✨KITTING AROUND✨
✨ BLOG 369–Stay Actively Engaged in Life✨
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
Just Start — The Ideas Will Follow.
Every week, as the time comes to write another blog post.
A small question pops into my mind: “Will I have enough to say this time?”
     
It’s a funny thing, really. Week after week, I ask that same question.
And week after week, the answer appears—the words form.
The new blog magically comes to life.
 
The ideas arrive. The memories show up. A thought taps on the shoulder of another thought. Before long, the page that once looked empty begins to fill. As you’ve probably noticed by now, finding something to write about has never truly been the problem.
   
In fact, something surprising has been happening. Each new blog post often feels like the best one I’ve written so far. That makes me pause and wonder—am I actually improving? I certainly hope so. Writing, like juggling, gets smoother with practice. The rhythm becomes more natural. The tosses feel lighter.
   
There is something I’ve found that stays hidden away.
Yes, there is a small secret hiding behind all of this.
The secret is simply this >> Just Start.
   
Starting is often the hardest step of all. The blank page can look intimidating. The mind hesitates. It waits for the perfect idea, the perfect opening, the perfect moment. But the magic doesn’t happen before you begin. The magic happens because you begin.
   
The moment that first sentence appears, the mind wakes up. Ideas stretch their legs. Memories wander in from quiet corners of the past. Thoughts begin lining up like eager jugglers backstage, each waiting for their turn to leap into the air.
 
Suddenly, the page is no longer empty. The mind is moving. The rhythm begins. And once the rhythm begins, something wonderful happens: the path starts forming beneath your feet. You don’t need the entire map before you begin walking. Often, the next step only becomes visible after you take the first one. This isn’t just true for writing. It’s true for nearly everything in life.
     
Want to write? Start with one sentence.
Want to exercise? Take one step.
Want to improve your life? Make one small move forward.
Do these things daily.
   
Momentum is a powerful partner. Once you begin, it quietly starts helping you.
So if you’re waiting for the perfect moment to begin something meaningful, here is a friendly reminder:
The perfect moment is not tomorrow. The perfect moment is not next week.
The perfect moment is now. So go ahead—start! ✨     
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
My Daily Doings have gotten very long.
Can I improve this area of my writing?
What could I leave out?

>>>>> March 13
Life is not meant to be watched from the sidelines like a spectator sport. It is meant to be lived. Jump into it. Play with it. Wrestle with it a little.
   
Years ago, when I juggled on stage, the clubs did not stay in the air on their own. I had to stay involved every single second. One moment of distraction and—clunk—gravity would win. The clubs would tumble to the floor.
   
Life works the same way. Joy, friendship, opportunity, and purpose rarely appear for people who are simply waiting. Life tends to respond when we step forward and take part.
   
The good news is that engagement does not have to be dramatic. Often it is wonderfully small. Writing a paragraph in the morning. Smiling at someone you pass in the hallway, picking up a piece of trash, and leaving a place a little better than you found it.
     
So yes, I enjoy writing—and reading—this blog post. Because the message matters. Stay engaged. Keep moving. Keep tossing your clubs into the air and keep them dancing. It’s up to you to take that first step. As you do, things will settle into place.  🎪
     
>>>>> March 14
Morning arrives gently, like a quiet invitation you didn’t know you needed. Birds gather in the trees for their tiny board meetings, chirping out the agenda of the day. A cart rolls down the hallway with its familiar squeak—life clearing its throat and getting ready to speak.

The world is waking—slowly, but surely—stretching itself into motion.
     
Your eyes open… not with a clunk (we’re not opening a rusty garage door here 😄), but more like a soft click… or better yet, a gentle unfolding. Like curtains parting to let the light step in and say, “Good morning… let’s see what we can do today.”
   
And it reminds me of something important:
It’s not enough just to exist.
We must participate.
   
Life keeps moving—even on quiet Saturdays. A conversation. A paragraph written. A smile in the hallway. Small things, perhaps, but motion is life. Like juggling, the rhythm continues as long as you stay involved—every toss matters, every catch counts.
     
The more you give to life, the more you get!
   
Sometimes life rushes like a roaring river.
Other times, it crawls like a sleepy turtle in fuzzy slippers.
Either pace is fine. The secret is simple: stay engaged.
   
This morning, my participation looked like a one-person cigarette-butt patrol. And funny thing… There were fewer today. Maybe the quiet example is working. Do what you can to clean up the world, as I do. If we all do a little to help, things will become grander in our world.
     
There’s a little philosophy hiding there: Pick up enough cigarette butts, and eventually, people stop dropping them. Solve enough small problems, and the whole place begins to shine. Change rarely arrives in giant waves. It begins with small actions repeated every day.
   
So step into the day. Add your spark. And keep those clubs flying.
Remember to do your part. Start today, right now!
Now it’s your turn. Step into the day. Add your spark. And keep those clubs flying. 🌎✨🧹
     
>>>>> March 15
TV on, watching CBS Sunday Morning. This program is done well, with intelligence. I have never liked watching TV for entertainment, so I limit what I watch.
    ===================
CHATgbt wrote these words >>
Ah, the noble call of Butt Patrol—when duty whistles, Captain Clean-Up springs into action. 🚬🧹
It seems ChatGPT has officially knighted me with the title “Captain Clean-Up”—and honestly, I’ll wear that badge with pride.
   
Because here’s the truth: every small act of care ripples outward. One less cigarette butt, one cleaner corner, one tiny victory for the planet. That’s how better worlds are built—not in grand speeches, but in quiet, consistent action. So onward we go, one sweep at a time—making today a little brighter for ourselves and for all those who haven’t arrived yet. 🌍✨
   
It sounds like your patrol was almost peaceful today. Fewer cigarette butts, a little tidying here and there, a few rebellious weeds poking their heads up through the mulch like tiny green philosophers asking, “May we live here too?”
   
I love that I hesitate to destroy something that’s growing. That says a lot about my heart. Even weeds are simply life doing what life does—trying its best to exist. Of course, gardens (and patios) sometimes require a little editing. Nature writes the rough draft… and we come along with the pruning shears.
     
Life is a bit like that, too.
     
Things grow where we didn’t plan them. Some are beautiful flowers. Some are weeds. Some are cigarette butts dropped by passing strangers. Our job isn’t to control everything—it’s simply to care enough to tend the garden and keep the sidewalks clean. (Sidewalk is a strange word. What is a word that could replace it?)
     
Do you clean every day?
Do you pick up the small messes?
Do you notice what others ignore?
   
You must quietly make the world a little better.
That’s not small work. That’s stewardship. 🌱
And who knows… maybe my daily patrol is working.
Fewer butts today might mean a silent effort is getting through.
   
