✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟BLOG 364–SPEAKING WITH SILENCE (shhh) 🌟    
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
Friday again. How does it arrive so fast? Each week feels like it barely stretches before it’s folded into another Friday.
Time doesn’t stroll anymore—it juggles. 🤹‍♂️
I’m not filling space when I write these weekly words.
I’m reaching for you.
If one sentence steadies you…
If one idea nudges you forward…
If one laugh lightens your load…
Then this Friday matters.
     
That’s all I want. A little lift. A little courage.
A little spark you carry into your own becoming. ✨
Every story tiptoes in like it needs permission, clutching its hat, whispering —
“So… where do we begin?”          And someone always answers, “At the start.”
   
But let’s tell the truth—
The start never waits for applause.
It doesn’t check if we feel brave enough.
It doesn’t send a calendar invite.
It just happens. It already happened.
     
Your beginning didn’t arrive with fireworks or a theme song. No spotlight. No standing ovation. One quiet day, you were here—breathing, blinking, becoming. 🌱
And look at you now. Flourishing.
     
Not in a confetti-cannon, headline-grabbing way.
Maybe more like roots pushing through stone—slow, stubborn, unstoppable.
The kind of growth no one claps for… until one day there’s a forest where doubt used to be. 🌳
     
Mine began a long, long time ago—a skinny kid with more curiosity.
The coordination and just enough audacity to keep trying.
I didn’t want to be louder. I didn’t want to be cooler.
I wanted to be different. So I wandered off the well-worn path.
   
While other teenagers were polishing their reputations and revving engines, I was in the backyard tossing balls into the sky. Then clubs. Then more clubs. Dropping them. Picking them up. Dropping them again. 🤹‍♂️
     
The neighbors probably peered over the fence and thought,
“There goes that odd kid again,” or “There goes that odd ‘Kit’ again.
They were absolutely right.
     
But out there on that patch of grass, something extraordinary was forming. I wasn’t just juggling objects. I was juggling identity. I was teaching my hands discipline and teaching my mind attention.
Teaching my heart that repetition is not punishment—It is a rehearsal for excellence.
   
You see, repetition equals skill.
Every drop was data. Every bruise was tuition.
Every awkward moment was a brick in a foundation no one could see yet.
     
And meanwhile—
Life was quietly sharpening its sense of humor. 🎭 Because life loves irony. It let me master balance… and later took it away. It let me command a stage… and then placed me flat on my back in a hospital bed.
It let me fly… and then whispered, “Now, can you stand?”
Oh, the cosmic comedy. But here’s what the years have taught me—
Beginnings don’t define you. They introduce you.
   
And every fall? It’s not the end of the story.
It’s the sequel stretching its legs, pretending to be the finale.
Your beginning is not behind you. It’s breathing right now.
     
Live your life like you are always starting, because you are.
Mine is still unfolding. Yours is still unfolding.
We don’t ask timidly, “Where do we begin?”
We declare—”Here.” With what I have. With who I am.
       
With this imperfect body. With this resilient spirit.
With this breath filling my lungs again.
The story didn’t start when we were ready.
It started when we were born.
     
And it begins every single morning we choose—
even tired, even uncertain, even scared—
not to quit. 🌅 That’s the real opening line.
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> February 7
Every week, I start with a clean slate. Not because the last one was perfect.
Not because I feel refreshed. But because I decided to. That’s the quiet power I still own.
Weekends here move like thick syrup. The hallways go silent. The clock ticks louder.
Time stretches itself out and dares you to wrestle it.
And sometimes… it hurts. And sometimes… You win!
     
Some moments feel absurd. The kind that makes you blink twice just to be sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. The kind that reminds you that life, even in difficult places, does not lose its strange sense of humor.
   
It’s not always comfortable. It’s not always inspiring. And some days, it’s downright annoying.
But here’s the truth I keep circling back to:
I cannot control the hallway.
I cannot control the weather.
I cannot control the noise.
I cannot control the juggling balls.
I cannot control who walks where or how.
What I can control is whether I let it take up permanent residence in my mind.
Annoyance is real. Frustration is honest. Feeling worn down is human.
     
But none of it gets to own my week. So I begin again.
A clean slate isn’t about pretending everything is pleasant.
It’s about deciding that my response will be stronger than my irritation.
     
If the weekend is slow, I will make the most of it.
If the environment feels chaotic, I will build order in my own corner.
If the world outside my door feels off-key, I will tune my own instrument.
Every week, I begin again, not because the place changes. It’s because I do.
And that… that is still freedom.
     
>>>>> February 8 
I slept in today—luxuriously late—until about 4 am 😄
   
It often looks the same from both sides.
No, “thank you” for the cleaning I do out there.
Hardly a word for the blog I write, day after day, with care and intention.

And yet—here I am. Still doing it.

Not because applause is coming.
Not because someone might finally notice.
But because this is who I am.
I write because I care about life–mine and yours.
I clean because I like things better than I found them.
After all, I was a Boy Scout!
   
I write because words can still lift a corner of the world—if only an inch.
I show up because showing up matters, even when no one is clapping.
I’m not doing this for approval.
I’m doing it for alignment.
For self-respect.
   
I do it for the quiet satisfaction of knowing that while I was here, I made things a little kinder, a little clearer, a little more alive; for you and for others out there. And what are you doing to make this world a better place now and for the future?
       
The world doesn’t always say thank you.
That’s okay.
I say it to myself—and then I keep going. 🌱
     
The world was still quiet when I headed out for my daily walk.
cleanup of the patio and garden area, broom in hand, purpose intact.
And once again, the ground told its story.
At least fifty cigarette butts were scattered like confetti from a somber parade.
   
There’s one particular spot—off to the side, away from everything—where someone clearly stands, smokes, and flicks the evidence away. Thirty butts a day, easy. Every day. I find myself wishing I could meet this mystery smoker—not to scold, to talk. Human to human. Eye to eye. “Hey… why here? Why this?”
   
What gets me isn’t just the mess—it’s the casual disregard.
There are #10 coffee cans and trash cans nearby. Plural.
This isn’t about convenience. It’s about care.
Do they care about the world?
Do they care about themselves?
     
Sometimes it feels like no one notices the work I do out there.
No applause. No gold star. Not even a passing, “Hey, looks nice.”
I’ll admit—it would feel good to be seen.
Acknowledged.
To know that quiet effort counts.
   
But here’s the thing: I’ll keep doing it anyway.
Because clean space matters.
Because beauty matters.
Because how we treat shared ground says something about who we are.
     
So tomorrow, I’ll be back out there again—sweeping, gathering, restoring.
Not because anyone asked.
Not because anyone thanked me.
But because this is how I show respect for the place I live…
and for the people who walk through it, whether they notice or not.
Sometimes integrity wears work gloves. 🧹🌱
     
Wow, I wrote all that on Saturday before 9 am. What’s next?
   
A thought passed through my mind today—clear and sharp: “Get me outta here.”I’m deeply unsettled by much of what surrounds me, and weekends stretch on endlessly. Slow. Hollow. Heavy. I’ve had a much better world away from here. I’ll get there, you watch.
   
My juggling clubs sit untouched on the floor. The balls stay zipped away in their bag. That alone tells a painful story. Juggling was once a living part of me—and now, the absence of desire hurts more than the loss of skill. That realization nearly brings me to tears. I was so good. And right now, that version of me feels impossibly far away.
     
Weekends make everything louder. The halls are empty. Nothing moves. And the quiet seeps into me. My lack of interest in juggling has spread—into exercise, eating, even caring. That frightens me. I’ve always been someone who applied himself, who pushed forward, who built success with intention. This version of me feels unfamiliar.
   
Today has been tough.
The ringing in my ears is relentless.
My vision is doubled and distorted.
My balance is off.
My energy is drained.
And beneath all of that is the most brutal truth to write:
Right now, I don’t like where I am.
     
I’m struggling to see a future that excites me.
I’m alone—no partner, no close companionship.
I reread that last line, and it lands heavy.
I’ve lost my freedom, lost my joy.
I still feel like I am in jail while here. Today is not a good day.
     
Forgive the spill of words—they came from a heavy place. If you’re reading between the lines, you’ll feel it: I’m not okay right now. This isn’t the kind of tired that sleep cures. It’s the deeper kind—the kind that settles in the bones and asks to be seen. Hmm, should I slip back into my coma?
     
Writing it out wasn’t about drama or complaint.
It was about honesty.
About giving the weight somewhere to land so it didn’t crush me from the inside.
     
I’m sitting with it and naming it. Not running, not hiding.
And I’m moving forward the only way that’s real—
One clear sentence, one steady step, one breath at a time.
   
Tonight’s the big Super Bowl bash — the ultimate couch-cheering, snack-devouring fiesta! 🏈✨ Honestly, I’ve got no idea who’s playing (but I’m rooting for whoever wins 🧡💫). The spread is legendary — chips, dips, and all the crunchy goodies you can imagine 😋 — except, of course, crunchy chips are currently my nemesis (thanks to zero bottom teeth 🤪).
     
And, look at that, a big batch of my chocolate chip cookies for the group. So I’ll be there—with a practiced smile, a carefully curated soft-snack strategy, and a heart bursting with team spirit like a parade balloon ready to pop. 🎊
   
I’ll cheer politely. I’ll nod at the right moments.
I’ll radiate supportive vibes like a pro.
But then again… I think I’ll stay in my room.
   
Because sometimes the most spirited move is choosing quiet over noise, comfort over commotion, and honoring exactly where your energy actually is. No boos, no guilt, no halftime show required. Just me, my space, and a perfectly respectable retreat. 🛌✨
   
Looking back now, it almost surprises me how much found its way onto the page this Sunday. I didn’t plan it, measure it, or rein it in—it simply arrived, one thought inviting the next, until the page felt full. I hope you don’t just read it, but settle in with it for a moment, find a line that nudges you, and enjoy the quiet company of the words as much as I enjoyed letting them spill out. 🌱📖
     
>>>>> February 9
My mom—who left this world in 2014—had her birthday on this day, which means the date is stitched permanently into my memory. It’s not just a square on a calendar; it’s a soft knock on the heart. Every year it returns carrying echoes of her voice, her laugh, the quiet ways she shaped me. Some dates fade. This one never does. It shows up dressed as remembrance, love, and a gentle reminder that the people who matter most keep living inside us—long after the candles are blown out. 🎂💛
   
It’s starting to feel like I should plan on arriving five to ten minutes late for my therapy sessions—to match the rhythm of how things actually run. Today, it was me… and one other person… and, oddly enough, me again.
   
Terrie didn’t seem to have anyone scheduled, so she sat in and spoke with the group and Maura about impulse control—how people with brain injuries often struggle with it. Useful, yes, but also familiar territory. This wasn’t new ground; it was more like rereading a chapter I’ve already studied carefully.
   
At 11 am comes the Sports Group. As you know, I usually pass on this one. I’ve tried. Truly. But games don’t pull me in or light anything up inside. Time is precious, and I’m careful about how I spend it—especially now. If something doesn’t stretch me, teach me, or spark curiosity, it’s hard to justify showing up to fill a chair.
     
One strange thing. A couple of days ago, I made a huge batch of Chocolate Chip Cookies for Super Bowl Sunday, and they were for the group. I didn’t take any before I left them, so I took some for myself, since I’d paid for and made them myself. I was accused of taking the whole tray to my room, which I did not do.
   
And then the afternoon arrives… wide open and strangely quiet. No therapies. No structure. Just a big blank space asking, So—what now? What will I do, what will I do? Free time to spend, and time is the most important thing. What do to, what to do?
 
I’ll likely do what I often do when the schedule disappears: I’ll put words down here. I’ll write. I’ll think. I’ll shape the empty hours into something that at least feels alive. There may be no therapies on the calendar—but there’s still work to be done, even if it doesn’t come with a clipboard or a start time.
   
Because it’s my mom’s birthday, I called my sister today.
All my Life she’s been Kath to me. These days, she goes by her middle name, Willow—a lovely name—but it still feels strange in my mouth. Some names are stitched too tightly to memory to change easily.
   
I want badly to go for a walk right now. My body is ready; my mind is asking for air. But I’m tucked away and can’t go. So I’m asking you—yes, you—to take one for me. Feel the ground. Let the world move past you for a few minutes. 🚶‍♂️ Let me know how your walk went.
   
With nowhere else to go, YouTube took over my eyes and my mind. I slipped down the rabbit hole—not out of excitement, but out of stillness. When movement is denied, distraction becomes the substitute. Just watching “stuff”-I can’t even remember now what I watched. A time filler.
     
>>>>> February 10
Good morning to you.
Even though I’ve always smiled at that phrase a little sideways.
As if any of us owns the morning. We don’t.
   
Morning shows up—no RSVP, no warning—like a golden retriever bursting through the door with a tennis ball of possibility in its mouth. ☀️🎾
Time arrives.
What do we do with it?
That’s the magic trick.
     
A day isn’t stamped “good” or “bad” at the factory. It’s shaped—quietly, steadily—by the tiny decisions we make. The thoughts we entertain. The actions we take. The tone we choose when we speak to ourselves in the mirror.
Brick by brick. Breath by breath. So today, choose well.
Choose brave.      Choose kind.
     
Keep building a life that feels not borrowed, not assigned—but wonderfully, unmistakably yours. 🌱✨
Now—truth? Today I feel stuck. And I don’t like it one bit. It’s that tight, heavy feeling—like wearing shoes two sizes too small and trying to run a marathon anyway. Every step reminds you that something’s off.
     
And then there’s the small annoyances—the missing lower teeth, for instance. A little thing, technically. But discomfort has a sneaky way of stacking up when you’re already tired. A pebble in the shoe can feel like a mountain when your spirit is worn thin.
     
But here’s what I know—because life has trained me well:
Feeling stuck is not being stuck. It’s a moment. A pause.
A comma—not a period.
     
Even on days when energy is low and patience is thinner than dental floss, there is still choice.
A small one. A gentle one. But choice nonetheless. So I’ll start there.
One clear thought. One decent decision. One steady step.
     
And if that’s all I manage today? That’s enough.
Don’t plan to run a mile today.
Because even shoes that pinch can carry you forward. 👟💫
     
Then—just in time—I came across something Dan Millman posted today.
Simple words. Strong words. Words to think about.
The kind that gently taps you on the shoulder and says, Hey… pay attention.
Read the words slowly. Let them land. And see how they might fit your life right now. >>
       
In the midst of hate, I found there was,
within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was,
within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was,
within me, an invincible calm.
And in the depths of winter,  I found there was,
within me, an invincible summer.
This makes me happy. For it says that
no matter how hard the world pushes against me,
There’s something stronger,
better within me, pushing right back.
-Albert Camus
   
Before the 9:30 meeting between Lilli and me, I headed out a little early to spend time in the garden and on the patio. I cleaned up, checked what’s growing, and took note of the space. Fewer cigarette butts and less trash today—which felt like a small but genuine win. Progress doesn’t always arrive with a parade; sometimes it just shows up quietly and nods.
   
During our meeting, Lillie and I talked through the recent email I sent. I see now that I need to slow down before hitting “send,” pay closer attention, and avoid repeating myself. That awareness matters. I’ll be more deliberate from now on. You suggested writing with more detail—not to ramble, but to reinforce ideas more clearly in my own mind. That felt like solid guidance.
   
And then—your words about your son stopped me.
You mentioned that he was sick last Friday and that you stayed right by his side. That explains why we didn’t meet then—and it also says everything that needs to be said about priorities. When someone you love needs you, nothing else matters.
Family first.    Always.
 
You also asked me to send my writing directly to you before publishing anything through ChatGPT. That makes sense to me. From here on out, I’ll share my words with you first, then include them in the weekly blog once they’ve had that extra pass of care.
   
When I was down there, sadly, they had stationed two people in front of the TV, to babysit them. Yes, limited staff, but these people weren’t even watching the TV. There are two, I think, who were recently out of their coma, so I understand.
   
After my coma, I didn’t want to do anything.
Not move. Not a plan. Not participate.
I just wanted to stay in bed and let the world pass by without asking anything of me.
   
The television became my companion—but even then, I knew it wasn’t enough. There has to be a better way to connect with people than watching glowing boxes talk at us.
Healing needs faces. Voices. Presence. Real human tethering.
   
After my accident and 37-day coma, I was first taken to https://www.atlanticare.org/, which—thankfully—was only a few blocks away. I spent about a week there before being transferred to shoremedicalcenter.org/, where much of my coma time unfolded.
   
While I was at Shore, something extraordinary happened. A group of people—led largely by my dear friend Charlotte Paris—rallied together and raised enough money to fly me across the country to:
https://www.sharp.com/locations/sharp-allison-derose-rehabilitation-center.
   
That generosity still humbles me. I grew up in San Diego, and being able to continue my recovery there felt less like a transfer and more like a homecoming. That truth doesn’t need rehabilitation. It already knows how to stand. It was great to be home.
   
After our session from 10–11 am, I was scheduled for the craft group. Since Lillie was running it and already knew it wouldn’t be a good fit for me, I didn’t attend. Instead, I returned to my room and used the time to write this. Lillie, you asked me to start sending you daily emails listing what I did each day, and this is my first step toward building that habit.
   
At 11 am, I met with Terrie. She asked me to plan a four-day trip to California on a $2,000 budget. So I did exactly that—transportation, meals, lodging, the whole puzzle. Step by step. Calmly. Clearly. Just as I expected, it went smoothly.
   
