciate that. Truly. But I let them know something simple and powerful: the human body is not fragile… It’s brilliantly designed. It adapts. It adjusts. It finds a way.

This isn’t about skipping a meal—it’s about stepping outside the automatic. Breaking the pattern. Choosing awareness over habit. Most people eat because it’s “time to eat.” But what if you paused and asked, “Do I actually need this right now?”

That question alone? That’s where the magic begins. ✨

These are the areas I need to focus on to keep moving forward. Because in that space, something shifts—you’re no longer just reacting to life… you’re choosing your response. And every time you choose with intention, you build something far stronger than hunger. You build control. You sharpen clarity. You grow confidence. That’s where real progress lives.

Today, therapy was only an hour. I started with Speech—about thirty minutes. To be honest, that session didn’t sit well with me. It felt more like criticism than coaching. Like the spotlight was always on what I was doing wrong, rather than on how I could improve. And when guidance doesn’t feel supportive, it’s hard to gain traction. It leaves you feeling like you can’t quite get it right.

Then came OT. She prefers to stay unnamed, but the conversation mattered. We talked about different things we could work on—there’s clearly more to build, more to strengthen. And that gave me a spark of hope. Because here’s the truth: I’m not done. Not even close.

I didn’t go to the Fun Friday Group today. In the past, I have attended these group sessions, and I see that they hold no appeal for me. I write that I want more therapy programs, but spending time at these groups is not good for me.

If anything, this is where I lean in harder. Where I take ownership of the process. Where I say, “If there’s work to be done—I’m ready.” I just hope they are, too.

The body whispers. The mind listens.
And together, they figure it out—just like they always have.
Always remember that your body works the same way.