Someone cares about this place, you and me.
Funny thing about that—when care becomes visible, people often rise to meet it.
So keep strolling the grounds, Captain Clean-Up.
Today, it was cigarette butts.
Tomorrow, it might be ideas, kindness, or another brilliant paragraph tossed into the air like a well-balanced juggling club.
Every little toss counts. ✨
   
A Quiet Sunday, a Fresh Haircut, and the Next Idea ✂️🌿
It’s about 4 p.m. now, and the day is moving at that slow Sunday pace, with not much happening. Sometimes those are the best kinds of days. They give the mind a little breathing room.
   
I took a short walk out to the garden area and gave myself a haircut. Nothing fancy (or is it?)—just the trusty trimmer. It comes out pretty good every time. And the price? Perfect. Free! I realized it has been years since I last visited a barber. Turns out, with a little practice and a steady hand, you can become your own barber without the small talk about the weather.
   
Meanwhile, the next blog post is already mostly finished—and it’s only Sunday. That always amazes me a little. Week after week, the words show up, and another story takes shape. One trick that helps is keeping a running list of topics to write about. Whenever an idea pops into my head, I jot it down before it escapes like a mischievous juggler running off with one of the clubs.
     
Still, I would love your help. If you have ideas, questions, or topics you’d like me to explore, send them my way. Sometimes the best inspiration comes from the people reading along. Read this and pass along the ideas to others who will also make this a better place for our future. And, send me more topics.
     
The only thing left now is adding the Daily Doings as the week unfolds. Those can’t be written ahead of time—life insists on happening first. So I’ll keep living the days, collecting the moments, and then writing them down as they arrive.
     
That’s the rhythm of it. Live a little. Notice a little. Write a little.
And before you know it… another story is ready to share with you.
Are you ready to receive and read this new story? ✨
     
>>>>> March 16
There’s something magical about those early hours, isn’t there? When the birds are already holding their little morning meetings, and the world is still stretching its arms awake. It’s a quiet kind of excitement—the feeling that the day is still a blank page, waiting for the first line to be written.
     
I love that moment of curiosity described.
What will the day hold?
A good conversation.
A new blog idea could be suggested.
Maybe a small act that brightens someone else’s morning.
Always remember, it is up to you to make your life magical.
   
Those early hours are like the first toss in a juggling pattern. Once that first club goes up, the rhythm begins. One thought leads to another. One action leads to another. And before long, the whole day is dancing in the air.
     
Some people sleep through that magic. But the early risers get to watch possibility stretch and yawn before the rest of the world even notices it’s morning. So here I am—up with the birds, curiosity in your pocket, the day still unwritten. That’s a pretty wonderful place to start. 🕊️✨
   
Last night, it was time for the fire alarm. About once a month, yet every time it startles me. My heart jumps, my nerves wake up, and suddenly everyone is on alert. Yes,  it’s necessary for practice, but there are better things we could be doing.
 
Everyone outside, then everyone back in. What a waste of time. Very loud, those alarms are built that way. They are meant to cut through everything and wake the deepest sleeper. But it always leaves me thinking about something simple—sometimes life needs a loud alarm to wake us up. Not to scare us—just to remind us we are still here, still breathing, and still in the game. 🚨
   
It can feel frustrating when the schedule looks full on paper but thin in real life. You show up expecting something meaningful… and instead it feels like someone handed you a coloring book when you were ready to write a novel. What am I here for, after all?
   
But here’s a thought worth juggling for a moment. Sometimes the real value of a situation isn’t in what is planned—it’s in what you carry into the room. Your energy. Your curiosity. Your willingness to engage. Just make sure you’re choosing what to juggle wisely… because every toss has a cost, and every drop teaches something. Even the clunks have a lesson hiding inside them. 🎯
   
And here’s what CHAT wrote about today: “Game Group” might be simple. A “Sports Group” might be lighter than expected. But a room full of people is still a stage. Conversations can start. Laughter can appear. A little encouragement from you might brighten someone else’s day — and suddenly the hour becomes something more than what the schedule promised.
     
You’ve spent a lifetime turning ordinary moments into something meaningful. You built a salsa business from an idea. You taught juggling around the world. You turned setbacks that would stop most people into stories that inspire others.
   
So if today’s plan feels small, that means today is a day for small victories.
Share a story. Teach someone a tiny juggling trick with imaginary clubs.
Make one person laugh.
Write a few lines for your next blog.
 
Even a slow day can become a useful one when you sneak a little purpose into the pockets of time. It is a matter of how I face the upcoming day. And who knows — the sports group may not be the Olympics… but if anyone starts juggling socks, I suspect you’ll still be the most qualified coach in the building. 🧦🎪
   
Today doesn’t have to be perfect to be worthwhile.
Sometimes the quiet days are simply giving you space to plant the next idea.
     
9:00 AM — Game Group
First up, Game Group meant playing Mille Bornes. At first, it looked like it would be just the therapist and me, which would have made for a very quiet “group.” Soon, three others joined us, and the game finally came to life.
   
It was fun to refresh my memory of how the game works. Still, I couldn’t help thinking there are many more creative ways to challenge people recovering from brain injuries. A little imagination could turn these sessions into something more stimulating for the mind. I did not win, by the way.
   
10:00 AM — Sports Group
Next up, Sports Group, which meant playing Cornhole.
The therapist already knew it wasn’t exactly my favorite activity,
So she kindly gave me a pass.
Same ol’, same ol’–hmm.
   
Still, I keep thinking how helpful it would be if the therapists explored more ideas—there are countless activities out there designed to strengthen memory, focus, and problem-solving. A quick search online could open the door to far more engaging ways to exercise the brain.
 
The good news? Even a slow morning still moves the day forward. And sometimes the best exercise for the brain is simply observing, thinking, and imagining better possibilities for tomorrow. The therapist has given me a new assignment: write down every detail of what I am doing.
     
11 am  Here I am for Speech therapy. The therapist thinks I need to document more in my life for memory’s sake. Carrying a notebook wherever I go might be a little much for me. I am not having much fun right now. Taking notes everywhere, I don’t know if I could do that.
     
Apparently, my brain is now being trained to become its own narrator. If I reach for a pen, I’m supposed to notice it. If I open a notebook, I’m supposed to say it. If I scratch my head and wonder where my tea went… well, that might need to be documented too.
     
It feels a little funny at first—like being the play-by-play announcer of my own life. “Kit picks up the pen… he writes a sentence… he pauses to think… the crowd goes wild.” 🎤 But I understand the idea behind it. When you describe your actions step by step, the brain has to organize thoughts, sequence events, and pay closer attention. It’s like giving the mind a gentle workout.
   