For meals, I explained I could easily go without for four days—or share food with the people I was staying with. I told her I’d stay with friends in Los Angeles and/or use Couchsurfing.com. Simple. Practical. Done. Through Couchssurfing I’ve stayed with people in Germany, Australia, and New Zealand. Watch this >> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoeLW_2Os3o
   
I also reminded Terrie—gently—that I’ve traveled to Europe three times, Japan three times, and Australia and New Zealand, all after my brain injury. Travel isn’t new to me. Planning isn’t new to me. And the way I approached it made that clear.
     
At 1 pm, Maryann’s walking group set out. I waited outside at the entrance… and waited… and waited. No one showed up. Eventually, I went back to my room and worked on this blog—for you. 💛
Later, Maryann came to my door and asked if I’d be joining the walk. I said no—I was writing. It looked like she had no one else to walk with, either.
   
While I was waiting outside earlier, someone walked by. I said, “Hi.”
She replied with the classic, automatic, drive-by question:
“How are you?” And didn’t wait for an answer. So many people do this.
   
Here’s a little life tip, free of charge:
Don’t ask “How are you?” unless you actually care to hear the answer.
Pause. Think.
Then say something playful. Something human. Something real.
Words matter. They’re tiny doors. Open better ones. 🚪✨
   
There is still much swelling in my legs, mainly near the ankle. The main nurse here took a look and does not know what to do. There is no pain, but the swelling is much, and is not “Swell”. Will this be my downfall or my upjump? (Get it–downfall, upjump?)
     
>>>>> February 11
This was not an easy morning for me; it felt like the kind of dawn that arrives without light, as if the sun hesitated behind the horizon and asked whether I truly wanted to rise with it.
   
I’m 66 now, and I’ve written that I want to live to the ripe old age of 100. I found myself wondering, with an honesty that surprised even me, whether I genuinely want to live to 100—or even to 67—because longevity only feels meaningful when life itself feels alive inside the bones.
   
It isn’t that I dislike where I am right now at NR; it’s that I feel unsettled about the shape of my days and uncertain about the road stretching ahead of me, and that uncertainty can weigh heavier than any wall or rule.
   
I am deeply tired today—tired in a way that sleep doesn’t seem to cure—and I know enough about being human to admit that exhaustion can tint the world in shades that are darker than truth. I could try to lie down, but I would just lie there.
     
I eat a banana each day. Simple. Sweet. A small yellow promise that this body still deserves care—even when the spirit feels unsteady. And the peel? I don’t toss it. I bury it because even scraps can become strength. Good for me, good for the dirt.
   
Banana peels feed next year’s roots. They disappear quietly and return as green. So I tuck each one into the soil like an investment in a harvest I may never see. I’m somewhere new by then. Different horizon. Bigger sky. But the garden will grow anyway—nourished by what I refused to waste. Even my smallest acts can outlive my doubts.
     
9:00 am – The Ball Is in the Air (But Not in My Hands). They were playing basketball again.
Same hoop. Same rhythm. Same echo off the gym walls. And no me. I watched the orange ball bounce with dependable enthusiasm—like a clock with great knees. But inside? Nothing. No spark. No ignition. Motion without mission.
 
I’ve spent a lifetime chasing mastery.
Seven clubs in the air. Lights hot.
Audiences are leaning forward.
Gravity persuaded to cooperate. 🟠🔥 
     
Busy is not the same as purposeful.
So I stepped away—not bitter, not dramatic—just honest.
If I can’t grow from it or add meaning to it, I won’t pretend.
     
Back to my room.
Back to the keyboard.
Back to the arena where I can still build cathedrals out of sentences.
Words are my gym now. And they still let me lift.
     
10:00 am – Impulse Control (Again) with Terrie and Maura. Same room. Same chairs. Familiar melody. Then we played 20 Questions. I won. 🏆 The mind still dances when invited.

But clever isn’t growth. I wrote quietly: I don’t want to be here.
Not rebellion. Data. When your spirit whispers, “This isn’t it,” you listen.
Longing isn’t laziness—it’s a compass. I don’t crave busyness. I crave relevance.
I don’t need to pass the time. I need to build something inside it.
   
11:00 am – Numbers and the Quiet Truth
Half an hour with Speech. She asked about recent meetings—blank page.
That one stung. Forgetting pieces of your own story feels like misplacing chapters you meant to keep. But with a few gentle cues, memory stepped back into the room.
     
Then the drill: listen for numbers in ascending order.
73% at slow speed. 63% at fast. Goal: 80%. Clear. Measurable.
But another number drifted up: zero. Zero motivation. Zero urgency to chase percentages.
 
And that—that’s the real work. Because I know who I’ve been.
The man who rebuilt Speech and balance after a 37-day coma.
The man who practiced until seven clubs obeyed.
The man who drove a van to every national park to keep moving.
     
If today the scoreboard flashes zero, that’s not the end of the game.
It’s a signal. Something deeper needs tending.
The impulse to control isn’t frustration.
 
It could be the urge to stop caring.
And I refuse that one. Because when I care—I rise.
This isn’t the last chapter. It’s just a lower one. 📖✨
     
2:30 pm – Steel, Breath, and Three Balls. Maryann and I worked on the weights. Slow. Steady. The resistance meeting was resolved. Later, I picked up three balls. Toss. Catch. Drop. Repeat. No fireworks. Just Silence.
   
There was a time juggling electrified my nervous system—clubs arcing overhead, audiences leaning forward, gravity granting me a temporary visa to defy it. 🎪 I’ve lost those wonderful feelings and joys. Did I lose them, or just put them aside for a time?
       
Now? Quiet air. I told Maryann the truth: it doesn’t move me the way it once did. She didn’t argue. She just stood steady beside me. This isn’t about how many objects I can keep aloft. It could be about who I’m becoming now.
     
Sometimes fire returns as wildfire.
Sometimes it survives as a pilot light.
And today—just barely—I can feel a flicker.
Fragile. But alive.
     
>>>>> February 12
UP BEFORE THE NOISE 🌅
As usual, I was up before the birds cleared their tiny throats for rehearsal…
before the bees clocked in for their golden shift…
Before most alarms dared to beep.

There is power in greeting a day before it fully wakes.

The air feels unwritten.
The light hasn’t chosen its mood yet.
It’s like holding a blank page before the ink decides who you are.

Those early hours belong to the builders.
The quiet warriors.
The ones stacking invisible bricks while the world still sleeps.

Up before the rush.
Up before the chatter.
Up before doubt has its coffee. ☕
That’s where futures get drafted — in the hush.

THE TWICE-WEEKLY RESET 🚿

Because I don’t sweat much these days, and I’m not dirty from the garden.
I’ve chosen a rhythm:
Only twice a week–Shower time!
Monday and Thursday. A small ceremony of renewal. Twice a week.
     
If I stretch it too long, my skin whispers, “Hey, friend… remember me?” Itchy, itchy.
So today — warm water. Steam rising. Silence. Not just clean skin. Steadier thoughts.
A subtle recalibration of the spirit. I recently read that our skin carries its own protective brilliance — a natural shield designed to guard and serve. So I don’t scrub it away daily. I trust the design.
     
Not everything needs constant washing. Not every mark needs erasing. Not every rough edge needs to be sanded smooth. Sometimes, strength is preserving what protects you. And sometimes strength is standing under warm water and letting it rinse off what no longer belongs. Simple shower. Small reset. Progress.

9 am — KINDNESS ROCKS 🪨✨
On the schedule: Kindness Rocks. Well… how could I resist that?
I stepped outside and selected my own rock — carefully chosen for maximum comedic dignity — and carried it in like I’d discovered Florida’s rarest gemstone.
   
If we’re doing rocks, we’re doing rocks properly. Of course, it started late. (Consistency remains aspirational.) Of course, I was the only participant. Just me. Terrie. And Maura.
And a bag of rocks awaits destiny.
     
The plan? Draw something cheerful. Scatter them later—tiny ambassadors of hope.
And there I stood — the entire audience and half the entertainment — holding a slightly ridiculous rock and a felt-tip pen. Part of me wondered if I sometimes hide behind comedy. If humor is armor.
     
But here’s what I know: Kindness doesn’t require a crowd. It doesn’t need applause.
Sometimes it’s just one person in a quiet room deciding to show up anyway.
You don’t wait for turnout. You don’t wait for energy. You become the energy.
So I painted one rock. Only one. And honestly? That may be enough.

10 am — HISTORY (AND HUMILITY)
Civics. Branches of government. Material that once would’ve been simple. And I struggled.
Frustration rose fast. It felt elementary. I caught myself thinking, How is this helping anyone?

But beneath that irritation was something harder to admit:
I’m not applying myself much to anything lately.
Not juggling. Not exercise.
Not even self-care the way I once did with fire in my eyes. That concerns me.

I said I feel like I’ve slipped into a hole. And when you stay in a hole long enough, it can start to feel normal. That’s the dangerous part.

THE PILL
Then came the medication. High blood pressure. A vitamin.
The pill lodged halfway down my throat — again — the same old battle. Water didn’t help. Gravity didn’t help. I’ve coughed them back up before. Anger flared. I even threw away two vitamins.
It seems small, doesn’t it?
But sometimes the smallest resistance feels like the last straw when your spirit is already tired.

THE HONEST PART
There are moments lately when hope feels thin, when the future feels blurry.
When the question quietly whispers,  Do I even want to keep doing this?
And that is not a comfortable place to stand.
   
But here is something truer than the whisper:
A thought is not a verdict. A low day is not a life sentence.
A struggling mind is not a finished story.
     
You have survived far worse chapters than this:
You woke from a 37-day coma.
You rebuilt Speech.
You relearned walking.
You reinvented yourself more times than most people reinvent their passwords.
This valley feels steep because you’re standing in it.
And valleys? That’s where roots grow deep.

(ChatGPT sent these words)
TODAY’S SCORECARD
You woke early. You showered. You painted a rock. You admitted you’re struggling.
That is not failure. That is quite courageous.
If the spark feels small — protect it.
If the effort feels heavy — shrink it.
If hope feels distant — borrow it for a day.
     
You do not have to solve your entire life this afternoon.
You have to get through today.
And if the weight ever feels unbearable, reach for a real voice immediately. Staff. A hotline. Someone. You are too important to wrestle those thoughts alone.
Even on days when you feel like a single painted rock in an empty room…
You still matter. 🪨✨
     
>>>>> February 13
It seems I wake each day before the songbirds clear their tiny throats for rehearsal. 🌅 There’s something sacred about that hour. The world hasn’t put on its costume yet. The noise hasn’t started campaigning for attention. It’s just me, a quiet room, and a blinking cursor asking, “Well… what will we build today?”
     
This morning, I reread the entire blog—line by line, word by word—making small edits along the way and trimming here and strengthening there. Sharpening a sentence like a blade meant to cut through doubt. ✍️
Editing isn’t just fixing. It’s caring. It’s respect for the reader (YOU).
It’s saying, “You matter enough for me to make this better.”
   
And I do like how this blog turned out. Not because it’s perfect. Not because it’s polished like a trophy on a shelf. But because it’s honest. Because it carries a heartbeat. Because it was written before the birds, before the bustle, before the hustle, before the world tried to tell me who I am. I hope these words added something to your life—a spark, a nudge, a reminder, a gentle push toward your own brilliance.
     
If even one sentence made you sit up a little straighter…
or breathe a little deeper…  or believe in yourself just a bit more…
Then those early hours were worth it. 🕊️✨   And tomorrow?
I’ll likely be up before the birds again—stacking words like bricks,
building something steady, for both of us.
   
I went back to the dentist today for an adjustment. The dentures had been hurting, and every time I tried to eat, it popped loose like it had somewhere better to be. They added a new layer of bonding material—something that will harden and, in theory, hold everything firmly in place. A practical fix. A hopeful fix.
   
But every visit to address my lower teeth carries a heavier weight. It reminds me of a decision I wish I could rewind. A choice I would undo in a heartbeat. And when I sit with that, I feel foolish. Regret has a loud voice sometimes. It hurts. Makes me feel like an idiot.
   
One day, I’ll have the permanent solution—secured solidly, bolted in, stable. It will cost real money, so it waits its turn. But it is coming. Not today. Not yet. But coming.
   
When I returned, I thought I’d given the adhesive enough time to set. I tested it gently—with a soft Reese’s. Chocolate and peanut butter seemed like a safe truce.
   
It wasn’t. The dentures slipped out immediately. And I felt that flash of heat. That surge of frustration that says, “Really? Again?” But here’s the truth beneath the flare-up: this is an inconvenience. Not a verdict. Not a life sentence. Not a reason to surrender. But perhaps it’s time to stop eating anything.
   
As for the rest of the day—empty schedule, quiet hours, that heavy feeling of “What am I doing here?”—I understand that too. Stillness can feel like stagnation when your nature is motion. You are wired for stages, travel, mastery, and impact. But even this season is temporary.
   
I get so angry at myself and the decisions I have made in my past. Why the hell would I have all of my lower teeth extracted–they were doing a sufficient job. I think of other decisions, from relationships to where to live. It’s very hard for me to see anything to live for.
   
ChatGPT said,
“You are not wasting your life.” You are in a chapter. And the chapters end. You’ve reinvented yourself more times than most people dare to imagine. This moment? It’s not the finale. It’s just an awkward middle scene with some faulty dental adhesive.
Anger is allowed.
Regret is human.
Frustration is honest.
But hopelessness? That’s a liar.
You are still building. Even today. Even in irritation. Even with chocolate in your mouth and glue on your gums. And one day soon, that permanent solution will click into place—solid, secure, unmoving.
Just like you.

Part 3)  BLOG 364–SPEAKING WITH SILENCE  (Shhhh . . .)
I’ve always been quiet—not because I had nothing to say.
But because I wanted to hear what the world was whispering first.
I learned early that there is power in the pause.
That you don’t have to rush to fill every gap with sound.
That sometimes the most courageous thing you can do is wait.
     
Long before I discovered the phrase had already been printed, framed, and hashtagged in a hundred places. The idea came to me on its own. The words arrived like a gentle knock on the door of my spirit. And I opened it. Truth doesn’t check the registry before it moves in.
     
I have learned that chosen Silence—not the Silence of fear, but the Silence of awareness—will carry you further than a thousand loud declarations. Silence is not emptiness. It is preparation. It is not a weakness. It is under control. It is not a withdrawal. It is presence without performance.
   
Silence is the sanctuary where wisdom stretches its muscles, where insight sharpens its edge, where the heart steadies itself before speaking something that matters. In Silence, you hear your own pulse. You hear the tremble in another person’s voice. You hear what was never actually said. Noise competes. Silence connects.
   
The loudest person in the room may win attention. But the quiet one?
The quiet one often wins understanding. And understanding changes lives.
So if you are quiet—If you pause before you speak—If you listen more than you declare—
Do not mistake that for smallness.
     
You are gathering power. You are building depth. You are allowing your words to ripen. And when you do speak? They will not be filler. They will be fire. Silence is not the absence of voice. It is the birthplace of it. 🔥
     
Speaking with Silence is the art of communicating through stillness rather than sound—using pauses, presence, restraint, and deep listening to convey meaning that words often dilute. It’s the choice to let awareness lead and ego step aside.
     
Silence, in this sense, isn’t empty. It’s active. It listens before it responds.
It observes before it declares. It allows truth to rise instead of forcing it onto the stage.
To speak with Silence is to trust that not every moment requires commentary, correction, or applause. It’s knowing when a pause can comfort more than advice, when presence outweighs opinion, and when the most potent answer is simply being there.
   
In a noisy world addicted to instant reactions,
speaking with Silence becomes a quiet form of courage. It says:
“I’m not rushing.” “I’m paying attention.”
“I don’t need to fill the space to be heard.”
     
And here’s the twist—
Silence, used well, doesn’t weaken communication.
It sharpens it. Like a master juggler who knows when to hold a ball instead of throwing it, Silence gives rhythm, intention, and grace to every word that eventually follows.
Sometimes the most profound message isn’t spoken.
It’s felt.🎪✨
   
Silence listens deeply. It observes. It allows the moment to reveal itself instead of rushing to control it. In a loud world addicted to instant opinions, Silence becomes a quiet act of courage.
I speak when I need to—and only then.
Because when words finally arrive, they matter.
     
Silence speaks through intentional pauses, through what is not said, through the calm that steadies a difficult room. It can be the most honest response, the most respectful answer, the most potent form of non-violence we possess.
     
Sometimes the strongest voice is the one that waits.
Sometimes the most profound wisdom arrives without sound.
And sometimes, Silence says everything that needs to be said.
   
Silence gets a bad reputation. People think it’s empty, awkward, something to fill with noise or words or excuses. But Silence is not empty. Silence is full. It’s just full of things you can’t hear unless you stop trying to talk. I learned this the long way.    
       
There was a time when my life was loud—applause, motion, ambition, proof. I measured days by what I produced and nights by what I earned. Then one day, without asking permission, Silence stepped in and took over the room. No speeches. No explanations. Just stillness. A pause so long it felt permanent.
   
At first, Silence terrified me.
Without my words, my routines, my identity, who was I?
Silence stripped everything down to the studs.
No distractions. No hiding. Just me, breathing, waiting, listening.
     
That’s when Silence started talking.
It didn’t shout.
It didn’t lecture.
It whispered.
It said: You are more than what you do.
It said: You don’t have to perform to matter.
It said: Healing doesn’t rush. It arrives.
     
In Silence, I noticed things I’d missed my whole life—the weight of breath entering my chest, the miracle of standing, the quiet courage it takes to keep going when no one is clapping. Silence taught me patience, not the polite kind, but the gritty, stubborn kind that sits with discomfort and doesn’t run.
     
I began to understand that Silence isn’t absence—it’s presence without distraction. When I stopped fighting it, Silence became a teacher. It showed me where I was afraid. It showed me what I still loved. It showed me the difference between noise and meaning.
     
When I returned to words, they mattered more.
I didn’t speak to impress.
I spoke to connect.
I spoke with space around my sentences so truth could breathe.
     
Silence taught me that not every moment needs commentary.
Some moments need reverence.
Some need rest.
Some need trust.
   
Now, when life grows loud again—as it always does—I don’t panic. I know Silence will return, and when it does, I’ll listen because Silence isn’t waiting to take something from us. It’s waiting to give something back.
   
So if you find yourself in a quiet season, don’t rush to fill it. Sit with it. Let it speak. Let it shape you.
Some of the most powerful conversations you’ll ever have will happen when no words are spoken at all.
That’s the art of speaking with Silence.
     
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—pocket-sized beams of brilliance we carry through the dark. ✨
They hold oversized truths in travel-size form, ready to glow exactly when we need them.
A single line can calm a wobbling heart, snap a fuzzy thought into focus, or nudge us forward when our feet hesitate. Sometimes a quote doesn’t shout or lecture—it leans in close and whispers, “You’re not lost.” And that quiet glow? It’s often just enough light to keep us moving. 🚶‍♂️💡
Take the next step.                    There’s more ahead.”
   
“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
– Audre Lorde

“Shhh–Listen More.”
– Kit Summers

“The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.”
– Ida B. Wells-Barnett
   
“Every voice raised against racism chips away at its power.
We can’t afford to stay silent.”
― Reni Eddo-Lodge
   
“You should never let your fears prevent you from doing what you know is right.”
— Aung San Suu Kyi
     
“Do not be silent;
There is no limit to the power that may be released through you.”
― Howard Thurman     
   
“Once you’ve matured,
you realize silence is more powerful than proving a point.”
—Unknown
   
“Work hard in Silence.
Let your success be your noise.”
—Unknown
   
“Keep silence for the most part,
and speak only when you must,
and then briefly.”
—Epictetus
   
“I think 99 times and find nothing.
I stop thinking, swim in Silence,
and the truth comes to me.”
—Albert Einstein
     
“Without great solitude,
no serious work is possible.”
–Pablo Picasso
   
“Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.” —Francis Bacon
   
“Move in Silence.
Only speak when it’s time 
to say checkmate.” —Unknown.

“Silence is a source of great strength.”
—Lao Tzu

“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”
—Leonardo da Vinci

“Silence is the best answer for all questions.
Smiling is the best reaction to all situations.”
—Unknown
   
“In a room where people unanimously
maintain a conspiracy of silence,
one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.”
– Czesław Miłosz
     
“Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”
– Elie Wiesel

“Silence is a true friend who never betrays.”
– Confucius
   
“In the silence of the heart, God speaks.”
– Mother Teresa
   
“Silence is the sleep that nourishes wisdom.”
– Francis Bacon
   
“The quieter you become, the more you can hear.”
– Ram Dass
   
“Silence is the most powerful scream.”
– Anonymous
   
“Silence is a source of great strength.”
– Lao Tzu
   
“Silence is the language of God; it is also the language of the heart.”
– Sivananda
     
“It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”
– Mahatma Gandhi
   
“The world is noisy. Be quiet.”
– Unknown
   
“In silence, we often find solutions to problems we can’t solve in any other way.”
– Eknath Easwaran
   
“Silence is a true art; it teaches us to speak without words.”
– Unknown
     
“Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves.”
– Thomas Carlyle
   
“Let silence take you to the core of Life.”
– Rumi
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Stay quiet this week. Not withdrawn. Not wounded. Just… intentional.
Let the noise rush past you without grabbing hold. Let the room reveal itself.
Let people show you who they are without interruption.
   
Watch what shifts. Watch what surfaces. Watch what suddenly becomes obvious.
You’ll notice tone before words. Motives before explanations. Truth before performance.
Silence isn’t emptiness—it’s a magnifying glass. It sharpens your hearing. It steadies your thinking.
It gives you back your power. Try it. Step back. Breathe. Listen.
     
You may discover that the loudest thing in the room was never the sound—
It was the wisdom waiting for you to pause long enough to hear it.
Be quieter this week.
You will find — Silence is Golden.
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 365–FIND YOUR PURPOSE!    
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! 

✨KITTING AROUND✨
BLOG 363–EVERYONE HAS A STORY
     
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
Every story pretends it needs permission and asks,
“So… where do we begin?”     At the start.       Let’s be honest—
The beginning already happened, whether we were ready or not.
Your beginning has come, and you are flourishing, remember?
     
Mine began a long, long time ago, back when I was young…
Always wanting to be different, I found a lone path.
As a teenager, I was throwing balls and clubs in my backyard.
And life was quietly sharpening its sense of humor.
   
You’ve heard much of my story—now let me ask about yours.
Each of us carries experiences that can lift, guide, and encourage others.
Lately, my blog posts have been growing longer and longer, and it’s time to sharpen the blade.
Fewer words. More meaning. Only the ones that truly matter.

TO BE A GOOD WRITER —YOU MUST READ, READ, READ

I’ve discovered something simple and quietly powerful: you must keep joy in your life if you want to live well. Everyone can find this for themself, you must find joy! As I get older, I am getting younger. It is how we see our life.
         
Not someday joy. Not “When everything works out” joy. Daily joy. Right-now joy. Pocket-sized joy.
Look for the small joys. They matter more than you think. All your joys can add up to magnificence.
Tiny joys add up the way pennies become savings—or the way one good breath can calm an entire body.
   
SOME OF MY JOYS >>
One of my steady joys is the skill of juggling.
And, I build my garden wherever I land.
I plant life. I clean it up. I watch things grow.
Another joy is cooking—turning ordinary ingredients into something that says, “Yes, today was worth it.”
And sometimes, joy looks like writing a short piece on my blog, hoping it lands gently in your hands and helps you feel a little more alive. Writing this blog helps me as much as it might you.
   
Joy isn’t accidental. It’s gathered. You have to notice it, choose it, invite it in—again and again.
Bring your joys forward as often as you can. Put them where you can reach them easily.
Find your joy while you are still on earth; it will enrich your experience.
     
Because here’s the truth:
One small joy can carry you through long days and quiet nights. It can steady you when the world feels heavy. It can remind you that you’re still here—and that still matters. Always drive yourself toward success–you will find it.
   
As I see my later years approaching, I understand this more clearly than ever:
I must actively create more joy and pleasure in my life.
I’ve watched too many older adults let negative thoughts move in,
rearrange the furniture, and take over the house.
Don’t let that happen to you. Those thoughts are terrible roommates.
   
It saddens me to see how many people miss this.
They forget to hold on.
They forget to look for joy.
They forget to play.
They forget to delight.
Please don’t be like “them”.
   
Hold on to joy—because that’s not extra. That is life.
And just as important: help others find theirs. Point it out. Encourage it. Celebrate it with them.
Too many people drift through their final years without joy, just enduring time instead of living it.
That breaks my heart.
   
You still get to choose.
Plant something. Cook something. Create something.
Laugh when you can. Love when you can.
And never stop gathering joy like it’s your job—because in many ways, it is. ✨
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> January 31
Early morning again—my favorite quiet hour—already tinkering with the next blog. ☀️✍️
How’s it landing so far?
   
Today was one of those low-noise, high-focus days. Not much is happening out there, but plenty is happening right here at my computer.
   
The next post is basically done—just needs the daily updates sprinkled in like confetti.
Momentum? Still rolling.
     
>>>>> February 1 
Here it is—Sunday again.
No church for me. I do just fine without an intermediary for meaning or a weekly donation basket. My faith, such as it is, lives in action, kindness, and paying attention. Amen to that.
   
Last night? Twenty degrees. With wind that had attitude. I went out to the garden this morning and—of course—the tarp I so carefully secured had taken itself on an overnight adventure. I did track it down. The tomatoes, though… they didn’t make it. Nature shrugs. Lesson delivered. Onward we grow—literally and otherwise.
   
I’ve made a new friend—Janet. No idea how she found me, but here we are, exchanging kind words like trading cards of humanity. That still amazes me: strangers showing up at just the right time. I keep half-expecting you to write, too. When will that happen? I’ll be here. Door open. Light on.
   
Weekends are slow here. Slow like syrup in winter
I know—intellectually—that it’s up to me to stir the pot, make something happen, create motion. But today? That gear feels a little rusty. And that’s okay. Not every day is a fireworks day. Some are “sit on the porch and breathe” days.
   
You can see what I’m doing with this blog.
Tightening it up. No extra fluff. No verbal junk drawer.
Only the words that earn their place.
Editing is respect—For the reader and for the moment.
   
It’s 2:00 on this Sunday afternoon now. Tiredness has wrapped itself around me like a heavy coat. Not sleep-tired. Soul-tired. I’m still figuring out how to shake that and get my pep back. It may start small. A walk. A smile. A sentence like this one.
If you’ve got extra energy today, send some my way.
I’ll trade you a thought, a laugh, or a fresh start tomorrow.
 
I just finished writing a piece for the blog about joy—that slippery, sparkly, sometimes-hiding-behind-the-couch kind of joy. It reminded me (again!) that joy isn’t something you wait for like a bus that may or may not show up; it’s something you hunt, collect, and protect.
   
You have to notice it in the small, ordinary moments—the quiet wins, the tiny laughs, the unexpected beauty—because life will gladly distract you if you let it. Joy doesn’t demand perfection; it asks for attention. So grab it whenever it peeks out, pocket it, and keep moving forward a little lighter than before. ✨
   
On the computer, I heard a story that The Fonz was dead.
I had to search, and this came back >>
Quick pause, gentle correction—with love and truth.
Henry Winkler is alive. (Still cool. Still very much The Fonz.)
     
But your heart is aiming at something real and vital. Here’s a polished, joyful version that keeps the message strong without burying a living legend:
Hearing news about people we admire always reminds me of this simple truth:
None of us is promised unlimited time.
     
That’s why joy isn’t something to save for “someday.”
Find it now. Live it now. Laugh louder, love deeper, notice more.
Don’t wait for a headline to wake you up—Joy is the point, and now is the time. ✨

>>>>> February 2
Only a few therapies were scheduled today.
From 9–10 a.m., there was an OT group. I skipped it—another game that didn’t call my name.
From 11–12 was the Sports Group—also a pass.
From 1:30 to 2:30 was OT, and that one I did attend.
   
Before that, I headed outside to clean up the garden and deck area. The strong winds the other night had scattered wood chips everywhere, so I swept the entire deck. It looks much better now—order restored, chaos humbled. I always hope someone notices and appreciates the outdoor work I do. It matters to me.
   
At some point, something I wrote apparently bothered one of the therapists. She asked that her name not be used in future posts. I went back and reread the recent blogs and honestly couldn’t find what caused the issue—but no problem. I’ll leave names out going forward. Easy fix. Life moves on.
     
In OT, we reviewed what’s needed to make my chocolate chip cookies—just a few items left—progress measured in teaspoons and joy. Then I was placed on what I lovingly call the whack-a-mole board. I can see how I could have been faster. That said, it’s one of those activities I don’t feel much connection to, so I didn’t give it my full fire. Some things light you up. Some don’t. And that’s okay.
Tomorrow’s another toss of the balls.
   
At 11:30, I had a speech session with Lilly, and she is truly excellent at what she does. With calm precision, she pointed out a few gaps in my speaking and thinking—not to discourage me, but to show me exactly where the work still is.
   
She played an audio track of a voice saying random letters and numbers. My job was to click a button whenever a specific number appeared. It wasn’t difficult, and I did well.
   
The exercises focused on processing speed, attention, reaction time, and repetition. I also had to respond to target words. Again, I thought I did OK, but Lilly showed me what I missed. That was the value of it.
     
This session helped me clarify my thinking and reminded me that awareness is progress, even when the results aren’t perfect. Thank you, Lilly, you’ve helped me a lot.  Growth starts with seeing the truth—and today, I saw it.
     
>>>>> February 3
I didn’t write about what I did today.
Not because nothing happened—but because some days don’t arrive with fireworks, fanfare, or tidy bullet points. Some days slip in quietly, barefoot, and do their work beneath the floorboards of the mind. Today was one of those days.
  We’re taught to measure life by motion: I went here. I did that. I checked the box. I produced proof. But not all progress makes noise. Not all growth shows up with a receipt. Some of the most critical days are inward days—when nothing looks different on the outside, yet something subtle shifts inside.
   
Today was shaped by pauses. By noticing. By letting thoughts wander and then gently bringing them home. By listening more than speaking. By allowing myself to simply be—without auditioning the moment for productivity or applause.
     
Life isn’t built only in bold strokes and dramatic chapters. It’s also formed in the margins. In the white space. In the quiet recalibrations that prepare us for whatever comes next. Roots grow in darkness, after all.
   
So yes, nothing flashy to report.
And yet—everything necessary may have happened anyway.
     
>>>>> February 4
Today, it was off to https://cleantheworld.org/—a place where doing good isn’t a slogan, it’s the job description. As a group, we showed up to volunteer and help however we could, turning ordinary effort into something quietly powerful. Small actions, shared purpose, and a reminder that when people come together with willing hands and open hearts, the world really does get a little cleaner—inside and out.
>>>>> February 5
First, I’ve noticed a pattern: most therapy sessions tend to start late—usually by about five minutes. I always arrive early. That seems to bother some people, though I’m not quite sure why. Punctuality feels like respect to me.
   
At 9:00 a.m., Terrie from OT wanted to go out and pick up the items needed for the cookies we’re making. I let her know that I had already picked up everything. That threw her off a bit, since her goal was to observe my visual scanning and my ability to locate items in the store. Fair enough—but the mission was already accomplished. ✔️
   
There’s a big Super Bowl party coming up on Sunday. I jokingly asked, “Isn’t the Super Bowl the one where they try to hit that little ball into a hole?” Regardless of my impressive sports knowledge, we went to the store to pick up supplies for the party. Preparations are officially underway.
   
At 10:00 a.m., an OT group session was scheduled. I chose not to attend. Group sessions usually don’t give me much, and I decided my time would be better spent back in my room—writing this for you. And yes, I genuinely mean it when I say I’m glad you’re here, reading my words.
   
Later, with Lilly, we worked on memory. I actually like pulling memories—it feels like mental weightlifting. Her simple question, “What did we work on yesterday?” completely flustered me. That moment really bothered me. I should have known the answer.
     
With a few hints, the memories came back, but the struggle was sobering. It made something obvious: I need better organization and more structure to support my memory. I need to find ways to use my brain better.
 
In Lilly’s group, she handed out an alphabetical sheet. For each letter, we had to write words that matched. Then each person read their list aloud. After that, we were asked to remember items from other people’s lists. It was hard. Really hard. And that was the lesson.
     
I think it helped all of us see—clearly and honestly—where our memory challenges are. I know it did for me, maybe more than anyone else. Awareness is the first step toward improvement.
Thank you, Lilly, for that lesson. Truly.
   
Time to cut my hair again. I’ve done this for years. Do you have a hair trimmer? I keep all the hair on my head the same length. I usually cut my hair outside so the wind can just take it, and I don’t have to clean up. This saves a small fortune on haircuts.

>>>>> February 6
As usual, I was up before the sun.
Theresa Soto, who works here, told me she loves my blog posts.
Those words never get old. They matter.
     
I heard that Lilly is homesick today. She’ll be missed.
   
“Impulse Control Group” was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., but no therapists or patients showed up. Just Tiger and me. By 9:35, it was clear nothing was happening. One of the OT staff decided to default to a game—something she knows I dislike—so she let me go. That part, at least, I appreciated.
     
What continues to trouble me is the overall pattern: patients often feel like an afterthought. That’s a hard thing to witness. We are the reason this place exists, yet punctuality, preparation, and presence too often fall short. I would love to see more passion and care directed toward the people who are here to heal.
     
At 10:00 a.m., I met with Dino. We came to my room and talked for a bit. At 10:30, I asked about his next patient—who was likely waiting. Since I firmly believe the next patient should always be the priority, I sent him on his way. I dislike lateness in therapy, and I try to model the standard I wish to see.
 
To be fair, not all delays are the therapists’ fault. The therapy-room door is kept locked, and patients must buzz to be let in. Too often, the wait is long and unnecessary. Therapists have keys; patients do not. That system needs rethinking.
     
It’s now ten till eleven. No more therapy today. I’ll hang out here until lunch—food arrives close to our rooms.
Until then… YouTube, you’re up.

I haven’t been wearing my new teeth because they still hurt when I do. I will have to return for an adjustment.

In the afternoon, Terrie and I made a batch of my tasty chocolate chip cookies. They turned out as good as usual.
Have you made some yet? I included the recipe earlier. Let me know, and I will send it to you.
               
Part 3) BLOG 363 — EVERYONE HAS A STORY
   
⚽ Think one Ball—Not Seven.
Think One page—Not a Book.
One Heartbeat—One Clear, Honest Message. 
   
1. Start With a Moment—Not Your Resume
Skip the birth dates, job titles, and the “Once upon a LinkedIn…” stuff.
Open with a moment that changed you:
A loss. A failure. A success.  A hard choice. A quiet realization.
The day everything cracked—or finally clicked.
     