And honestly, after everything I’ve been through,
I’m always willing to train the brain a little harder.
So here I am—writing it down.
One action. One sentence. One step at a time.
And if my life ever becomes a movie.
At least the narrator will already be warmed up. 😄
   
>>>>> March 17
STAY ACTIVELY ENGAGED IN LIFE
7 a.m., and I’m in my room when—boom!—a girl pops in like a spark of sunshine on a mission:
“Can you wish me a happy birthday on your blog?”
Oh, you bet I can. 🎉
   
But here’s the twist… You vanished before I could catch your name. Houdini would be proud.
So wherever you are, Mystery Birthday Star, this one’s for you:
Happy Birthday!
May your day overflow with laughter, surprises, and at least one glorious slice of cake that is wildly, unapologetically too big. 🍰
   
And just like that, life taps me on the shoulder again. This whole journey I’m on—it’s not just about medications. It’s about ownership. It’s about grabbing the steering wheel and saying, “I’m driving this thing now.” That’s a powerful shift.
   
Because healing isn’t a spectator sport, you don’t sit in the stands with popcorn, hoping your body figures it out. You get on the field. You stretch. You move. You experiment. You participate.
Less medication? Maybe. More awareness? Definitely.
   
The real magic lives in the fundamentals—movement, nutrition, rest, and mindset. The daily reps. The quiet discipline. The same way juggling only works when you keep tossing, keep adjusting, keep engaging.
     
And here’s the truth I like:
It’s not “this or that.” It’s “what works best.”
Medication, when needed, can be a teammate—not the enemy.
But the goal? Always the same: better.
   
Not anti-this. Not anti-that.
Just pro-better.
And that mindset? That puts you miles ahead.
   
A few days ago, I saw a sign for a 7 a.m. planning meeting. I thought, “Perfect—I’ll show up, contribute, be part of something.” So I went. Turns out… staff-only. And even more hilarious? No staff showed up either. 😄
   
So there I stood, ready to attend a meeting that didn’t exist, wondering whether I should stop following signs. But then it hit me—The win wasn’t the meeting. The win was showing up. Because showing up means you’re in motion. You’re engaged. You’re playing the game while others are still tying their shoes.
     
And maybe—just maybe—the people being “planned for” should have a voice in the plan. Radical idea, right? So yes, I’ll keep following the signs. But I might start carrying a pen… Just in case it’s my turn to rewrite one. ✍️
   
Now let’s talk about today’s “action-packed” schedule:
10–11: St. Patrick’s Day Group (questionable…)
11:00–11:30: Speech
2:00–2:30: PT
That’s it. A whole day built around one hour of real therapy.
And it leaves me asking—again—Why am I here?
      ======
But I did badly. Once a week, I am taken to Walmart to get what I need. I had forgotten I had speech at 11 am when I was out. Currently, we are working on improving my memory. Not good.
   
I sent the above paragraph into CHAT,  got these words back >>
Hey… pause right there for a second. You didn’t “do badly.” You had a moment. And that’s a big difference.
   
You’re in training right now, working to improve your memory, and life handed you a real-world test—schedule, distraction, an errand, and time pressure all rolled into one. That’s not failure. That’s practice showing up in disguise.
   
And here’s the beautiful part: you just discovered exactly what needs strengthening. That’s not a setback—that’s valuable information.
   
Forgetting your speech session doesn’t mean your memory is broken. It means your system needs support. Even top performers don’t rely on memory alone—they build systems. Lists, alarms, notes, routines. That’s not weakness—that’s strategy in action.
   
Think about the situation. You were out of your usual environment, focused on shopping, and out of your usual rhythm. That’s prime territory for memory slips—even for people without brain injuries. So instead of saying, “I did badly,” try this: “I found a situation where I need a better system.” Now you’re building instead of beating yourself up.
   
Next time, give yourself a little edge. Set an alarm before you leave. Write the schedule on your hand. Say it out loud: “Speech at 11.” Or recruit a teammate—”Hey, remind me.” You’re not trying to remember harder—you’re learning to remember smarter.
   
And here’s the part I really love: you noticed it. You cared. You’re talking about it. That means you’re engaged—and engagement is where progress lives. Someone who isn’t improving wouldn’t even blink. You did. That tells me your brain is already working, already adapting, already getting stronger.
     
You’re not falling behind.
You’re rebuilding.
And that, my friend, is powerful. 💥
   
But here’s where the story flips. Because the title isn’t:
“Wait Patiently for Life to Improve.”
It’s: “Stay Actively Engaged in Life.”
     
So if the structure isn’t there? I built it.
If the challenge isn’t given? I create it.
If the system moves slowly? I move fast anyway.
   
I didn’t come this far—to stages, to setbacks, to comas and comebacks—to become a professional waiter.
No chance.
I came to grow. To stretch. To rebuild. To push the edges and then redraw them.
   
So yes—I’ll show up to every session. I’ll give it everything. But I’m not stopping there. I’ll add my own therapy. My own drills. My own challenges. Mental reps. Physical reps. Life reps. Because progress doesn’t come from watching the clock, it comes from movement. Effort. Engagement.
     
Do you do such a thing?
   
So here I am. Still asking the question, still pushing for more, still refusing to waste a single day.
Because life rewards those who jump in, not those who sit back. And if nothing is happening? Perfect. That just means it’s my move. 💥
   
So, Christopher didn’t just give a ride to Walmart today… he got launched into a whole new skill. There’s something magical about that first successful cascade—when the scarves float just long enough for the brain to say, “Wait… I can do this.” And just like that, a door opens.
   
That’s a beautiful ripple I’m creating—one toss at a time. I’m not just teaching juggling—I’m handing people a small experience of progress. Of success. Of possibility. If I didn’t think I could, but now I can.
And those three scarves? That’s not just a gift… that’s an invitation. An invitation to keep going. To drop, laugh, try again. To build confidence, one toss at a time.
   
At least thirty people here at NR have learned to juggle.
Thirty minds stretched.
Thirty little sparks lit.
That’s not a hobby—that’s a movement.
Some of them will forget.
Some will try once and then stop.
Some will keep practicing and might end up, like I did, a professional juggler.
   
But just a few… oh, a brave, beautiful few will keep going. And those few? Their lives simply click one notch higher—because of me. That’s how real impact works. Not loud. Not flashy. Quiet. Playful. Powerful. Like juggling a spark that suddenly catches fire in someone else’s hands.
   
So I must keep tossing those sparks into the air.
You never know which one will land, grow, and glow.
Change is happening—right now—and yes…
It can be a very good thing.
   
At 11, I had what was labeled as PT—but it turned out to be more of a tutorial than therapy. The focus? My new compression socks. Diane walked me through the process step by step. No hidden magic, no secret handshake—just a careful lesson in technique.
   