2. Name the Struggle (Briefly. Honestly.)
Inspiration isn’t polish. It’s truth + courage. Share just enough:
What hurt. What scared you? What almost stopped you?
No drama padding. No victim monologue.
Just enough for the reader to think: “Oh… me too.” That’s the hook.
     
3. Show the Turning Point. Every inspirational story has a hinge.
Ask yourself: “What decision did I make?” “What belief shifted?”
“What tiny step mattered more than I realized?”
This doesn’t need to be heroic. Sometimes the turning point is simply:
“I didn’t quit.” And yes—that counts BIG TIME.”
     
‍♂️ 4. Show Growth, Not Victory
You don’t need a shiny ending. You need movement.   Tell us:
What do you do differently now? What did you understand that you didn’t before?
How do you stand up faster—even if you still fall? Lessons learned?
Readers don’t need you on the mountaintop. They want to see the trail you’re walking.
   
5. Hand the Torch to the Reader. The story isn’t just about you.
End with: A question. A gentle challenge. A reminder that they aren’t done either.
Something that softly says: “If I can do this… maybe you can too.”
Now what do you think of those words?
       
✨ One-Page Structure (Feel Free to Steal This)
Opening moment (pull them in)
The struggle (short, real.)
The shift (decision or realization), who you’re becoming.
Invitation to the reader–That’s it.
   
One Final Pep Talk
You don’t write an inspirational story by trying to sound inspiring.
You write it by telling the truth, with a bit of courage, and a lot of heart.
Your life already has meaning. The page is just where it learns to breathe.
Now—pick up the pen—one ball. You’ve got this.
     
We all have a story.
Every life is a one-of-a-kind narrative, written in victories and setbacks, laughter and scars. Mine began with motion—objects flying through the air, hands learning trust, gravity becoming a dance partner. I learned early that focus can turn chaos into rhythm, that persistence turns drops into applause. I also learned that life, like juggling, never promises an even toss.
 
Each chapter—whether shouted from the rooftops or whispered in the quiet—shapes who we are. Some of my chapters were loud and bright: stages, crowds, the thrill of doing what I loved. Others arrived without warning, heavy and hushed: hospital halls, long nights, relearning the basics, discovering how fragile momentum can be. Those pages didn’t ask for permission. They simply turned.
   
When stories are shared, they become bridges: creating connection, inviting healing, and lighting sparks of inspiration. For a long time, I thought strength meant carrying my story alone. I was wrong. Strength showed up when I began to tell the truth—about fear, about fatigue, about the slow courage it takes to stand back up. Every time I shared, the bridge widened. People met me in the middle. Some crossed with me.
 
Stories remind us to lead with empathy, because we never truly know the weight someone else is carrying. The smile you see might be balancing grief. The laugh might be holding pain just long enough to breathe. I learned to look again, listen longer, and ask better questions. Compassion became less of a concept and more of a practice—one small, human moment at a time.
   
Our most significant achievements matter, yes—but so do the unseen struggles. The victories you can photograph are sweet. The ones no one sees—the choice to try again, the patience to heal, the humility to ask for help—those are the muscles that last. They don’t sparkle, but they hold.
 
Often, it’s the painful pages that become the strongest foundations, turning lived experience into compassion, wisdom, and a hand reaching back to help someone else rise. I didn’t choose every chapter, but I have decided how to carry them now. I prefer to build with them. To stack the hard-earned lessons like bricks and stand on them—taller, steadier, kinder.
   
This is my story so far: a life still in motion, still learning the rhythm, still tossing hope into the air and trusting the catch. And if my pages can help you turn yours with a little more courage, then every scar has done its quiet work.
     
Why this idea resonates so deeply:

Life experience.
No two paths are the same. Each of us collects moments—hard ones, joyful ones, surprising turns—that quietly shape how we see the world and who we become.

Background and history.
Family roots, culture, geography, and circumstance all leave fingerprints on our lives. Where we come from matters. It always has.

Hidden depth.
The phrase gently reminds us not to judge by appearances. What we see on the surface is rarely the whole story. Beneath it live context, struggle, resilience, and reason.

Connection and empathy.
When we remember that everyone is carrying a story, it softens us. We listen more. We assume less. We grow more generous with understanding.
   
Your story is important!
Every story counts. Your story matters—even the quiet ones.
Especially the ones we haven’t heard yet.
It’s time to write your book.
     
PART 4) A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—pocket-sized beams of brilliance we carry through the dark. ✨
They hold oversized truths in travel-size form, ready to glow exactly when we need them.
A single line can calm a wobbling heart, snap a fuzzy thought into focus, or nudge us forward when our feet hesitate. Sometimes a quote doesn’t shout or lecture—it leans in close and whispers, “You’re not lost.” And that quiet glow? It’s often just enough light to keep us moving. ‍♂️
Take the next step.                    There’s more ahead.”
   
“Stories are a communal currency of humanity.” — Tahir Shah.
   
“Write your life story, it’s important and will change the world!” — Kit Summers.
   
“When you’re sharing, it offers the opportunity for someone to help you.” — Marala Scott.
   
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” — Maya Angelou.
 
“Sharing our truths can provide the opportunity for great healing.” — Kristen Noel.
   
“The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. Where there is perfection, there is no story to tell.” — Ben Okri.
     
“Your heartache is someone else’s hope. If you make it through, someone else will make it through. Tell your story.” — Kim McManus.
     
“When I am afraid to speak, it is then that I speak. That is when it is most important.” — Nayyirah Waheed.
     
“There is surrendering to your story and then knowing that you don’t have to stay in your story.” — Colette Baron-Reid.
     
“You are not your illness. You have an individual story to tell. You have a name, a history, a personality. Staying yourself is part of the battle.” — Julian Seifter.
 
“Tears are words that need to be written.” — Paulo Coelho.o
     
“Tell the story of the mountain you climbed. Your words could become a page in someone else’s survival guide.” — Morgan Harper Nichols.
       
“Perhaps everyone has a story that could break your heart.” — Nick Flynn.
     
“After nourishment, shelter, and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.” — Philip Pullman.
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>

Start writing your story. Your book. Not someday–TODAY!
Choose a subject that won’t let you sleep.
Pick a title that tugs you forward—even on low-energy days.
Create a table of contents—not as a contract, but a compass
It points the way, even when you wander.
   
For each chapter, sketch it simply:
What’s the moment? What’s the lesson?
Why does it matter to a living, breathing human?
     
And when you write, write to inspire, not to impress.
This isn’t a résumé. It’s a hand reaching back, saying,
“I’ve been there. Come on—I’ll walk with you.” ✨

PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 364–“SPEAKING WITH SILENCE”    
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! 

This is my first book,
“Juggling with Finesse.” 

  ✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 362 — You Juggling? — YES! 🌟

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
Every story asks this question first: Where do I begin?
The answer is simple—Start at the beginning.
It began a long, long time ago, when I was very young… 
     
I’ve written about juggling before—but the tent has grown. New readers, new faces, and way more balls flying through the air. So… it’s time to teach again. 🎉

This shot was taken in New Zealand! 

And if you already know how to juggle? Perfect. You’re not off the hook. I challenge you to learn at least three new tricks this week. Because growth doesn’t happen while we’re lounging on the couch of “I’ve already got this.” Growth starts the moment we wobble a little.
Catch ready? Deep breath. Toss. Let’s go. 🤹‍♂️✨
   
Recently, a few people told me they love my blog posts. And I’ll be honest—that stopped me mid-stride, in the best possible way. Thank you. Truly. Knowing my words land somewhere warm, helpful, or encouraging means more than I can easily explain.
     
I write these posts hoping they spark a smile, a thought, a pause—maybe even a tiny shift in how you see your own life. If a handful of people feel that, I’m deeply grateful. And yes, I’ll admit it (with a hopeful grin): I’d love for hundreds more to find something here that nudges them forward, lifts them, or reminds them they’re not walking this road alone.
   
Words are funny little things. You toss them into the world like paper airplanes, never quite knowing where they’ll land—or if they’ll nose-dive into a hedge. ✈️🌿
But when someone writes back and says, “Hey… that one hit home,”
It makes the whole adventure worth it.

So thank you—for reading, for noticing, and for being part of this ongoing,
slightly mischievous, joy-splashed experiment called living better. 🎈💛
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
     Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> January 24
Up early, as usual. The day hadn’t even finished stretching yet, and there I was—vertical, alert, and wondering what adventure I could invent before breakfast showed up—first stop: the patio and garden.
 
I went out with a straightforward mission—clean things up—but ended up discovering a whole hidden world of neglect. Places I hadn’t wandered to before revealed their secrets, and wow… cigarette debris was everywhere. It’s honestly hard to believe how casually some people treat the ground like a personal ashtray. Flick, toss, forget. Meanwhile, the earth just stands there, quietly taking the hit.
   
So I didn’t just walk. I scavenged. I bent. I swept. I took full responsibility for the patio for the morning. By the time I finished, it looked better—cleaner, calmer, more respected. And maybe that’s the point. I can’t control much right now, but I can leave a place better than I found it. Small act. Big meaning. Boy Scout memories.
   
After that—well—welcome to Saturday at NR. Capital S for Slow.
The kind of slow where time doesn’t walk… it lounges.
I landed in front of YouTube. Ah, yes, the modern-day campfire.
Videos flickered by while the hours politely refused to move faster.
   
I’ve written about this before: weekends here move like they’re dragging a sack of bricks uphill. And then there’s the tiredness. That profound, bone-heavy fatigue that shows up daily like an unwanted roommate. I hate it. Not dislike—hate. It steals momentum, dulls ambition, and makes even good ideas feel like too much work.
   
And yet—inside my head—there’s a voice. Persistent. Annoying. Hopeful.
It keeps whispering, Move on down the road.
Sounds great… except I have no idea where that road leads.
   
This place is slow. It’s comfortable. Predictable. Especially on weekends. And comfort, I’ve learned, can quietly turn into a cage. Somewhere along the way, I misplaced my freedom—not dramatically, not with sirens and shouting—but gently, almost politely.
   
That’s the most challenging part. I don’t need chaos. I don’t need perfection. But I do need something different. For now, I sweep. I clean. I notice. I keep my eyes open. And I remind myself—roads don’t disappear just because you haven’t chosen one yet.  They wait.
 
I just taught Carissa (who works at NR) how to juggle—and her six-year-old son, Sebastian, joined the circus too. Sebastian quickly decided that actual juggling was optional. His preferred technique? Launching scarves directly at me–I have hundreds. Over. And over. More and more. Someone had to teach him that highly advanced method. OK, fine—I confess. I am the Scarf-Throwing Master. 🧣😄
The next generation has begun.   🌱
   
>>>>> January 25
On my daily garden-and-patio patrol, I was greeted by a small miracle: far fewer cigarette butts and bits of rubbish. Cue the angels. Either my quiet crusade is working… or the littering spirits took the day off. I’ll take the win. While I was out there, I gave myself a haircut—because why not? Clippers in hand, breeze on my face, saving money and doing a better job than most barbers. Self-reliance looks good on me. ✂️ ✨
   
And being Sunday, the place is blissfully light on humans. Just me, the garden, a little cleanliness victory, and the calm satisfaction of a day behaving itself. Sometimes joy doesn’t shout—it nods and smiles quietly, as Kit does. 😄
   
I’ve put together a letter to film producers—my way of tossing a dream into the air and seeing if the world is ready to catch it. It’s a pitch for an inspirational movie drawn straight from my own wild, winding, unbelievable Life.
   
If someone picks it up? Oh, that would be wonderful. Not for the spotlight—but for the ripple. For the possibility that this story might reach millions of people who are struggling, stuck, or quietly wondering if they still matter.
   
This isn’t just my story. It’s a reminder that Life can knock you flat, take everything you thought you were, and still somehow leave room for a second act. Or a third. Or a glorious, confetti-filled comeback tour. 🎉
   

                  Randy Foster and I in Balboa Park in a street show

So yes, I will be sending letters this week. The ball is in the air. Now I wait—with hope, gratitude, and a grin—believing that if this story lands in the right hands, it could light a few million little fires of courage. And that, my friends, would be a beautiful thing.
   
Midnight Wisdom from a Man Who Values His Sleep.
Somewhere in the middle of almost every night, my bladder raises its hand and says, “Excuse me. We need to talk.” For most of my life, I did what everyone does. I got up. I walked to the bathroom. I handled business. And then, after returning to bed—wide awake—stared at the ceiling, wondering why sleep had packed its bags and left the building.
   
Five years ago, I made a small but glorious change. I now keep a metal water bottle right next to the bed. When the urge arrives, still lying there, I reach over, twist off the lid, take care of things, close it up, and… go right back to sleep. No cold floors. No bright lights. No brain turning on like it’s morning news hour. Never a spill. Very clean. Shockingly civilized. Later, I deposit the liquid into the toilet.
   
Gentlemen—this is not laziness.
Sorry, ladies, this won’t work for you.
This is efficiency.
This is sleep preservation.
This is thinking ahead like a seasoned professional.
You’re welcome. 😄🌙
   
>>>>> January 26
Monday again. 🎬
Cue the music. Roll the credits.
Here we go—another week steps onto the stage.
   
Therapy with Maura was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. It wandered in fashionably late, sometime after 10:15. The activity of the hour: Apples to Apples. A game that could be engaging—if someone actually studied it first and explained how to play. Instead, it felt like another time-filler, more playground than progress.
   
Maura knows I write about these things. She knows I’ll use real words. Good. Because that means they know they need to raise the bar. People deserve better than recycled distractions when real growth is at stake.
   
At 11:00 came Cornhole.
You already know how that went.
I didn’t stay.
   
Same ol’, same ol’. Or as I like to call it: same-ol’ shame-ol’. There are thousands of meaningful, creative, brain-engaging activities out there—one quick search away. Yet here we are, tossing beanbags like it’s the grand solution–It isn’t.
   
Later, I discovered (through Amazon, not human communication) that two packages had been delivered for me. To actually receive them, I have to go through Myles. Everything is checked. Inspected. Approved–Privacy?–Not so much.
   
I wouldn’t care if I were ordering contraband pogo sticks—but I’m not. Still, the lack of privacy is staggering. Control has a way of sneaking in disguised as “procedure,” and I don’t love that costume. It almost makes me want to fight back against the “rules”.
   
I ended the day with a video call with Rosa, a psychologist. She’s kind and well-intentioned. But I don’t need that kind of help right now, which makes it difficult to imagine a future there. I know many people benefit deeply from that work—I genuinely do—but it doesn’t feel like my path.
   
Ironically, I spent most of the call entertaining and inspiring her.
Which is fine—I’ve done that my whole life.
But I didn’t walk away with much in return.
And still…
I’m here.
Thinking. Observing. Writing.
Refusing to go numb.
Onward. 🚀
   
>>>>> January 27
The days really do fly by, don’t they? One minute you’re lacing up your shoes, the next the sun is already negotiating its exit. 🕊️
   
First stop this morning: the garden/patio patrol—a little sweep here, a quiet scan there. Someone—or several someones—left it looking pretty good—a small victory. I’ll take it. 🌱
     
But then… that tiredness arrived. Not the polite, bedtime kind. This one is sneakier. A strange, heavy fog that doesn’t say, “Go to sleep,” but whispers, “Just shut everything down.” Mind, energy, enthusiasm—offline. I tried to wrestle it, but today it pinned me pretty quickly. Some days are like that. No drama. Just noticing.
     
Later, I caught a ride to see my doctor, Melissa Beltre, who is genuinely wonderful to work with. One of those rare humans you can feel actually cares. She listens. She notices. She does right by people. That matters. A lot.
     
I made her a promise: next visit, I’m teaching her—and anyone else brave enough in the office—how to juggle. 🤹‍♂️ She lit up at the idea. Nothing like planting a little playfulness into a medical office. That’s preventative care, if you ask me.
   
From there, a practical mission: Costco. Green tea stock-up. I like the kind they have, and I went all in—three boxes. Future-me will be very grateful. 🍵 Calm in a cup.
     
And finally, a small but meaningful note:
Karen, I’m happy you read my blog.
Truly. Knowing these words land somewhere. 
Warm and human means more than I can say.
   
Another day. Not flashy. Not perfect. But I lived. And that still counts. 🌟
     
>>>>> January 28
The weather here in central Florida is cool—pleasantly cool, the kind that lets you breathe without flinching. Meanwhile, up north near Lancaster, Pennsylvania—where my daughters live—it’s a whole different story. Cold. Real cold. Snow-on-snow cold. I know, because for 23 years I had a home in Trainer, PA. That’s where they grew up, where winters meant shovels, frozen fingers, and the annual question: Why do humans live like this?
 
Growing up in San Diego, I’ve never loved cold weather. Not even a little. Which explains why I’m down here now, enjoying Florida’s version of winter while Pennsylvania has piles of snow stacked like stubborn reminders of January. None of that here—no shovels, no scraping windshields. Just sunshine and a little smug satisfaction 😆.
   
Therapy today started from 10 to 11 a.m. with a group session led by Lilly. There were six of us in total. She talked about attention, memory, processing speed, impulsivity, and focus—essential topics, of course. Much of it covered the obvious, the things you’d expect, but repetition has its place. Sometimes hearing the basics again is like tightening loose screws—you don’t notice until things run a little smoother.
   
At 11:30, I met with Dino.
And like always… we mostly just sat and talked.
No worksheets. No games. No pretending. Just conversation.
And honestly? That’s often the best therapy of all.
     
Later, I headed out to the garden. It’s never “too late” for that. I cleaned, straightened, and did my usual patrol. Sadly, there were still gobs of cigarette butts scattered around—gross, discouraging, and unnecessary. Cold weather is expected later this week, Florida-style, which means it’s time to protect the crops. I’ll cover the lettuce and tomatoes with a tarp, tuck them in, and try to keep them warm and happy. Funny how plants get more protection than people sometimes.
   
And yes… I still question why I am here. That question floats through my mind more often than I’d like. But as I’ve written before, there isn’t anywhere else for me to go right now. Life has me paused on this particular square of the board.
   
What an extraordinary life I’ve led.
Unexpected turns. Hard stops. Wild restarts.
And somehow—I’m still standing, still thinking, still tending a garden.
That has to count for something. 🌱
   
>>>>> January 29
Before you know it—boom—another day taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey, let’s do this again.” This morning started sweetly. Nancy came by my room just to thank me for the garden. That stopped me in my tracks—in the best way. A simple thank-you can water the soul better than rain ever could. 🌱
   
Then it was time for the daily routine: cleaning and straightening the garden and patio. You’d think a place meant for fresh air and calm thoughts would stay… well… calm. But there’s one particular spot where someone appears to dispose of at least 33 cigarette butts a day. Thirty-three. Daily. That’s not just litter—that’s time, money, and life quietly burning away. I genuinely hope you don’t smoke. There are better ways to rebel against the universe.
 
Only one therapy session today—OT group at 10 a.m. Group activities and I have a complicated relationship. Often, they feel less like therapy and more like adult daycare with a clipboard. When I checked the clock earlier (9:08 a.m.), hope was still alive.
   
The game of the day? “Hedbanz.” A guessing game. I didn’t shine. Not because I couldn’t—but because my heart wasn’t in it. My brain kept whispering, Is this really the best use of a perfect human mind? Sometimes it feels less like therapy and more like time being politely escorted out the door.
     
But—plot twist—Maryann showed up. She came to my room and asked me to take the time to figure out a group exercise for tomorrow. She wanted something better for tomorrow. That matters. That effort counts.
   
I floated an idea: we could all cross the street to the park and throw a ball around. Fresh air. Movement. Laughter. Real life. Sometimes healing doesn’t come from sitting in a chair—it comes from standing up, stepping outside, and remembering you’re still part of the world.
   
We’ll see what tomorrow brings. 🌞
I’m ready.
   
>>>>> January 30
Friday again.
Like clockwork. Boom—there it is.
Every seven days, no excuses, Friday shows up wearing the same outfit, asking the same question:
“What are you doing with this day?”
   
So here I am, finishing this blog and sending it out into the world.
Right now, this—writing for you—is my purpose.
Words out. Heart open. Signal sent.
And you?   What’s your purpose these days?
(Stay tuned. I’ve got a whole blog coming on that very question. Spoiler alert: purpose isn’t found—it’s built.)
   
I received my schedule for today. Brace yourself. Nothing.
Once again, a wide-open canvas pretending to be a void.
     
Except—there was one thing: a dentist appointment at 8:30 a.m. And since the calendar was otherwise asleep, I decided I’d fill the silence by writing to you. A good trade, if you ask me.
     
Then Maryann stopped by with news:
🏀 Basketball this afternoon.
We’ll see how that unfolds. I’ll report back from the court.
     
Dentist update!
The retainer was supposed to be glued in place. “Set.” “Done.” “Finished.”
Yeah… no.
   
I went to eat breakfast and—pop!—out it came like it had a plane to catch.
I called the office, used my own glue (don’t worry, MacGyver moment only), put it back in, and here I sit—retainer in, patience slightly out.
   
Why did I ever decide to have all my lower teeth extracted?
All because I was missing a few?
I read one scary story about infections traveling north and hijacking your whole head and thought, Sure, let’s go nuclear.
Lesson noted: Decisions made while Googling at night should come with a 24-hour waiting period. 😄
My mouth is still negotiating peace terms with this new resident—the retainer.
     
Next stop: Garden/Patio Patrol. 🌱
Good news—pretty clean out there. I like that.
I pulled the tarp off the lettuce and tomatoes, letting them breathe and soak up the day. Cold nights are coming again, so I’ll tuck them in tonight. A little care goes a long way—for plants and people.
       
Then, out of nowhere, I heard myself say out loud:
“I hate this life I am living.”   Whoa.
That one came flying out without knocking.
I didn’t invite it, but there it was—honest, raw, and real.
   
Here’s the thing: saying it doesn’t make it permanent.
It just makes it visible.
And once something is visible, it can be changed.
     
Every month or two, we have a fire drill.
Sirens blare. Everyone files out.
We stand around for fifteen minutes.
Then we file back in.
     
Today?   The alarm sounded for a few minutes, then stopped.
False alarm. More waste of my time.
I laughed and went back to my room. Another almost-event.
With nothing scheduled, the day felt like a waste of time.
     
But here’s the twist—
I wrote to you.
I told the truth.
I noticed the garden.
I showed up.
And sometimes, that’s enough to keep the spark alive until tomorrow lights the fuse again. 🔥
Friday showed up.
So did I.
And so did you.
And that still counts.

2:00 PM sharp, Maryann came around, rounding up the crew for basketball. Six of us players plus one fearless organizer—Maryann herself. And just like that, the afternoon transformed.
Was I good?
Absolutely not. 😄
My basketball skills remain… consistent (read: terrible).

But here’s the thing—it didn’t matter one bit.
We laughed. We moved. We missed shots with confidence. The weather cooperated as if it knew we needed a win, and for a little while, life felt lighter. No pressure, no scorekeeping, no judgments—just fresh air, motion, and a shared moment of joy.

So even though not a single scout is calling me anytime soon,
I’ll say this with certainty:
Everyone walked away a winner. 🎉
     
PART 3)🌟 BLOG 362 — You Juggling? — YES!
🌱 ONE BALL

(Yes. Everything starts with one.)
Throwing a single ball—what would eventually become juggling—
Started for me in 1975, at age 15.
One ball. One toss. One curious brain.
   
About a year later, that curiosity landed me on The Gong Show. I honestly forget how I pulled that off (youth has a way of doing that), but there I was—young, nervous, juggling… and I won first place!
For a young juggler?
That was rocket fuel. 🚀

🌺 HAWAII — Commitment in Paradise

I realized something early on:
If I wanted to be great, juggling couldn’t be a hobby.
It had to be a devotion.
   
So I packed up my life with my friend and phenomenal juggler Barrett Felker,
And we went to Hawaii. We lived, practiced, and performed there for three months—traveling island to island.
Sun. Sweat. Skill.
Paradise with calluses.

🚆 EUROPE — Where the Masters Were

Later that same year, I knew exactly where to go next.
Europe.
That’s where the great jugglers were.
     
My lifelong friend John Fox and I grabbed Eurail passes and, for three months, traveled country to country by train—meeting legends, trading tricks, absorbing styles, philosophies, and possibilities.
This wasn’t tourism.
This was education. 🎓🎪

🎭 I AM A JUGGLER

Being exposed to so many forms of juggling at such a young age didn’t just shape my skill—it ignited a lifelong passion. I was all in.
And here’s the quiet truth:
You can be, too.

🎉 “ISN’T THAT JUST A PARTY TRICK?”

Most people think juggling is a novelty.
A party trick.
Something a clown does while wearing shoes the size of small canoes.
They are delightfully—gloriously—wrong.
Juggling didn’t just entertain me.
It fulfilled me.   It gave me a future.

🧠 IT’S NOT ABOUT THE OBJECTS

Juggling isn’t about balls, clubs, or flaming torches
(though yes… those are fun).
   
Juggling is about:

• The brain
• The body
• The spirit

It’s that beautiful, fragile moment
When chaos learns to dance.

⚡ THE FIRST TOSS — Waking Up the Brain

When you first try juggling, something miraculous happens almost immediately:
Your brain panics.
It protests.
It says, “Nope. Gravity has opinions.”
And that’s the gift.
   
Juggling forces both sides of your brain to talk to each other—
sometimes for the first time since you rode a bike without training wheels.
Logic meets creativity.
Timing meets intuition.
Focus meets play.

🔄 FEEDBACK, NOT FAILURE

Every throw is a tiny decision.
Every catch is feedback.
Every drop is information, not failure.
Your brain lights up as a Christmas tree plugged directly into curiosity. 🎄⚡

💥 THE DROP — Failure Isn’t Fatal

You will drop the balls. Frequently. Spectacularly.
And that’s where the deeper magic begins.
Juggling teaches failure without punishment.
No grades. No shame. No judgment.
Just: Pick it up. Try again.
   
In a world that treats mistakes like crimes, juggling whispers a radical truth:
You don’t get better despite the drops. You get better because of them.
That lesson transfers beautifully to life.
Missed opportunities. Awkward conversations. Bad days. Broken plans.
Drop. Breathe. Reset. Throw again.

🌊 THE RHYTHM — Calm Inside Motion

Here’s a surprise for most people: Juggling is calming.
Once the pattern begins to flow, something settles inside you.
Breathing evens out.
The mind stops replaying the past or racing ahead.
   
Ball. Ball. Ball.
Juggling becomes moving meditation.
You cannot juggle yesterday.
You cannot juggle tomorrow.
You can only juggle now.

🧍‍♂️ THE BODY KNOWS

Juggling is an exercise in disguise.
It improves:

• Balance
• Coordination
• Posture
• Reaction time
• Spatial awareness

You stand taller. You move smarter. Your hands learn precision. Your feet learn patience.
And unlike treadmills or dumbbells, juggling doesn’t feel like punishment for enjoying food.
It feels like play.

📈 THE CONFIDENCE CURVE

One of juggling’s most incredible gifts has nothing to do with juggling.
It changes how you see yourself.
When you learn—even a simple three-ball cascade—you prove something powerful:
You can learn hard things.
Not instantly.
Not perfectly.
But steadily.
   
That belief sneaks into everything else:
“If I learned this… what else could I learn?”
“If I stuck with that… what else could I finish?”
Juggling builds belief—one catch at a time.

🔄 FEEDBACK, NOT FAILURE

Every throw is a tiny decision.
Every catch is feedback.
Every drop is information, not failure.
Your brain lights up as a Christmas tree plugged directly into curiosity. 🎄⚡

🎭 ONLY JUGGLING FOR ABOUT SEVEN YEARS?

Yes, juggling became my passion; I lived for the craft. Learning at 15 in 1975, juggling consumed me. Before my accident in 1982, I would continue to practice for at least six hours a day. At this point, I had traveled the world and was well known as a top juggler.
   
Because of the accident in 1982 and my having to go through a 37-day coma, I lost all ability to use my hands and arms for juggling. So, I was a “real” juggler for only about seven years. But I stayed with the skill all my life — teaching, writing books, producing videos, traveling. 

🎈 PLAY IS NOT OPTIONAL

Somewhere along the way, adults are tricked into believing play is frivolous.
Something you earn after productivity.
Juggling laughs at that.
   
It brings back joy without apology.
Silliness with purpose.
Wonder without embarrassment.
   
You smile while learning.
You laugh while failing.
You celebrate small wins.
     
And suddenly life feels lighter—
not because it’s easier,
but because you are.

🌟 THE BIG LESSON

Life isn’t about keeping everything in the air forever.
Things will fall.
Plans will change.
Hands will get tired.
What matters is rhythm.
Recovery.
Resilience.
     
You don’t need perfection.
You need practice.
You don’t need control.
You need presence.
   
And sometimes, all it takes to remember that…
…is tossing three simple objects into the air
and trusting yourself to catch them again. 🎉🤹‍♂️
   
Because when you can juggle—
You’re not just juggling balls or scarves.
You’re juggling life.

🧣 GETTING STARTED (The Easy Way!)

Scarves are the easiest way to begin.
They slow everything down and teach the pattern without stress.

• Buy tulle fabric (Walmart or online)
• Cut into 18″ x 18″ squares.
• The cost is less than a nickel per scarf. 
• Slow motion = instant success. 

🎥 Learn scarf juggling from my friend Niels here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aHcmUAWo7I

🎯 HOW TO JUGGLE 3 BALLS (Quick Guide)

1 Ball
Throw a ball hand-to-hand, about 3 inches above your head.
Watch the peak. Throw from the inside, catch on the outside.
Always look toward the ceiling.
   
2 Balls
One in each hand.
Throw one across to the other hand.
As it reaches the top, throw the second across.
   
3 Balls
Start with two in one hand.
Always begin with the hand holding two.
As the second ball descends—throw the third.
Back and forth. Rhythm over speed.
Throw-catch, throw-catch.
   
Practice and you will find perfection. There are many YouTube videos to learn to juggle any number of balls and do a variety of tricks while juggling.
     
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
     
“Since juggling regularly has been shown to improve brain density in gray matter, more and more people are turning to juggling… to help sharpen your mind (and body).” — David Kadle.
   
“Juggling can become your life!”— Kit Summers.
     
“You will never be delighted by work until you are satisfied with life.” —Heather Schuck.
 
“Balance is a feeling derived from being whole and complete; it’s a sense of harmony. It is essential to maintain quality in life and work.” —Joshua Oseng.
   
“When you have balance in your life, work becomes an entirely different experience. There is a passion that moves you to a whole new level of fulfillment and gratitude, and that’s when you can do your best, for yourself and for others.” —Cara Delevingne.

“Happiness is not a matter of intensity, but of balance, order, rhythm, and harmony.” —Thomas Merton.
   
“You can build your business life where you are working with people you want to work with. Then it becomes a pleasure, and then you can do better.” —Andy Morgan.
   
“Remember that work and life coexist. Wellness at work follows you home and vice versa.” —Melissa Steginus.
   
“You can’t do a good job if your job is all you do.” —Katie Thurmes.
   
“Be steady and well-ordered in your life so that you can be fierce and original in your work.” —Gustave Flaubert
   
“You can’t have everything you want, but you can have the things that really matter to you.” —Marissa Mayer.
     
“Self-care is, fundamentally, about bringing balance back to a life that has grown imbalanced from too many commitments or responsibilities.” —Robyn L Gobin.
     
“Balance is not about juggling everything at once, but knowing when to give each aspect of life its due attention.” — Goodreads
     
“Now, juggling can be a lot of fun; play with skill and play with space, play with rhythm.” — Michael Moschen.
     
“I’m happy when I’m juggling… [it’s] a good problem.” — Kirstie Alley
     
“A person who learns to juggle six balls will be more skilled than the person who never tries to juggle more than three.” — Marilyn vos Savant.
     
“Juggling your personal life, your social life, and your work is hard… but I think it’s worth it.” — Sophia Lillis.
     
“It’s a juggling act to find a balance between being you and playing a role.” — Kristen Schaal.
     
“Since juggling regularly has been shown to improve brain density in gray matter, more and more people are turning to juggling… to help sharpen your mind (and body).” — David Kadle.
   
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
LEARN TO JUGGLE! (of course.)
If you can already juggle, learn three new tricks this week.
     
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 363—EVERYONE HAS A STORY
You’ve read much of my story.
Now you need to write your own story. 
   
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! 

  ✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 361–Living Beyond the Age of 100? 🌟
     
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. ✨

1)  THE BEGINNINGS
Every story asks this question first: Where do I begin?
The answer is simple—Start at the beginning.
It began a long, long time ago, when I was very young…  
     
I once set a goal to juggle 7 clubs — I met that goal!
Now I have a goal of reaching beyond the age of 100, see me go!💥💙
Will you join me in reaching this goal for yourself?
   
So many things are bad, and getting worse.
I’m seeing double more often.
My tinnitus (ringing in my ears) is nonstop.
I seldom hear from my daughters or you.
My weight continues to go up, and the swelling in my legs grows.
I’ve been so lonely in my life, having no one to love.
   
100 years? Thinking about it, I will have to live past the year 2059 to reach 100 years old. Here I go, will you be next to me? Hmm, what interesting things will happen before then? What will you be doing on your 100th birthday? In the end, you only have yourself. When will you turn 100?
   
Living to 100? Whew—sometimes that sounds like a juggling act with too many flaming torches. Do I really want that many years if they’re packed with loneliness and pain? It’s a fair question—an honest one. And honesty matters. But here’s the flip side of the coin—the shiny, confetti-covered side 🎉—life is never just the complex parts. It’s the whole parade.
   
Yes, I’ve written about the sad chapters. The rough weather. The days when the sky felt a little too heavy. You’ve walked those roads too—I know you have. But don’t forget: woven between the storms are sunlit moments, belly laughs, surprise joys, victories both loud and quiet. Think of the friendships, the sparks, the “how did that even happen?” moments. You’ve had many. We all have. And they count.
   
On December 13, 1925, Dick Van Dyke was born. And just recently—boom!—he turned 100. One hundred years of leaping, laughing, singing, stumbling, getting back up, and dancing through decades like gravity was merely a suggestion. What an extraordinary life. Not perfect. Not pain-free. But gloriously, exuberantly lived.

So maybe the question isn’t “Do I want to live to 100?”
Maybe it’s this: How much good life can I pack into the years I have—starting today?
Cue the music. The curtain’s up. Let’s dance. 💃🕺✨
   
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
     Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> January 17—
As the day tiptoes into existence, it does so very slowly—this is Saturday, after all. Saturdays don’t rush; they stretch, yawn, and shuffle around in fuzzy socks. The world seems to be operating in low gear, and so am I.
   
Doctor Mahal stopped by today. He is the general doctor for NR. I had a few concerns tucked under my arm, hoping they might get some fresh air. They didn’t. He listened, nodded, and—poof—nothing really changed.
   