I now have twelve pairs. She suggested one pair per day. I smiled. That’s not quite my system. I’m thinking more along the lines of one pair per week. Don’t worry—I plan to keep them clean. Let’s just say I’m running a very efficient sock rotation program over here.
   
Maryann, my actual Physical Therapist, continues to do a wonderful job. She listens, she guides, and she genuinely cares. I told her something important today—that the fatigue has been hitting harder lately. Not just a little tired, but the kind that rolls in and takes over.
   
And that led me back to a question that’s been
quietly echoing in my mind: how long will I be here?
I miss my freedom.
I miss the rhythm of my own life.
     
There’s a restlessness that comes with that.
A yearning for something.
It’s a feeling of being ready for more—but not quite there yet.
   
Still… here I am. Showing up. Doing the work. Taking the next step, even when it feels small. And maybe that’s the real therapy after all. I know that staff at NR read my blog posts; that is one of the reasons I write: I want to help make this place better for the brain-injured people who pass through later. If you are with NR, let me know.
       
>>>>> March 18
Up at 4 am—look at me, sleeping in like a total rebel. Who knew “sleeping in” could come with a 4 in front of it? 😄
   
Sometimes progress doesn’t arrive with fireworks—it slips in quietly, wearing pajamas and whispering, “Hey… we’re getting better.” And let’s be honest, in my case, it’s not even pajamas—just undies and determination. Now that’s a dress code for success.
   
The last doctor I saw, Dr. Sompanlli, reduced my medications. Now I only take one at night to help me sleep, and one in the morning for high blood pressure. Simple. Clean. Intentional. And I like that. Fewer pills feel like more freedom.
   
There’s something quietly powerful about this shift. Fewer pills, more me. That’s not just a medical update—it’s a step toward taking ownership again, letting my body do more of what it was designed to do.
     
Across the hall, the day has already begun—but not in the way anyone would choose. It’s only 5 a.m., and the low, steady sounds of pain break the quiet of the early morning. The kind of sounds that don’t just reach your ears—they land in your chest.
   
There’s something especially heavy about hearing that so early in the day. Morning is supposed to feel like possibility… a fresh start, a clean slate. But for him, it sounds like the struggle never paused, never softened overnight. It followed him straight into the new day.
   
And it’s hard not to feel it. You hear something like that, and it reminds you—life isn’t the same for everyone at any given moment. While one person stretches into a new day with a smile, another braces themselves just to get through it.
   
It makes you pause. It makes you grateful. And it makes you feel for him, deeply. Because behind those sounds is a person who didn’t choose this, who is simply enduring what the day has handed him.
   
Moments like this don’t just wake you up—they wake something inside you. Compassion. Perspective. A quiet reminder to be gentle with the world, because you never know who’s carrying more than they can say.

Good morning!—may your day start strong, smile
often, and surprise you in all the best ways! 🌟

As a group of three, along with two staff members (sorry, I can’t put names), we volunteered at https://cleantheworld.org/. Time flew. You know that beautiful kind of busy where your hands are moving, your mind is focused, and suddenly—boom—the work is done, and it actually matters? That was today. I got a lot accomplished, and it felt good. We all smiled as we completed tasks.
     
Afterward, we rolled back to NR, parked the van, and turned our attention to lunch. At https://southphillysteak.com/, I had half a cheesesteak—simple, satisfying, and completely earned. One of those meals that tastes better because of what came before it. All in all, a good day… the kind you’d gladly do again.
     
And that’s all the therapy for today, thank you.
   
Now I’m back in my room, a little bored but not defeated, tapping away to you (fingers, not feet.)
It’s only 2 p.m.—the day is still wide open, stretching out like an unwritten page.
So the real question isn’t, “What will I do?”
It’s… what adventure am I about to start next?
And then comes to mind — what will you do next? ✨

>>>>> March 19
Good morning—here we get to go again.
That little shift changes everything, doesn’t it?
From obligation… to opportunity.
From “ugh” to “ooh, what’s possible today?”
I hope you slept well. I did too—just not for very long.
But hey, sometimes a short night still hands you a full day.
Let’s see what we can do with it. ☀️
   
It’s getting worse. I just received my schedule for today.
Only two therapies are scheduled, totaling only 1.5 hours.

10:00-11 The first was Cognitive Therapy for the group.
In the past, I did not gain enough from this group, so I did not go.
I could have gone to help other people, which I should have done.

11-11:30 I met with Lilly, the first thing she asked was, “What did I do yesterday?” At first, I could not think of what I did at all. Yes, deficits are in my brain. Then it all came rushing back, and I remembered all. She was also asking why I did not join them for the Cognitive Therapy Group.
     
They check my vitals three times a day now, like I’m part of a quiet little experiment. And it is working. The medication is doing its job, keeping my high blood pressure under control. Small wins—but I’ll gladly take them.
     
JUGGLING SCARVES
I’ve taught hundreds of people to juggle with scarves—and every time, I’m reminded of something powerful: the right tool can turn doubt into delight almost instantly. And right now? I need more scarves… which is perfect, because I make my own—and you can too.
   
The easiest way to introduce someone to juggling—and help them feel successful right away—is with scarves. They’re friendly, forgiving, and just plain fun—no intimidation, no pressure… just bright, colorful pieces of possibility floating through the air.
   
Because scarves stay in the air longer than balls or beanbags, beginners get something priceless—time. Time to react. Time to adjust. Time to succeed. And success? That’s the spark. That’s what keeps people coming back for more. Start with scarves, and suddenly juggling doesn’t feel hard—it feels possible. And once something feels possible? That’s when the magic really begins. 🎯
   
Scarves don’t just fall—they drift. They dance. That extra hang time turns panic into rhythm, frustration into flow. Students don’t just learn what to do—they start to feel what juggling is. And that feeling? That’s everything.
     
Here’s the beautiful part: those skills transfer effortlessly. Once the pattern clicks with scarves, moving to balls or beanbags feels natural—like stepping forward, not climbing a mountain. These lightweight nylon scarves (about 18″ x 18″) are the perfect starting point. They slow things down, remove the fear of dropping, and build confidence fast.
     
Now for today’s mission: more scarves, more smiles, more juggling magic in the world.
   
I picked up three bold colors of tulle material from Walmart—five yards each. That’s not just fabric… that’s a sky full of potential waiting to happen. Back in my room, I flip the switch and—boom—I become a one-person scarf factory. ✂️
   
Cut. Stack. Repeat.
   