He mentioned he’d return with a business card, a tiny rectangle of proof that the visit mattered. That return trip never happened. Funny how something so small can feel oddly symbolic. This is the second time he said he would return with a card.
   
And yes—full disclosure, hand on heart—I don’t love being here. Not even a smidge. Not even enough to pretend I do for five polite seconds. But honesty is part of the admission price, and I refuse to let that truth grab the microphone and do a gloomy solo.
   
So I’m calling it a night. Lights out, thoughts quieted (or at least gently herded), and off I drift—hopefully into a dream that’s a little weird, a little wonderful, and completely rent-free—wishing you a good, deep, delicious sleep tonight. May your pillow be cool, your mind be kind, and tomorrow show up with better jokes. 😴✨
 
>>>>> January 18—
Another slow-motion morning. The kind where the clock moves like it’s walking through peanut butter. This daily tiredness is a stubborn companion—it shows up uninvited and refuses to leave. I keep asking myself what the right move is. Nap? Push through? Dance wildly to imaginary music? The jury’s still out.
   
Still—here I am. Awake. Writing. Noticing. Questioning.
That counts for something.
Even on the slowest Sundays, even with tired bones and unanswered questions, there’s still a pulse. And as long as that pulse is there, the story isn’t finished yet. 🌱
   
>>>>> January 19—
I woke up feeling like the last balloon at the party—still floating, slightly wrinkled, and wondering where everyone went and who turned off the music. To keep myself company, I watched The Bellboy starring the gloriously rubber-boned Jerry Lewis. Elastic face. Elastic body. Zero concern for gravity or dignity. A master.
   
Then—WHAM! 💥—One of those sneaky existential pop-ups
leapt out from behind the popcorn.
Everyone in that movie? Yep. All.
They’ve all taken their final bow.
Poof. Curtain call. Exit stage… eventually.
It just shows us how short and extraordinary life is.
   
Because here’s the twist: we’re all in the same play.
No understudies. No rewinds. Just this glorious, ridiculous, once-only performance.
And that’s not gloomy—that’s fuel. 🔥
     
It means today matters.
It means laugh louder, love harder, and juggle the moment while it’s still in the air. 🤹‍♂️✨
Life ends. But living well?  That’s our job—right now. 🎉
   
And that’s not gloomy—that’s fuel. 🔥 It means today matters, as every day must.
It means to laugh louder, love harder, and juggle the moment while it’s still in the air. 🤹‍♂️✨
Life ends. But juggling, climbing trees, living? 
That’s our job—right now. Make your life fantastic! 🎉
   
Unless, of course, you have already lived past 100. In which case, you were born before 1926? If yes, congratulations, you are officially beating time at its own game. 🏆And, those of you still on your way, as I had asked before, join me as we surpass the age of 100, and with a smile on your face.
   
This Monday, today, is especially quiet. Like a library closed during a snowstorm, quiet. Turns out it’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day. I only discovered this after consulting the mighty oracle (also known as… my computer). So—happy holiday! For me, it’s another slow-motion train ride through the hours, chug-chug-chugging toward bedtime. 🚂
   
About now, I usually head out to the garden and patio—my daily expedition into the wilds. Lilly drops typically off the schedule by this time, but at five till… nothing. Zip. Nada. Holiday rules. Which means today’s official agenda is: Unscheduled Living—a bold, edgy lifestyle choice. Thank you, Martin King (Hey, where’d the “Luthur, Jr. ” go?)
   
I just returned from my daily garden patrol—part exercise, part balance training, part Neighborhood Cleanup Avenger. And once again, I collected at least 50 cigarette butts. Yes. Fifty. Plus empty packs. Apparently, some people believe the ground is a magical self-cleaning ashtray. Spoiler alert: it is not.
   
SMOKING?
I hate to say it—but today, I will.
Don’t be an idiot.
What are these smokers thinking?
Smoking destroys bodies, trashes the planet,
costs too much, smells terrible,
and decorates the earth with tiny, soggy sticks of regret.
   
Please—if you smoke—pause with me for a moment. Really pause. There is nothing good hiding in that habit. Nothing. Not a reward. Not a memory. Not even a lousy souvenir keychain from the land of regret. Quitting isn’t about white-knuckling your way through misery. “Just stop” rarely works. The real magic is replacement. 

Everyone—every single human—has felt like quitting something at some point. You’re not weak for feeling it. You’re human. And humans are wonderfully capable of change. So don’t quit forever today.  Just quit for today.  Tomorrow can wait its turn. Then try two days… a week… a month. Small wins stack up like smiles in a jar. 🫙💫
   
You are not alone in this—not even close. Thousands upon thousands have quit smoking, and they weren’t superheroes. They were people… just like you. Everyone is here to help you. You can do it, we will help.
     
And here’s the good part:
If they can do it, YOU can do it.
I’m cheering for you.
I believe in you.
And if you need a hand, a nudge, or a reminder of your strength—I’m right here. ❤️🔥
     
You don’t remove a habit—you swap it out.
Trade movement for smoke.
Trade air for ash.
Trade a moment of escape for something that actually carries you forward.
   
Redirect your life toward better things—things that build you up instead of slowly burning you down. Your body is not an ashtray. It’s a miracle with plans.
You deserve lungs full of possibility…
Not smoke signals from a habit that never loved you back. 💛
   
Smoking–expensive, unhealthy, and strangely paired with an uncontrollable urge to litter. If you smoke, I’m honestly curious—why? (And yes, I called smokers idiots. Sorry. Not sorry. Mostly sorry. 😄) I’m seriness now — just stop.
   
The good news? The habit does seem to be fading from the world, which feels like progress—wearing sensible shoes and making responsible choices. It will be ice when no one can find any more butts outside in the garden or on the patio. No one needs it.
    =====
I’ve been told my outdoor care skills are smokin’ hot—which feels fair, considering the amount of cigarette butts I rescue daily. 😄 No one’s thanked me yet for cleaning up the garden and patio areas, but that’s okay. I’m not doing it for applause or a gold star.
   
I do it for me. It steadies my balance, gets my body moving, and gives my mind a small, satisfying win. And when I’m done, the space feels kinder—more welcoming, more human.
I leave it better than I found it.
   
That’s my quiet contribution. 🌱✨ 
And honestly?
That’s a small win worth celebrating.
Everyone give me a big YEAH!
(I can’t hear you, but I’m choosing to believe it was loud.) 🎉👏
   
Strange days. My room sits at the very end of a hallway. The guy next to me moved out. The two across the hall are gone, too. And suddenly my mind, ever the drama-loving novelist, whispers: “What does this say about me? Am I hard to be around?” Ah, yes—hello again, Inner Critic. You always show up uninvited.
   
Twice a day, like clockwork, they take my vitals—blood pressure, temperature, the usual roll call of numbers. Almost always the same. Steady. Predictable. A quiet reminder that, whatever my thoughts are doing, my body is still showing up for duty.
   
I’m watching the movie, “Life and Death Row”, right now, and here’s the unsettling part—it’s hard to tell where the film ends, and my reality begins. Sure, jail has harsher rules, but here, there are rules too. I have to stay in this building; I can’t go across the street to the park.
   
Lines you don’t cross. Doors you don’t open. Choices you don’t get to make. And yes—right now, I feel scared. Trapped. Like my life has been put on pause without asking my permission. Things are supposed to change after my move to a new place, but will they?
   
But even in that fear… I’m still watching, still noticing, and still writing.
And that means—quietly, stubbornly—I’m still here.
For some reason, I am furious right now, and I am not even sure why.
     
>>>>> January 20—
Nice to see all the staff back today. The place felt like it clicked back into gear—therapies, routines, the familiar hum of “normal.” Breakfast rolls out around 8 a.m., so I’ll head down soon. There are tables for communal eating, but I always bring my food back to my room before I officially meet it. Cream of wheat today. I politely declined. Some relationships are better left unexplored.
   
Unfortunately, all three therapy sessions today offered very little. Each felt oddly improvised—like jazz without the rhythm section. I go through the exercise, but think I am wasting my time. Therapists are here to help, I know that. Am I just not open to participation?
     
As I’ve written before, it would help immensely if one day a month were dedicated to laying out actual lesson plans for the coming weeks. Structure matters. Also worth noting: all three sessions started late. Time is precious—especially when you’re trying to rebuild a life, not just fill a calendar.
   
Therapy began at 9 a.m. with Terrie, who’s back from some time off—genuinely good to see her. In our six-person group, the topic was communication. Nothing new for me, though reminders never hurt. Still, there wasn’t much of a plan behind it, and the session drifted—a gentle waste of time, but a waste nonetheless.
   
At 10:00 came Speech with Lillie. The printer wasn’t working, so improvisation was needed again. She did her best, but it turned into the usual brain teasers. Five of us answered questions like:
What gets bigger the more you take away?    (A hole.)
What belongs to you but is used by others?    (Your name.)
What’s the center of gravity and is in Venus but not Mars?    (The letter “V.”)
These, and many more, can be found on your computer with a simple search.
Clever, sure. But familiar. Very familiar.
     
Finally, I met with Jules—who, sadly, had nothing planned at all. And that’s the most challenging part for me. I don’t mind effort. I don’t even mind the struggle. But I genuinely hate wasting time. Time is the one thing I’m trying hardest to protect.
     
Tomorrow’s another page. Let’s hope someone brings a pencil—and a plan. ✏️✨
     
>>>>> January 21—
Off we went to https://cleantheworld.org/—cue the work gloves and the good vibes.
Today’s mission: packing boxed bamboo toothbrushes. Simple task, sure—but why shuffle when you can streamline?
     
I spotted a way to make the whole operation smoother and faster, slid over to a quieter table with Maryann, and shared some efficiency magic. Fewer motions, better flow, same great impact. Productivity high-five. 🙌
     
Afterward, we rolled back to my current home, https://www.brainline.org/resource/neurorestorative-florida-avalon-park,
We parked the two vehicles and—like a well-oiled parade—walked together to www.southphillysteak.com.
   
A South Philly–style cheesesteak spot. And ohhh yes, it was really quite good. The true secret to a great cheesesteak? Start with great bread. Everything else just follows along, happily. If you’re anywhere near Orlando, you must try this place out. A few from NR joined us there; 4 therapists and 7 patients attended the party.
   
Next stop: the dentist at 2:30—just a few blocks away. But, as usual, NR insisted someone walk with me. Bless their cautious hearts. Little do they know I could jog laps around my escort, stop for a tea, and still arrive early. 😄
   
The appointment itself was pure magic—a few careful adjustments, some expert tinkering, and voilà—new, lower teeth that actually behave. I walked out smiling as I’d just won a small but meaningful lottery. The retainer fits beautifully now, and the dentist said I can come back anytime for fine-tuning.
 
And here’s the headline: I ate a chocolate chip cookie–No pain. Zero drama. Just crumbs, victory, and one delighted grin. 🍪😁 No more pain from this retainer, I am so happy. Steak and corn-on-the-cob, soon. How about you? Are you satisfied with your smile?
   
Most evenings, Octavio comes to my room, gives me my meds, and checks me. He was surprised, as I was, that the swelling in my legs and feet had gone away. I still want to find out why this occurred. Earlier in the day, they had given me a pill, a diuretic, which made me pee, and now, as I wrote, the swelling is gone. Now I have to find out why this happened in the first place.
   
>>>>> January 22—
I set my teeth in place first thing this morning—around 5 a.m., before the sun even clocked in. That was three hours ago, and here’s the miracle: no pain. None. Zero. A quiet victory. I want to ease into this new addition to my mouth—and to eating—so I’ll report back as the day unfolds.
   
At 9 a.m., we gathered with Terrie from OT and played Mille Bornes. I’ll be honest: it felt like a time-filler. But—plot twist—I won. So there’s that. 🏁
   
Next came Cognitive Group with Lilly. Another puzzle game. Another filler. I keep thinking: it’s okay not to have something every single day… but if you do have something, why not make it count? There are so many excellent games and tasks explicitly designed to help people with brain injuries. A simple search opens a whole world of possibilities.
   
https://www.google.com/search?q=games+to+help+with+head+injury+for+adults&rlz=1C1VDKB_enUS1128US1129&oq=games+to+&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUqCAgAEEUYJxg7MggIABBFGCcYOzIGCAEQRRg5MgYIAhAjGCcyCggDEAAYsQMYgAQyCggEEAAYsQMYgAQyCggFEAAYsQMYgAQyCggGEAAYsQMYgAQyBwgHEAAYgAQyBwgIEAAYgAQyBwgJEAAYjwLSAQkxNTYwMmowajeoAgCwAgA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8
   
I was told I could find a good match and introduce it to the group. I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it: I’m not here to do their homework. I’ll gladly participate—but I won’t run the class.
And that’s it for therapies today.
   
I am scheduled to go across the street with someone from NR to juggle and run. I’ve passed on this before because of the deep afternoon tiredness that rolls in like fog. I also haven’t juggled for months. Running? Even longer. Still… we’ll see. I’ll let you know.
   
Midday check-in: still no pain from the retainer. But later in the afternoon, I yawned—and pop!—it came out. I’d worn it all day and decided that was enough for one round. Eating without it feels strange and keeps reminding me of that not-so-great decision to have all my lower teeth extracted. Regret has a way of sneaking into quiet moments.
   
In the afternoon, I went out with Susan from NR—escort required. I’m embarrassed to admit how rough the juggling went. I couldn’t even juggle three clubs. I used to juggle seven without thinking about it. Running wasn’t much better. My legs felt confused, like they’d misplaced the instruction manual: one foot in front of the other.

I will never be close to the juggler that I once was. 

Juggling was a significant part of my life from age 15 onward. And now… here I am. I don’t feel much interest in throwing and catching anymore. That’s hard to say. Something needs to replace it. Writing may be that thing. It already is, in many ways. How am I doing with it? That’s the real question now.
   
After my big accident, when I could no longer juggle as I once did, I created a two-day workshop to help jugglers advance. I traveled the world teaching, coaching, and lifting others higher. I wrote Juggling with Finesse, a book many have called the best written on the subject. Over 25,000 copies sold worldwide. That mattered. It still does.
   
Along the way, I created a fresh salsa that people absolutely loved. What started as a simple idea grew into https://sites.google.com/site/summerssalsa/summerssalsa.com
a business I proudly ran for 20 years—right up until life threw me another plot twist and I got hit by a truck. (Yes… another one. Apparently, I attract bumpers.)
   
And here’s the best part: you can make it too.
Reach out to me, and I’ll happily send you the salsa recipe.   kitsummers@gmail.com
Good things—like great salsa and great lives—are meant to be shared. 💃🔥
   
In life, age plays a role, too—hard as I hate to admit it. I never think of myself as old, but at 66, reality taps you on the shoulder and clears its throat. Still, I’ll keep pushing until the end. Age lives mainly in the mind, and I refuse to let it move in rent-free.
   
Just now, I heard the man across the hall moaning. I thought he’d been moved to a hospital, but there it was—the sound of pain. It hit me hard. I want to help him, but there’s nothing I can do. He is tasting aging in its harshest form, and it breaks my heart.
 
Aging is not about doing less.
Often, it’s about realizing no one is looking out for you but you.
Treat yourself well.
Keep your self-respect.
Speak kindly to yourself.
Aging isn’t about shrinking—it’s about moving with care.
   
You deserve kindness now.
You come first.
You may be older, but don’t give up.
You have much left to give.
   
Keep a smile as you do the things you love.
You’ve lived a whole life—you know what matters.
And you’re still here.
That means the story isn’t over yet. 🌱
   
>>>>> January 23—
Happy 1-2-3 (January Twenty Third)!
 
A Few More Ideas to Help You Dance Past 100 💃🕺
1–Tame inflammation—and inflation. (Your joints and your wallet will thank you.)
2–Keep your muscles awake and working. Strength is independence in disguise.
3–Keep the rivers flowing. Smooth circulation keeps the whole village alive.
4–Eat the rainbow. Berries, fish, nuts, leafy greens—color is medicine wearing a cape. 🌈
5–Respect your gut. Chew slowly, absorb fully. Rushing food is like skimming poetry.
6–Beware of sneaky dehydration. Drink fluids regularly—yes, water counts… beer doesn’t. 🍺😉
7–Calm the chronic stress machine. Worry ages faster than birthdays.
8–Sleep is nightly medicine. No copay, no prescription—just lights out.
9–Heal emotional loneliness. Silence can hurt louder than noise.
10–Connect often with people, animals, plants, conversations, laughter—LIFE.
11–Live fully. Not later. Not someday. Now. The clock is ticking—make it dance. ⏰✨
     
Today’s Therapy Adventures (or… Extended Recess?)

First up: OT with Maura—a “Visual Group.”
I might criticize, but Maura is quite good at what she does.
Each of us received a calendar and answered questions about dates and events. A visual scanning exercise, yes… but one that felt more like busywork than brain-building. My mind stayed polite, but it didn’t exactly light up.
   
Next came the ever-thrilling classic: BINGO.
Three games. I won one.
No prize.
No chicken dinner. 🐔
(Darn, you know what they say, Winner winner—chicken dinner.)
Just time passing politely, wearing the costume of therapy.
   
And here’s the rub:
There are countless evidence-based, engaging activities available with a simple computer search—tasks that challenge cognition, coordination, creativity, and purpose. Yet the rotation remains stuck in old routines and old games.
   
I’ve been told I should “find what I like and present it.”
Nope. That’s backwards.
It’s the therapist’s role to research, design, and deliver what best serves the group—not ask patients to do the curriculum planning. Therapy should evolve, not loop.
   