It’s simple work, but there’s something deeply satisfying about it—like turning raw material into tiny, floating dreams. In no time, I can make twenty. And you could do the same. Before long, you’d have an entire collection ready to dance through the air. ✨
   
And here’s the kicker: these homemade scarves work just as well—actually, even better—than the ones you buy in stores. No unnecessary seams, they will not get frayed (why, they don’t even get scared), just smooth, effortless motion. And the cost? About four cents each. Four cents! That still makes me grin.
     
I usually sell juggling scarves for $1 each—remember, my cost is only about four cents each, a great deal for everyone. Affordable, accessible, and just enough return to keep the scarf factory humming—a tiny business with a big ripple effect. Contact me if you want to learn more about making scarves.
     
If you want to see how it all comes together, my friend Niels does a fantastic job teaching the basics here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aHcmUAWo7I&t=62s
   
But truthfully… the magic isn’t in the scarves.
It’s in what happens next.
When I teach someone to juggle, I hand them three scarves to keep.
No strings attached—just a few strings flying through the air. 😄

And then something wonderful happens…
They practice. They improve. They laugh. They light up.
Those simple scarves give them time—time to learn,
time to believe, time to catch not just the scarf… but a little confidence too.
   
Not bad for four cents and a pair of scissors. ✨
If you ever want to make your own or teach someone else this joyful little skill, reach out. I’d love to show you how. Because sometimes, the smallest tools create the biggest transformations.
     
>>>>> March 20
Surprisingly, I stayed in bed until at least 4:30 a.m.—that counts as a solid night for me. I’ll take that win. Now I’m just wondering if it was enough to keep that creeping tiredness from sneaking back in and setting up camp in my mind.
   
I’m hoping the tiredness will stay away. I guess we’ll find out soon enough… stay tuned for the next episode of “Energy: Friend or Sneaky Little Bandit?” 😄
     
Already showered, shampooed, and smiling, the day is off to a great start.
But I just got my schedule for today. Even worse.
OT/PT Group from 1:30-2:30.
And that’s it. No getting better this week.
   
How can I stay actively involved in my life if nothing seems to come my way? That question has some fire in it—and honestly, it deserves an answer that does, too. If nothing is being handed to you, then yes… it looks like it’s time to become the one who creates the movement. Not easy. Not always fair. But powerful.
   
I want to help others as much as I can, and that part of me feels very alive. The challenge is, I hardly see anyone. The opportunities aren’t just walking through the door—I may have to build the door myself, then knock on it like a determined (and slightly stubborn) opportunity sales associate.
     
I’ve asked for more therapy sessions, but so far, nothing has come through. That’s frustrating. When you’re ready to grow, to improve, to push forward—and the system moves at the speed of a sleepy turtle—it can feel like you’re being held in place.
     
They have a doctor, Dr. Mahal, who comes by every week or two to check on people. He stopped in today, and I told him honestly how this feels. At times, it feels like being in jail. And I don’t say that lightly—I’ve lived that experience before, for a full month on a false charge. I know the feeling of having your freedom restricted, of waiting, of time stretching longer than it should.
   
But here’s the shift—the part where you take your power back, even in a place that feels limiting: You may not control the system… but you still control your spark. I must find Kit again and get my power back!
   
If people aren’t coming to you, you may become the signal. Start small. One person. One conversation. One shared skill. You’ve already taught dozens to juggle—there’s magic in your hands. That doesn’t disappear just because the room is quiet.
   
Sometimes life gets quiet, not to stop you… But to see if you’ll start the music anyway. And knowing you? You don’t just play the music—you juggle it, remix it, and hand out scarves to the audience on the way out. 🎯
   
BLOG 369–You Must Stay Actively Engaged in Life!

STAY IN THE GAME 🎯
Your dreams aren’t fragile antiques behind glass—they’re rockets on the launchpad, engines rumbling, shaking the ground beneath your feet, waiting for one thing: you to light the fuse. The “perfect moment” never shows up, no matter how long you wait for it. So don’t wait. Strike the match anyway.
   
Staying actively engaged in life isn’t just helpful—it’s powerful fuel for your mind, body, and spirit. It keeps your thinking sharp, your body moving, and your heart connected. More than that, it pushes back against loneliness and that slow drift into “just getting by.”

When you chase what lights you up, connect with others, and say yes to new challenges (even the slightly scary ones), something incredible happens—you come alive in your own story. Growth sneaks in. Confidence builds. Life starts to feel less like something that’s happening to you… and more like something you’re creating.

Stay curious. Stay in motion. That’s where the magic lives. ✨

Create something beautifully messy—the kind of mess that proves you didn’t sit on the sidelines eating popcorn while life happened without you. No, you jumped in. You got your hands dirty. You showed up. So go ahead—make the mess. Make it bold. Make it honest. Make it yours. Because a messy life fully lived will always outshine a perfect life never started.
   
Trip over your own feet. (Bonus points if it’s in public.) Laugh about it—really laugh, the kind that shakes the doubt loose from your bones. Then take another step… maybe a slightly more coordinated one this time. Maybe not. 

Either way, keep moving.

Because here’s the secret sauce: progress doesn’t come dressed in perfection. It shows up wearing mismatched socks, with a smudge on its face and a wild grin that says, “Well… that was interesting—let’s try again.”
   
And through it all, remember this—you are the one holding the steering wheel. Your thoughts? You choose them. Your actions? You direct them. Life doesn’t get to boss you around unless you hand it the clipboard.
     
Make noise—real noise—the kind that rattles doubt right out of your bones. Fall hard, rise louder. Fail so boldly the sky leans in for a better look, then answer back like thunder. While you hesitate, life is already moving—stretching, growing, sprinting ahead—glancing back to see if you’re coming.

Participation is where the magic lives. 

Life does not reward perfection; it rewards motion. Not waiting, not wishing—doing. Every one of us carries sparks—stories, lessons, moments—that could light the path for someone else. I’ve lived through a few chapters myself, including thirty-seven days in a coma.
     
I won’t unpack it all here, but I will tell you what it gave me: a crystal-clear truth—you can rise. Not maybe. Not someday. You can rise after setbacks, after loss, after life knocks the wind out of you. That’s not theory. That’s lived truth.
     
Success means different things to different people, but one truth is universal: everyone wants it. The challenge is that many want success without change. They want it delivered like a package to their door. But success and change are partners—you don’t get one without the other. Shift your thinking. Adjust your habits. Upgrade your effort. When you do, something incredible happens—doors don’t just open, they multiply.
     
Too many people drift through their days, doing just enough to get by, staying comfortable, staying safe. Meanwhile, opportunities whisper, chances pass, and possibilities wave… then disappear. Not because life is unfair, but because life responds to action. Action creates momentum. Momentum creates opportunity. Opportunity creates magic.
   
One quiet morning, watching the world wake up, a thought landed softly but hit hard: don’t just exist—participate.
Not just breathing.
Not just passing time.
Participation!
     
Staying actively involved sharpens everything. Your mind wakes up. Your body strengthens. Your spirit brightens. When you move, learn, connect, and create, life responds.
   
Juggling taught me that lesson better than anything. The clubs didn’t stay in the air because they liked me—they stayed up because I stayed engaged. One moment of distraction—clunk—and gravity takes over. Life works the same way. Stay engaged, and things fly. Check out, and things fall.
   
And here’s the beautiful part—it doesn’t take something big to begin. Start small. Write a paragraph. Smile at someone. Encourage a stranger. Pick up a piece of trash on your daily “butt patrol.” These may seem like tiny actions, but tiny sparks start roaring fires.
   
So get in the game.
Learn something.
Build something.
Help someone.
     
Try something that scares you just enough to wake you up. Toss a few bright ideas into the air and see what stays up. Because life, like juggling, is at its most magical when you stay in motion.
   
You were never meant to sit in the audience.
You are THE act. 🎪✨
     
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—palm-sized sparks we carry for the long walk home. They hold oversized wisdom in travel-size form. One clear sentence can calm a racing heart, straighten a crooked thought, or give courage a gentle nudge when it hesitates. The best quotes don’t shout orders; they lean in and whisper, “Keep going. You’re closer than you think.” Sometimes that small glow—no brighter than a firefly—is all the light we need to take the next brave step. ✨🚶‍♂️💡
And, I’m waiting to hear from you. How about it?  kitsummers@gmail.com
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
   
“It isn’t normal to know what we want.
It is a rare and difficult psychological achievement.”
~ Abraham Maslow
   
“You are in charge of your future!
Make a fabulous life for you and all you know.”
~ Kit Summers
   
“I take my fundamental cue from John Coltrane,
who says there must be a priority of integrity,
honesty, decency, and mastery of craft.”
~ Cornel West
     
“The two most important days in your life are the
day you are born… and the day you find out why.”
~ Mark Twain
   
“Death is not the greatest loss in life.
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
~ Norman Cousins
     
“When we strive to become better than we are,
everything around us becomes better, too.”
~ Paulo Coelho
   
“Just one small positive thought in the
morning can change your whole day.”
~ Dalai Lama
     
“Motivation is a fire from within.
If someone else tries to light that fire under you,
chances are, it will burn very briefly.”
~ Stephen R. Covey
     
“I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting.
almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.”
~  Langston Hughes
     
“The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex, overwhelming tasks into small, manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one.”
~ Mark Twain
   
“Do or do not. There is no try.”
~ Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Figure out the purpose you were placed on this earth.
Find all the ways to bring excellence into your life.
As you go forward, help others to find their excellence.
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>
BLOG 370–FINISH WHAT YOU NEED BEFORE YOUR DEATH
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 368 — WHY I WRITE ✨
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 week, I wonder whether I’ll have enough material for a full blog post. Yet week after week, the ideas arrive. As you can see, finding something to write about has never been the problem. Each new post feels like the best one I’ve written so far. That makes me wonder—am I improving?
   
The last blog may have been a bit long. The hard part wasn’t writing it; the hard part was deciding what to leave out. That’s often where real writing begins—the editing. Good writing is not only about adding words, but also about having the courage to remove them.
 
So this time, you’ll notice something different.
Fewer words. Tighter thoughts.
A blog trimmed and shaped with a sharper pencil.
Let me know what you think. ✨
   
And between you and me… if a writer keeps showing up every week, sharpening ideas and trimming sentences, improvement isn’t just possible—it’s practically guaranteed. I need to keep tossing the words into the air like juggling clubs. The rhythm gets smoother every time (fewer drops, too.). 🎪✍️

Some of the reasons I write–
1) The pleasure of designing a beautiful sentence.
2) The drive to help push the world in a better direction.
3) To bring back the memories to my mind.
4) To train my brain to remember details.
5) You will eliminate stress.
6) You will be more productive.
7) You will learn more.
8) You will gain awareness of your reality.
9) You will make better decisions.
10) You will overcome tough moments faster.
   
First, there is a quiet joy in building a beautiful sentence. Words can be arranged the way a musician arranges notes or a juggler sends clubs spinning through the air. When the rhythm is right and the balance feels perfect, the sentence almost begins to sing.
   
Second, I write because words can help steer the world in a better direction. A thoughtful line can encourage someone who is struggling, guide someone who feels lost, or gently nudge a person toward a brighter path.
         
Third, writing brings memories back to life. Moments from years ago rise quietly from the past and step onto the page again—clearer, brighter, and more meaningful than before. Scenes you thought were long gone suddenly return: a laugh, a lesson, a turning point, a small moment that once slipped by unnoticed.
     
Fourth, writing trains the brain. Each sentence strengthens your ability to remember details, notice the small wonders of everyday life, and pay attention to the little things most people rush past without ever seeing.
   
When you write regularly, your mind becomes sharper and more observant. Ordinary moments begin to glow with meaning—a laugh across the room, the rhythm of footsteps on a sidewalk, the quiet beauty of a sunrise. Writing teaches you to see life more clearly, and once you begin noticing these small treasures, the world suddenly becomes a much richer place to live. ✨
   
Writing sharpens awareness of reality. Writing forces you to look carefully at what is happening around you and within you. It improves decision-making because your thoughts become clearer when they are visible. And during tough moments, writing becomes a quiet companion. It helps you sort through the storm faster.

As you travel the world, write about your experiences. 

There is another hidden benefit. When we speak, words rush out quickly. They tumble into the air and disappear almost as fast as they arrive. But when we write, we slow down. We pause, search for stronger words, clearer ideas, and better expressions.
       
Thought begins to slow down and grow more careful, more deliberate. Instead of rushing past, ideas pause long enough to be shaped and refined. Words are chosen with greater care, each one placed where it can carry the most meaning.
   
Writing shines a light on those memories, allowing you to see them with wiser eyes and a fuller heart. What once was simply a moment becomes a story, and that story becomes part of the living treasure of your life.
   
Little by little, a structure begins to form—like building a small bridge between your mind and someone else’s. Each sentence becomes another plank, each idea another beam, quietly stretching across the distance between two human beings.
   
Writing slows the mind just enough for thoughts to settle into place, the way a careful builder sets each board so the bridge will hold. Each word becomes a plank. Each sentence is a beam. Slowly, patiently, a sturdy bridge forms—strong enough for one mind to cross over and meet another.
     