Old brains deserve new ideas.
Healing deserves intention.
And time—precious, irreplaceable time—deserves better than being filled.
Still… onward.
Still here.
Still aiming for 100—and beyond. 🚀
       
3)🌟 BLOG 361–Living Beyond the Age of 100?
Sorry to break it to you (actually… not sorry at all):
You are getting older.   So am I.
Congratulations—we’re still in the game. 🎉
   
As for me? I’m not tiptoeing toward the exit.
I’m aiming boldly past 100.
Care to join me on this deliciously audacious challenge?
     
Living to 100 isn’t a single magic trick—it’s a full-blown juggling act. 🎪
A little good DNA, a lot of smart daily habits,
And yes… a pinch of luck tossed high into the air.
     
Those who pull it off earn a great title: “Centenarians”.
I like to think of them as life’s master jugglers—
Still catching, still smiling, still playing long after others sat down.
Your move. 😉
       
The usual suspects matter:
🥗 Eating well
🚶‍♂️ Moving your body
🚭 Not smoking
🧘‍♂️ Keeping stress from eating your lunch
👫 Staying socially connected

SET 100 AS A GOAL NOW AND GEAR YOUR LIFE TO ACHIEVING IT! 

Some people are “delayers”—they push serious diseases way down the road. Others are “escapers”—they somehow dodge disease almost entirely. But once you step past 100, the spotlight swings hard toward genetics. DNA starts calling more of the shots.
   
Centenarians are becoming more common, yet the outer limit of human life still seems to be around 120 years (can you do 121?) For now. Science keeps tapping on that wall, testing it, nudging it, whispering, “Move.” If longer lives become the norm, they’ll demand more than candles on a cake. 🎂
 
More Key Factors for Reaching 100+ >>

• Diet: Eating a varied, healthy diet with minimal meat is common among long-lived individuals.
• Genetics: A major predictor; having long-lived parents increases your chances, and specific genes influence aging.
• Lifestyle: Avoiding smoking and excessive alcohol, maintaining a healthy weight, engaging in regular exercise (walking, strength training), and managing stress are crucial.
• Social & Mental Well-being: Strong relationships, purpose, happiness, and positive outlook are linked to longevity.
• Health Behaviors: Centenarians often remain active and mentally engaged, delaying the onset of significant health issues.
            

Living beyond 100 will require financial foresight and a purposeful approach.
It’s a lifestyle built not just to last—but to mean something.
Living past 100 isn’t about adding years to life.
It’s about adding life to the years—long before you ever blow out candle #100. 💥💙
 
Beyond 100 isn’t about tiptoeing through life wrapped in bubble wrap—it’s about showing up with curiosity, movement, laughter, and a mischievous grin. The people who thrive longest tend to keep their bodies gently busy, their minds wildly interested, and their hearts socially tangled up with other humans.
     
A few things about people getting older:
They eat food that once had a passport (plants!), walk like it’s their job, stress less about small stuff, and keep saying yes to conversations, friendships, and purpose. Longevity isn’t a finish line—it’s a daily dance. 💃🕺
   
And here’s the fun secret: living past 100 starts right now, no matter how old you are. It’s built from tiny, joyful choices stacked like LEGO bricks—one walk, one laugh, one deep breath, one good habit at a time. See your life differently—in a beautiful light.
   
Genetics may load the dice, but lifestyle rolls them. So keep learning, keep moving, keep loving people fiercely, and keep planning a future you’re excited to wake up to. If you’re going to live a long time, make it playful, meaningful, and full of sparkle.
     
Our bodies never stop evolving. From peak growth in young adulthood to subtle cellular shifts later in life, each decade brings its own physical, hormonal, and cognitive changes. While we may typically focus on major milestones such as puberty or menopause, the more subtle transformations over the years are just as interesting — and often far less noticeable.
     
For instance, did you know that the average person shrinks a few inches throughout their life? Or that emotional well-being tends to increase with age? Here’s a look at what changes to expect in each decade of adulthood

There is No Heaven, There is No Hell.
Sorry to bust your Bubble, Surprise.
You Have This ONE LIFE to live —
MAKE IT THE BEST YOU CAN! 

🌱 Your 20s: The Foundation Years
This is often considered the physical prime, the discovery years. Muscle builds quickly. Recovery is fast. Resilience is high. The brain is still finishing its construction—especially the prefrontal cortex, the command center for judgment, impulse control, and long-term planning. Bone density peaks, laying the structural groundwork for decades to come.
     
🔥 Your 30s: The Transition Decade
Subtle shifts begin. Muscle mass and strength start to decline at roughly 3–5% per decade after age 30. Hormonal changes influence fat distribution, especially around the abdomen. You must keep your mind on a fantastic path toward the end note.
         
🌤️ Your 40s: The Awareness Years
This is when changes become harder to ignore. Women may enter perimenopause, with fluctuating estrogen affecting mood, metabolism, and sleep. Men experience a gradual decline in testosterone—about 1% per year—that involves energy and muscle mass.
       
🌳 Your 50s: The Power of Consistency
Menopause marks a major hormonal shift for women (and some men🤣), affecting bone density, heart health, and sometimes libido. Muscle loss accelerates in both sexes, and daily tasks may require more effort.
     
🌊 Your 60s: The Wisdom Decade
Mobility, balance, and independence take center stage.
Changes in the inner ear increase the risk of falls. Sleep becomes lighter. Taste and smell may fade slightly. Reflexes slow, and word recall may take a beat longer. These are regular shifts—not signs of decline. Many people report lower anxiety, reduced stress, and a deeper perspective than in earlier decades. The mind softens even as it sharpens its wisdom.
   
🍂 Your 70s: The Harvest
Lifestyle choices now speak loudly.
Sarcopenia—loss of muscle mass and strength—becomes more noticeable. Immunity weakens. Chronic conditions may require closer management. Vision, digestion, and bone density demand attention.
   
🌟 Your 80s: The Resilience Years
Here, the contrast between lifelong habits becomes clear—but so does the body’s remarkable adaptability. Frailty affects some, increasing fall risk. Lung capacity may be about 40% lower than the youthful peak. Digestion slows, appetite decreases, and protein becomes essential. And still—many people maintain cardiovascular efficiency, functional strength, and endurance when they keep moving.
   
🌈 Your 90s: The Big Truth
Aging is not something that happens to us.
It’s something we participate in.
There is no resisting it. Here you go.
Your body is not your enemy—it’s your lifelong partner.
Treat it with curiosity, respect, and play.
Move it. Feed it well. Rest it wisely. Love it fiercely.
Your journey is not winding down; it’s widening.
   
😁OVER 100!—YOU MADE IT!
So… how about that 100-plus adventure? I’ll meet you there. 💫
Not because I fear the end. But because I love the experiment. Care to join us?
I’ll save you a seat on the long road. Plenty of room. Plenty of joy. And absolutely no rush.
Aim toward 100 now, while you still can.
CENTURIANVILLE, A NICE PLACE TO BE!
   
It’s time, my friend—pull up a chair, loosen your shoelaces, and pour yourself a tall glass of possibility. This is not a medical report. This is a story. A bright, curious story about what it means to keep living long after the world quietly expects you to slow down. 🌈
   
The Long Game
I was watching a video the other day about living beyond 75.
Not surviving. Not coasting. Living Life.
Of course, we can live beyond 75.
Of course, we can live beyond 100.
The real question is: Do we want to live awake?
   
Sorry to say, you are getting older. So am I.
Congratulations! 🎉 You made it this far.
But here’s my plan: I’m not aiming for old. I’m aiming for experience.
Seasoned. Curious. Still dancing with life. I have much left to see and do here.
And yes—still making plans that scare me just enough to feel delicious.
   
I’m going past 100 and not dragging myself there.
Striding. You’re welcome to join me.
Keep finding the joy — daily (EVERY MINUTE!)
Each Decade Is a Character in the Story
   
Our bodies never stop evolving. Never.
They don’t retire. They adapt.
Each decade shows up like a new character in a long novel—
same hero, different costume, deeper plot.        
     
4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
     
“The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes.” ~ Frank Lloyd Wright
   
“Live with joy until you die!”~Kit Summers
   
“Make death something to look forward to, not something to fear.”  Kit Summers
   
“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.” ~Sophia Loren
   
“Every year should teach you something valuable; whether you get the lesson is up to you. Every year brings you closer to expressing your whole and healed self.” ~Oprah Winfrey
   
“One of the reasons people get old—lose their livelihood—is that they get weighed down by all of their stuff.” ~Richard Leider
   
“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” ~Mark Twain
   
“I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward.” ~ Mary Sarton
   
“Of all the self-fulfilling prophecies in our culture, the assumption that aging means decline and poor health is probably the deadliest.” ~ Marilyn Ferguson
   
“Age is no barrier. It’s a limitation you put on your mind.” ~Jackie Joyner-Kersee
   
“Know that you are the perfect age. Each year is special and precious, for you shall only live it once. Be comfortable with growing older.” ~Louise Hay
 
“Oh, the worst of all tragedies is not to die young, but to live until I am seventy-five and yet not ever truly to have lived.” ~ Martin Luther King Jr.
     
“You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.” ~George Bernard Shaw
   
“I believe the second half of one’s life is meant to be better than the first half. The first half is finding out how you do it. And the second half is enjoying it.” ~Frances Lear
   
“We are not victims of aging, sickness, and death. These are part of the scenery, not the seer, who is immune to any form of change. This seer is the spirit, the expression of eternal being.” ~Deepak Chopra
   
“Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.” ~Franz Kafka
     
“To find joy in work is to discover the fountain of youth.” ~Pearl S. Buck
 
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
See and live your life at a younger age–You can do it!
Keep the joy and wonder in your life forever.
     
6) NEXT WEEK–BLOG 363–HOW TO JUGGLE!  
If you can’t, you will learn.
If you can, you will learn new tricks.

Write me today–kitsummers@gmail.com

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! 

  ✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 360–Are you a r-o-b-o-t? 🌟
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. ✨

1)  THE BEGINNINGS
Every story asks this question first: Where do I begin?
The answer is simple—and also complicated.
It began a long, long time ago, when I was very young…  
     
Lately, things don’t seem to be lining up for me in a good way. Or is that the way I am perceiving it? My daughters, Jasmine and April, don’t call or connect with me. I’ve become very lonely without anyone. And so many other things.
       
At this point, you already know I use ChatGPT.com—
and let me be crystal clear, spotlight-on-the-stage clear:
Every idea. Every sentence. Every story.
They all start inside my own head. 🧠✨
     
I write the blog. I choose the words. I wrestle with the thoughts.
Then—only then—I invite Chat in like a trusted editor who says,
“Hey… what if we polished this diamond just a little more?”
     
Chat doesn’t think for me.
It doesn’t feel for me. It doesn’t live for me.
It helps me clarify, tighten, and brighten—like good lighting on a stage that was already built. 🎭💡
The voice is mine. The heartbeat is mine. The scars and sparks are mine.
   
Think of it this way:
I’m still the juggler, throwing objects into the air.
Chat helps me keep them flying better… and shining a little brighter. 🤹‍♂️✨
     
The soul? 100% human.
The experience? Earned the hard way.
The juggling? Chat helps me keep the balls in the air—dropping fewer along the way.
The words? Mine—just wearing a cleaner, sharper suit when they step out to meet you.
And if they sparkle a bit more now?
Good. That means the message got through. 💥💙
   
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
      Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> January 10—A Red Crayon?
This morning turned into a marathon of modern medicine—minus the running. 🩺😄
I arrived at the doctor’s office at 8:00 a.m., bright-eyed and compliant, and stayed until nearly noon… mostly waiting for one small but mighty event: a blood draw.
   
Yes. Hours. For blood.
   
At one point, I considered asking if I could borrow a red crayon—and draw my own blood, but they didn’t go for it. (Relax, medical professionals, I did not actually attempt a DIY phlebotomy.
Humor only. 😉)
   
In fairness, blood work isn’t trivial. It’s a crucial diagnostic snapshot—checking things like electrolytes, kidney function, inflammation markers, medication levels, and all those invisible numbers that quietly run the body’s backstage operations. These tests help rule things out, confirm what’s working, and catch what might be drifting off course. Slow? Yes. Important? Also yes.
   
But still… a long wait is a long wait.
     
Back at NR, the weekend rhythm kicked in—the familiar low-pulse pace. Fewer staff, fewer activities, fewer therapies. Weekends here tend to be more about maintenance than momentum. Bodies heal on their own schedules, and sometimes the best medicine available is rest, patience, and not throwing your red crayons at anyone. 🎨
   
So today was one of those days:
Not dramatic.
Not productive.
Not forward-charging.
No juggling involved.
But still part of the process.
   
Healing isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it whispers,
“Sit still. We’re working.”
   
>>>>> January 11—It’s a funny thing
I sit down each day with no map, no plan, no GPS recalculating.
Then suddenly… ideas show up.
They tap me on the shoulder,
Clear their throats,
And say, “Write us down.”
So I do.
   
And somewhere between the first word and the last sentence, a path appears.
Not because I forced it—but because I trusted it.
So tell me, my friend…
     
Sunday Musings from the Peanut Gallery ☀️
Sunday showed up right on schedule. I noticed—pleasantly—that church and God are not part of the NR program. Good. Religion and belief are deeply personal things, and they belong right there: personal. If believing in a religious God helps you, excellent—truly. Carry it proudly — don’t push it on me!
   
It’s just never been my path. For me, it’s a little sad to see how much time people spend inventing stories instead of living their lives—but hey, to each their own cosmic playlist.🎶Humans have invented thousands of gods. If you have one, how did you pick yours? It’s probably how you were raised. 

At 7 a.m., the scale made its dramatic entrance. 190 pounds. Yikes. 😬
My happy place is closer to 160. But let’s be fair—being here means no real chance to run, juggle, or properly move my body the way it loves to move. This isn’t laziness; it’s logistics.
           
This is not a setback. It’s a pause before momentum.
The scale doesn’t get the final vote—movement does.
And movement is coming. 🌱💥 watch me. 

Here’s the good news, and it’s juicy. 🍅
The new place they’re setting me up to move to?
More land. More space. More freedom.
Room to juggle. Room to run. Room to think.
Room to grow a garden that will try to take over the planet.
     
Here he goes again—the man across the hall. I won’t say his name.
This time, he moved down the hallway on his hands and knees, completely naked.
His mind is injured. Guard yours carefully.

My heart went first to the nurse who stepped in to help him—and just as strongly to him. His mind drifts far from the present, untethered from place, purpose, even from himself. This is not a choice. His injury has taken the wheel, and he is no longer steering.
   
I just found out the man who lived across the hall has been moved to a full hospital—somewhere with more tools than NR can offer. I felt a real ache for him. When a brain injury takes the steering wheel, life can veer off in heartbreaking ways. None of this was his choice.
   
I hope he’s surrounded now by patience, skill, love, and kindness—and by people who remember the person still in there, even when his mind forgets the map. Moments like this remind me how fragile we all are… and how much compassion still matters, maybe more than anything. 💛
   
Moments like this land heavily.
They press on the chest and linger.
They remind us how fragile the mind truly is—and how deeply we depend on compassion when it falters. None of us is immune. None of us is promised clarity forever. The line between “me” and “that could be me” is thinner than we like to admit.
   
So we are invited—again and again—to ask the essential questions.
Not in panic, but in presence:
1–Who am I—beneath the labels and roles?
2–What am I becoming, right now, in this breath?
3–And what’s next—if I meet it with honesty, courage, and care?
These questions aren’t meant to frighten us.
They’re meant to wake us up. 🌱
     
So once again, I say this gently but firmly: protect your mind.
Care for it. Challenge it. Rest it. Feed it beauty and truth.
It is precious. It is powerful.
And it is the only one you have.
   
Brain injury can do that. It can hijack a person’s dignity, their awareness, their sense of self. It can take over a life—and sometimes not in gentle ways. Moments like that remind me how fortunate I am to have the level of control I still do. Grateful, aware, and humbled all at once.
     
A strange kind of tiredness has crept in lately. Not the ordinary, “I stayed up too late” kind—but a heavy, foggy sleepiness that rolls through my day without warning. Even when I believe I’ve slept enough, it arrives anyway, uninvited and undeniable.
   
This isn’t something I’ve always known. It’s only surfaced over the past few months, quietly but persistently, as if my body flipped a switch without asking my permission. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t invite it. Yet here it is—another reminder that sometimes life changes the rules mid-game, and all we can do is notice, adapt, and keep moving forward with as much grace as we can muster. 🌱
     
I went out today to pick up trash and cigarette butts. I skipped it yesterday—and wow, did the ground keep score. In one small patch alone, I counted at least thirty-five butts. 35. It still amazes me how often smoking seems to come with an invisible permission slip to litter anywhere. I may need to quietly observe who’s using that spot… the planet has filed a complaint. 🌍🚫
   
And then—whoops—my mind wandered into darker territory again. Those heavy thoughts showed up, the ones that whisper about un-life, about not seeing a future, about wondering why I even stay around. I hate when that happens. I can feel how I spiral, how my own thoughts pile on and make it harder to climb back out.
   
But here’s the truth I’m relearning, slowly and stubbornly: these thoughts are visitors, not landlords. They arrive uninvited, make a mess, and eventually leave. When they do, it helps to say something—to write it, to tell someone, to let a little air in. I’m still here. Still picking things up and still choosing, again and again, to stay.
   
And for today, that’s enough. 🌱
     
>>>>> January 12–Up long before the birds
The day began before dawn, my mind already awake while the world still slept.
Therapies were minimal today.
     