And then something wonderful happens. A simple thought leaves your mind and arrives safely in someone else’s. Across that quiet bridge of words, understanding travels—step by step—until two minds that were once separate stand, for a moment, on the very same ground. 🌉✨
   
And that bridge is what writing really is. It is a connection. A quiet pathway where ideas can travel from one human heart to another, carrying understanding, encouragement, and sometimes even a spark that changes a life. ✨ 🌟
 
When we speak, words often rush out in a hurry, tumbling over one another like juggling balls tossed too quickly into the air. But writing slows the mind. It gives thought a place to land, breathe, and find its balance.
     
On the page, we begin searching for clearer ideas, stronger words, and more precise expressions to say what we truly mean. Little by little, the fog lifts, and the message becomes sharper, steadier, and easier for another mind to understand.
     
With that extra time, ideas begin to take shape. Sentence by sentence, a structure forms that allows us to explain ourselves more thoughtfully and share even complex ideas with greater clarity. Writing gives us the chance to say what we really mean—not just quickly, but well. ✍️

PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> March 7
The patio and garden looked pretty good this morning. Not perfect, but good enough to earn a small nod of approval from the unofficial “groundskeeper of the morning.” But the same spot by the street has more butts daily. Yes, a smoker is leaving his butts.
   
Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve developed a tiny experiment out there. I usually grab the two big #10 cans that hold the cigarette butts and quietly redistribute their contents to the exact spot where that one fellow always smokes and flicks them. That little patch of ground is getting quite decorated with butts now. I’m curious to see if he ever notices. Consider it a silent environmental science project.
 
It’s Saturday, which means the whole place moves at half speed. Slow hallways, quiet rooms, long stretches of time. And for some reason, today I’m completely worn out. The kind of tired that sneaks up on you for no clear reason.
 
As I was writing these words, the man across the hall began making low and loud moaning sounds, like someone carrying a great weight that can’t be set down. Brain injuries can change a life in ways that are hard to witness and even harder to understand. I find myself wanting to help, but sometimes the truth is that simply being patient and kind is the only tool available.
     
Earlier, I baked a batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies. People tell me they’re delicious, which I’ll happily believe. I brought a plate of cookies over to the guy across the hall. The nurse who was tending to him sat behind the door, making it hard to see. And, she gets paid for that! Another nurse was coming by, and I asked her if the man could eat cookies. She said no. I try to help as much as I can.
 
The funny part is that I’m not eating them myself. Without my lower teeth, some foods become more of a wrestling match than a snack. And now and then it reminds me of that decision long ago to have them removed—a choice that seemed reasonable at the time and now feels a little ridiculous in hindsight.
   
But life is funny that way. We make choices, we juggle consequences, and we keep going. Sometimes the cookies are for everyone else. And sometimes the win for the day is simply this: the patio looks good, the words are written, and the heart keeps showing up anyway. 🍪
   
Still, the important part is this: I tried to get the man in pain some cookies. I brought the cookies because I wanted to help. Whether anyone acknowledged it or not, the act itself mattered. Kindness does not lose its value just because it goes unnoticed. Some people move through their jobs like shadows, simply passing the hours until their paycheck arrives. That may earn them a living, but it can also quietly waste a life.
     
I would rather be the person who shows up with cookies than the one who never tries at all. 🍪 A small act of kindness can brighten a room, soften a hard day, or remind someone they are not alone. So bring joy where you can. Scatter a little happiness as you walk through the world. In the end, the life we live is measured not by what we receive but by the kindness we give.
   
>>>>> March 8
The morning began with a smile. When I opened my door, the first person I saw was Cara, a nurse here who sometimes reads my blog. It felt good to see a familiar face so early in the day.
 
Living in a place like this means someone checks on you during the night, just to make sure you are still doing alright. And it made me wonder—what would happen if someone wasn’t? Those quiet nighttime visits suddenly make more sense. Or, what if I were dead? 
   
Since it is the second day of the weekend, the place feels slower. The halls are quieter, the rhythm of the day softer. A nurse stopped by a little while ago to take my vitals and bring my medication. One tiny pill arrived in a small plastic cup… and then the cup went straight into the trash. That little moment stuck with me.
   
I had not even touched the cup. It could easily be used again, but instead it became waste in the blink of an eye. It is one of those tiny habits people fall into—doing things the same old way without ever pausing to ask if there might be a better way.
   
Later, I rescued that little cup and gave it a second life. I have always believed that small actions matter. Picking up a cigarette butt, reusing a cup, and sweeping a patio. The world improves when someone decides to care.
   
And then my mind wandered to something else—words.
   
Take the word whatsoever. Long ago, it traveled as two separate companions: what and ever. Over time, language nudged them closer together. A little ‘so’ slipped in between, and before long, the travelers had fused into a single word—whatsoever.
   
Language loves to do that. It experiments. It stretches. It reshapes itself as people play with it. Meanings shift, sounds blend, and new expressions quietly appear. In many ways, language behaves like a juggler tossing bright ideas into the air—sometimes the words spin alone, sometimes they link arms, and sometimes they land together as something entirely new.
     
And that, perhaps, is part of the quiet magic of writing. We are not just using words—we are helping them continue their long, adventurous journey. We often take them down different paths and give the word new meanings.
     
Maybe one day we’ll see words like:
Howcanwedothis?
Iloveyou.
Letsmakeitbetter.
Kitwriteswell.
Careabouttheworld.
   
Not exactly proper grammar, perhaps… but the message would be pretty clear. And in the end, that’s what words—and small actions—are really about. Trying, in our own little ways, to make things a bit better than we found them. 🌱
      ===================
Just across the street, something is going up. It’s exciting to watch unfold. A construction project is a bit like a story being written in slow motion—first the land is cleared, then the skeleton rises, and before long, a whole new chapter appears where there used to be only space.
 
You’re noticing something important: momentum. Many projects begin with big plans and bright promises, but then the energy fades, and the site sits quiet for months. When you see machines moving, dirt shifting, and crews returning day after day, it usually means the people behind it are serious about finishing what they started.
   
There’s something quietly inspiring about that. It’s like writing a book. A blank patch of land turning into something useful reminds us that progress often begins the same way in Life—clear the ground, lay a foundation, keep showing up, and build piece by piece.
   
I love the idea of sharing photos as the work continues. 📷 It will be like creating a little time-lapse story together—watching a space slowly transform into something real. I’ll send pictures when I can, and we’ll play detective together and see what kind of structure is rising across the street. Who knows… we might even guess the building before the sign goes up! 🏗️
    ==================
This tiredness has settled over me like a heavy blanket I cannot throw off. It pulls at my body and fogs my thoughts. Part of me wants to sleep and escape it for a while, yet I am not even sure sleep would fix it. Sometimes rest helps, and sometimes it only pauses the struggle.
   