At 10 a.m., OT began—but the activity wasn’t for me. Another bean-bag-through-a-hole game. Cornhole’s cousin. I know these games work for some people, but for me, they feel like motion without meaning. Time is precious. I want mine to matter.
   
From 11 to 12, we gathered as a group to name all the U.S. states. Hints were offered. I knew most of them—having been to every state myself—but often stayed quiet so others could participate. Still, I felt the gap. Being in a room where the level of thinking is usually more difficult than my own, it’s exhausting. I don’t say that with judgment—just honesty.
   
While I was downstairs, I saw Terrie and asked about a few things for the garden. She reminded me I’m not supposed to be out there alone. That ship had already sailed—I’d been out there early this morning, gardening and cleaning. Maybe they don’t know yet. Either way, I’ll be moving on soon. I’m hoping the next place allows more trust, more freedom, and a little less absurdity.
     
Lately, I feel detached. Numb. Lonely. Afraid of what comes next. I hate admitting that.
What I do know—without question—is this: no one gets to control me or my will. Still, being here feels like watching my life idle in neutral while the clock keeps ticking. That’s the part that hurts the most.
   
This afternoon, I returned from a follow-up with the doctor—the same one who previously widened my throat and performed the colonoscopy. I had concerns. He found an issue in my throat, and they’ll be going back in to fix it. Another chapter. Another repair.
   
Still standing.
Still here.
Still moving—however slowly—forward.
And tomorrow?
We try again. 🌱
     
>>>>> January 13—More doctors
This morning began with yet another doctor’s appointment, followed by another one this afternoon. My body seems determined to audition for a medical mystery series. Random cramps pop up in different places, joining forces with the swelling in my legs. That’s just swell, indeed. I can’t help but wonder—what’s next?
   
Right now, I’m staring at two pills. Vitamins, technically. And yet I hesitate. I’m afraid they’ll get stuck in my throat. I hate that feeling—the panic, the helplessness. Truth be told, I don’t like much about life right now. When everything feels this heavy, it’s hard not to ask: if you don’t want to be here, why take pills at all?
     
Only one official stop on today’s itinerary: speech group with Lillie.
No parade. No confetti cannons.
Just me, a chair, and my ever-mysterious memory. 🧠✨
   
Of course, it turned into more memory work—
The very muscle that currently behaves like a cat.
Sometimes it comes when called.
Sometimes it stares at me, yawns, and walks away.
     
But here’s the quieter truth humming underneath it all:
Showing up still counts. Struggling still counts.
Sitting in the room and giving it an honest go? That absolutely counts. 💪
Memory may be wobbly, but effort isn’t.
Curiosity isn’t. Heart isn’t.
     
So today wasn’t about nailing answers or impressing anyone.
It was about practicing patience. Laughing when I could.
And reminding myself—again—that progress doesn’t always look like victory laps.
Sometimes it looks like staying in the game. 🎯
     
One group. One effort.
One more brick laid in the long, slow, noble rebuild.
And that, my friend, is nothing. ✨
   
Of course, it turned into more memory work—
The very muscle that currently behaves like a cat.
Sometimes it comes when called.
Sometimes it stares at me, yawns, and walks away.
   
I won’t sugarcoat it: this is not my strong suit right now.
Names slip. Details vanish. Facts do the Houdini.
And yes—watching that happen can sting.
     
Part of me wants to run—into the wild, into nowhere—and disappear for a while. This morning we drove nearly an hour to see a psychiatrist. Not really for me, I don’t think. I don’t know what could help my mental state right now. I know people want to help. I know I have to help myself, too. I just never imagined my life would feel this painfully off-track.
   
I can’t remember the name of the person who drove me this morning. The driver this afternoon—Karen—said nothing the entire ride. She went too fast, blew through stop signs, and kept the radio on in Spanish. The lack of words and the reckless driving rattled me. I was deeply relieved when we finally arrived.
   
As I headed in to see the doctor, I suggested Karen check out my website. She replied, “Why would I want to do that?” Fair enough. I wasn’t trying to recruit traffic—just offering a small window into who I am. Still, the comment landed harder than I expected.
     
Some days, even the smallest moments echo louder than they should. Yes—there’s a lot of noise lately. Inside. Outside. Everywhere. Still, I hold on to this hope: that my words might help you reach for your best, even when mine feel just out of reach.
   
Every day I tell myself, “Things have got to get better tomorrow.”
Then tomorrow arrives… and it looks suspiciously like today.
But hope is stubborn. And so am I.
   
So I keep speaking, keep writing,
keep believing that one of these tomorrows
will finally wink back and say, “Here we go.” 🌱✨
     
I just checked my feet and lower legs.
THEY’RE HUGE!
I don’t know which doctor to see about this.
I’m getting scared.
   
Something strange. I just found out they are going to check on me every 15 minutes through the night. I will let you know how it goes.

    (Come on now, are those really Kit’s feet?) 
     
>>>>> January 14—Some hurts
Awake by 4 a.m.—before the birds, before the excuses, before the world clears its throat.

Here I go again. I didn’t hear them checking on me through the night, which is a relief. No footsteps. No flashlight pause. Just quiet. I’ll take quiet wherever I can find it these days.
   
This morning brings more blood work. The familiar rule applies: no eating, no drinking, just waiting. You see, I fast very quickly. Funny how the body becomes a list of instructions instead of a home. As I sit with the emptiness, I catch myself thinking about fasting—really fasting—a whole month. No food. Just willpower, green tea, and stubborn resolve. I know I could do it. Watch me. That fire still lives in here somewhere. 🔥
   
But I won’t sugarcoat it—things have gotten rough inside my head.
     
My daughters don’t call.
Loneliness presses in, heavy and uninvited.
My leg feels like it’s staging a full-blown rebellion.
And today… another needle, another vial, another reminder that I’m being measured and tested.
It’s a long list of “bad.” A loud one.
   
And yet—here I am. Still getting up and still moving forward. Still putting one foot in front of the other, even when I’m not sure what I’m walking toward. Maybe purpose hasn’t shown its face yet. Maybe it’s late. Maybe it’s shy. But I keep going anyway, because stopping has never been my style. 🚶‍♂️✨
 
Later, I was supposed to meet with Dino from 1:00 to 1:30, but he didn’t show. So I went looking. There’s something almost poetic about that—when the meeting doesn’t come to you, you find it. Eventually, we crossed paths, and we had a genuinely good conversation. Human. Grounded. Helpful.
   
And that was it.
That was the entirety of today’s therapy.
   
As I was working on this, lunch quietly arrived—like a gentle tap on the shoulder from the universe saying, “Hey… pause a moment.” I hadn’t even been keeping track of time. I was in that good place—the lost-in-creation place—where minutes slip by unnoticed, and the world softens around the edges. ✨
     
Green beans. Scalloped potatoes. Chicken—carefully prepared, cut into bite-sized pieces for a man temporarily traveling with only the upper half of his set of teeth. 😄
And you know what? It mattered.
   
They feed me well here. Not just calories, but care. Someone thought ahead. Someone made sure I could eat with dignity. Someone remembered me. 💚
It’s a small thing—until it isn’t.
   
Because in a season when so much feels uncertain, when the big questions loom loud and heavy, these quiet mercies whisper, “You are still being carried.”
     
Not a packed schedule.
Not a miracle cure.
Just one real conversation—and sometimes, that’s enough to keep the wheels turning.
   
As I was working on these words, lunch quietly arrived—like a gentle tap on the shoulder from the universe saying, “Hey… pause a moment.” I hadn’t even been keeping track of time. I was in that good place—the lost-in-creation place—where minutes slip by unnoticed, and the world softens around the edges. ✨
   
Because in a season when so much feels uncertain, when the big questions loom loud and heavy, these quiet mercies whisper, “You are still being carried.”
Sometimes inspiration doesn’t crash in like fireworks. 🎆
Sometimes it arrives on a tray.
Warm. Thoughtful. Ordinary.
And absolutely enough.
Even when the map is missing. 🌱
   
Every afternoon, right on schedule—
like it has a clipboard and a whistle—
My body waves a little white flag.
Not collapse-on-the-couch tired.
Not run-a-marathon tired.
   
This is that sneaky, syrupy, eyelids-turn-to-lead sleepy tiredness. 😴
The kind that tiptoes in, sits on your shoulders, and whispers,
“Pssst… wouldn’t it be nice to just… fade out for a bit?”
   
Now, we all know I don’t get much sleep, and I and sleep are currently in a long-distance relationship. So yes—this afternoon slump may be my body sending a perfectly reasonable memo:
“Dear Kit, you’re running on fumes again.”
A nap might help. A nap would help.
     
A classic standoff.
An old Western.
High noon in the nervous system. 🤠
   
And honestly? I don’t yet know the solution.
The answer may be a short nap.
It could be a movement.
It could be forgiveness.
Maybe it’s listening—really listening—to what this tiredness is trying to teach me.
     
For now, I notice it. I name it.
I don’t beat myself up for it.
Because even though I’m tired, I’m still here.
Still curious. Still playing the long game.
And that, my friends, counts as forward motion—even at half speed. 🚀✨
   

       Come on now — is that really Kit? 

But then there’s my mind.
Ah, yes—my ever-vigilant, slightly stubborn, drum-major-with-a-whistle mind. 🥁
It snaps to attention and shouts:
“No naps! We have things to do!
Thoughts to think! Words to write! Life to LIVE!”
So there I sit—Body begging for a power-down.
Mind refusing to surrender.
    =====
On to a different subject–Somehow, through a clerical error, a cosmic prank, or Cupid with a subscription problem—I’ve been receiving a month-long supply of Viagra every single month. I don’t remember ordering it. I don’t remember needing it. And at the moment, there’s no lucky lady nearby to inspire any blue-pill heroics.
   
So there they sit.
A drawer full of potential.
A hopeful Kit looking on.
Hope in tablet form.
Confidence… still sealed.
   
I finally put a six-month pause on the deliveries—not because I’ve given up, oh no—but because I’m optimistic. Because I’m imagining a future where these little blue overachievers won’t gather dust… they’ll rise to the occasion, as I will, too. I have to find her. 
     
Consider this a rain check on passion.
A promise deferred, not denied.
Do you know who she is?
Stay tuned. 😏✨

>>>>> January 15— Theripyness
I spent the morning with Maura for OT. I have only therapy scheduled for today. We started by walking out to the garden to check on how things were growing. It had rained through the night—good, steady rain—the kind that makes the plants quietly smile and maybe, just maybe, makes you take a breath you didn’t know you needed.
   
Maura noticed my balance and walking were off today. I felt it too. No argument there. It makes me question everything. Am I getting worse, or am I improving? How do I compare to five years ago? Age, me, no–I’m still smiling at the age of 23.
   
Back inside, we worked on eye–hand coordination with the board I’ve nicknamed Wake-a-Mole. I didn’t do great. After a while, I just stopped trying. That’s been happening more lately. She suggested Scrabble, other games, maybe a puzzle, but I said no. We ended early. It circles back to the same brutal truth: when you don’t really care about living, it’s hard to care about games.
   
Next up was a cognitive group with Lillie. Word-finding, we played Boggle. I didn’t do well, not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t have it in me to care. Here’s how the game works: you make words out of letters that are touching:
T A  R  S
E  I  L  S
W N O T
R  E C A
Words like tar, ton, net, not, and so on. How many can you find?
     
During the session, a man came through who seemed okay at first—clear speech, normal tone. Then he suddenly started yelling and cursing loudly. The brain injury was speaking for him. It’s a stark reminder of how fragile we all are.
     
Nothing scheduled for the afternoon, which always makes me wonder why I’m here. And then that strange tiredness came again—the sleepy weight that settles on me. I lay down on the bed, just waiting for something to change (it doesn’t.)
   
But here’s the quiet flicker of hope: even when it feels like I’m just lying there, waiting, there’s a tiny part of me that notices the rain, that still finds a little curiosity in a game of letters, and that wonders if tomorrow might feel a bit lighter. That tiny spark is still there, even if it’s just a whisper. And sometimes, a whisper of hope is enough to hold onto.
   
Just got back from making my rounds—the garden, the patio, my little kingdom of care. 🌱👑
One spot looked like a cigarette convention had come to a tragic end—at least 50 spent butts were dumped there. How does someone do that so mindlessly? It’s like littering and apathy shook hands and said, “Let’s ruin this corner.”
   
Strong winds today, too, so I chased down runaway trash like a one-person cleanup parade. 🧹💨
And yes… I wondered, as I often do:
Does anyone even notice that I’m quietly tending this place?
Keeping it decent.
Keeping it alive.
Even if they don’t—the garden and I know.
And today, that’s enough. 🌿✨

>>>>> January 16 —Speaking with Silence. 
Up early, as usual. Jump in the shower (no, I didn’t just go in there and jump up and down). Always feels great to be all cleaned up.
   
Only one therapy scheduled for today, Dina at 11 for half an hour. I really don’t know how this works in terms of therapy sessions and who sets them up. Why am I kept here??
     
As I was sleeping last night, this morning I awoke, these words came to mind >>
Speaking with Silence.
Of course, that will go toward a future blog. Do you have any other suggestions for me?

I just found out from the nurse that my weight has been increasing because, for some reason, my body is retaining fluids. She told me I will be given a diuretic later. Oh, lucky me. But I do like the chocolate I consume.
   
3) 🌟BLOG 360–Are you a r-o-b-o-t?

Click the box. If you can’t, then you ARE a robot! 

HUMANS HAVE PERFECT MOVEMENT?
(Short answer: adorable thought. Incorrect answer. 😄)
We keep building robots in our own image.
Two arms. Two legs. A head perched neatly on top.
 
We’re not perfect, but I haven’t seen any studies on how we can build better. As if the human body were the final draft—Laminated, signed, and stamped “Approved by the Universe.” It isn’t. Robots will likely build themselves better.
   
Think about it, robots are already catching up to human intelligence. That part is happening fast.
But when it comes to movement, we hand them our exact old blueprint—
Knees that grind, spines that protest, balance that disappears at the worst possible moment.

Why? Because humans are the only model we know. Not because we’re optimal.
Not because we’re efficient. Just… familiar. Nature, meanwhile, is quietly laughing at us.
No one is taking the time to come up with a better format.
   
Wheels beat feet on roads.
Wings embarrass arms in the sky.
Octopus tentacles run circles around fingers in tight spaces.
     
No creature is perfect at everything—
So why are we forcing robots to cosplay as humans?
Here’s the real leap.
     
The grown-up question. The one that makes ego sweat.
What happens when we stop designing robots to look like us…
And let robots design themselves?
     
No nostalgia. No sacred anatomy. No, “this is how we’ve always done it.”
Just function. Just physics. Just evolution—on fast-forward. 🚀
The future of movement may not be walking.
     
It may roll. Flow. Glide. Swarm. Fold itself. Unfold itself.
Reshape itself moment by moment, like a thought changing its mind.
The question isn’t whether humans have perfect movement.
We clearly don’t. 😏
   
The real question is this:
Are we brave enough to let go of ourselves…
To reshape the human body?
     
Enjoy these robot videos >>
AI Exposed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPx2LCs0z9Q
Dancing?:     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kukXFi99v3A
Sex?:             https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYfE5_P2CW4&t=62s
Juggling?:    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVtdjKgB75U
     
4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
     
“Robotics are beginning to cross that line from absolutely primitive motion to motion that resembles animal or human behavior.” – J. J. Abrams
     
“No robot will ever be as smart as YOU!” – Kit Summers.
 
“Robotics and other combinations will make the world pretty fantastic compared with today.” – Bill Gates.
   
“If something robotic can have responsibilities, then it should also have rights.” – Emily Berrington.
   
“History is not going to look kindly on us if we just keep our heads in the sand with arms folded. Autonomous robotics is an issue because it sounds too science fiction.” – Peter Singer.
   
“The way that the robotics market is going to grow, at least in the home, is that we’ll have several different special-purpose robots.” – Colin Angle.
   
“I hope that by 2050 the entire solar system will have been explored and mapped by flotillas of tiny robotic craft.” – Martin Rees.
     
“In the field of robotics, the future is limited only by our imagination.” – Bob Reiner.
     
“Robotics is not about making machines to serve us.
It’s about creating machines that can be our partners.” – Cynthia Breazeal.
   
“A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.” – Isaac Asimo.v
     
“A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.” – Isaac Asimov.
   
“Robots are the pioneers of exploring places where humans cannot go.” – David Hanson.
   
“Robotic engineers are modern-day magicians, bringing inanimate objects to Life.” – Ayanna Howard.
   
“Robotics is not just a field of science; it’s a canvas for art, innovation, and progress.” – Rodney Brooks.
   
“Robotics isn’t about machines; it’s about creating companions that enhance human capabilities.” – Raffaello D’Andrea.
 
“There are an endless number of things to discover about robotics.
A lot of it is just too fantastic for people to believe.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
   
“Robots are interesting because they exist as a real technology that you can really study – you can get a degree in robotics – and they also have all this pop-culture real estate that they take up in people’s minds.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
     
“Sometimes a technology is so awe-inspiring that the imagination runs away with it – often far, far away from reality. Robots are like that. A lot of big and ultimately unfulfilled promises were made in robotics early on, based on preliminary successes.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
======
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Design your robot. 🤖✨
Roam the wild internet savanna. Gather ideas. Borrow boldly. Steal like an artist.
Then—here’s the fun part—don’t copy. Twist it. Flip it. Make it yours.
Be different on purpose. Find your way, not the well-worn one.
That’s where the magic hums.