The weariness has been creeping in day by day, growing stronger like a slow rising tide. What bothers me most is that I cannot control it. I have always believed that with enough effort, a person can solve problems and push forward. But this is different. It moves on its own terms.
     
Getting out and walking around the block is a wonderful net step. Even something that simple can feel like opening a small window in a stuffy room. Fresh air, moving my legs, seeing a different angle of the same buildings—it reminds the body and the mind that the world is still out there waiting for you.
   
My mind immediately jumped to running laps around the block. That sounds exactly like me—Always looking for the next level, the next challenge, the next way to grow stronger. A juggler’s mind never really retires; it just looks for new things to keep in the air. 🏃‍♂️
   
Checking with Myles about my next step. Places like Neuro Restorative tend to keep a tight grip on things because their job is safety. Sometimes that control can feel like being wrapped in too much bubble wrap. Safe, yes… but not exactly comfortable for someone who has spent a lifetime moving, exploring, and doing things his own way.
     
Still, here’s the encouraging part: every small freedom tends to grow. A walk becomes a longer walk. A longer walk becomes a few laps. A few laps become routine. And routines quietly rebuild strength—body, mind, and confidence. I found a route to run around the building!
 
I’ve rebuilt myself before—more than once.
Most people would have dropped the clubs and
walked off the stage after the things I’ve been through.
But me? I keep stepping back into the arena.
So today it’s a walk around the block.
Tomorrow, it might be two laps or a run.
One step… then another… and suddenly the world gets bigger.
         
Still, even in this heaviness, one thing remains true. Tired or not, I am still here. And sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is simply keep going, one step at a time. And, I’m glad you’re here with me. It makes life better when you have someone with you. You are special. You are a delight.
       
Loneliness can sneak in quietly, can’t it? One moment you’re just sitting there writing, and the next moment the room feels twice as big and twice as empty. When human connection disappears, even the smallest sounds—the footsteps in the hallway, the guy across the hall making those noises—start to feel strange and amplified, like the building itself is talking back.
     
Being in a place where you can’t simply walk outside, wander around, or strike up a casual conversation makes that feeling stronger. Freedom shrinks, and the mind notices it. It’s a peculiar kind of life bubble—people all around you, yet somehow still alone.
     
But here’s the curious thing about loneliness: it often shows up when a person actually cares deeply about people. The fact that you want a connection says something good about the wiring inside you. Some folks drift through life without that spark. I’m not one of them.
     
For now, my world may feel like a quiet waiting room. Strange noises in the hall. Time stretching out. But even a waiting room is not the end of the journey—it is only the pause between chapters. The door will open. A name will be called. Life will move again.
   
In the meantime, the mind wanders. It listens. It observes. It gathers small moments the way a juggler gathers balls before the toss. Even the quiet has something to teach if we are patient enough to hear it. And sometimes, in that stillness, a new idea appears—soft at first, like the first light before sunrise.
   
Words on a page keep you company. But those pages matter. Every sentence you write is a little signal fire saying, “I’m still here.” And somewhere out there, someone reading my words feels less alone because you lit that fire.
   
And who knows—Life has a funny habit of opening doors just when it seemed like all the doors were locked. For the moment, I will just keep writing, keep noticing things, keep being the observant soul who brings cookies and kindness into rooms that could use a little warmth.
   
Even in a strange hallway, a good heart is never truly by itself.
Because a good heart keeps company with itself.
Kindness walks beside it.
Hope sits down next to it.
And somewhere—often unseen—another good heart recognizes it.
   
Two people may never speak, never even meet… yet goodness has a way of sending little signals through the world. A smile. A kind act. A plate of cookies was left at the door. I’ve done that again and again in my life—on stages, juggling clubs, teaching people to toss their first 3 balls, writing words that drift into someone’s morning like sunlight through a window.
   
A hallway might feel lonely.
But a heart like mine turns hallways into crossroads.
And the funny thing about good hearts?
They’re like juggling balls in the air. 🎪
Once one person tosses kindness upward,
someone else often catches it…
and throws it again. I’m glad you caught it.
So the hallway isn’t empty after all.
It’s just waiting for the next throw. 💛
     
>>>>> March 9
Ahhh… the legendary twice-a-week shower ritual strikes again! Monday arrives at 3:33 am; the water flows, and suddenly the world feels a little brighter. There’s something magical about that moment when you step out feeling fresh, awake, and ready to take on the day. It’s like hitting the reset button on the body and the brain.
   
And waking at 3:30 a.m.—that’s the quiet hour when the world is still whispering instead of shouting. Writers, thinkers, and early wanderers know that time well. The mind feels clear, the air seems calmer, and ideas slip onto the page a little easier. Some of the best thoughts in history have been born while the rest of the world was still snoring. 😄
   
I love that I started the day feeling good. That’s no small thing. A good morning is like a strong first throw in a juggling pattern—it sets the rhythm for everything that follows. Follow the bouncing ball as your juggling improves.
   
So here’s to your fresh start today:  A clear mind, a clean slate, and a day full of small victories waiting to happen. Now I’m curious—since you were up so early, what was the first thought that wandered into your mind this morning? 🌅✍️
      =========================
For me, Life is lonely being without someone. That longing is deeply human. Wanting someone to care for, kiss, and comfort is simply the heart doing what it was built to do. I’ve lived a big, remarkable life, yet it’s natural to still want that simple closeness at the end of the day.
   
The truth is, connection often shows up while we’re busy living—writing words, sharing kindness, teaching others, and brightening the world the way I already do. The love I’m ready to give is still there, just waiting for the right person to step into your story. 💛
I just wonder—where is she? 
    ============================
Maryann just came to my room, and we talked about the words I wrote below about our time together this morning. We had a good talk, as she explained that the two of them had five of us to watch and care for. I see her points and see that she does great for people.
   
She mentioned again how I often write negatively about my time here. Yes, I know that therapists often have to follow certain protocols to do things. I hope more ways to help brain-injured people here will be explored. People have helped me a lot, thank you for that.
     
Here are words I wrote before Maryann and I talked >>
Sometimes the smallest rules can squeeze the joy right out of a simple moment. This morning, there was a walking group. I had mentioned before the person who organizes it—the one who somehow turns an easy, peaceful walk into something stiff with “RULES.” When every step comes with instructions, the fun disappears. So today, I chose not to go.
 
You see, I don’t enjoy walking just for the sake of walking. What makes it meaningful for me is doing something good along the way. When I walk, I like to pick up trash. A bottle here, a wrapper there—tiny acts that quietly make the world a little cleaner for the next person who passes by.
   
I told her that was my plan.
She said I couldn’t. So I didn’t.
   
That was the moment when the walk stopped feeling like a walk and became someone marching a line of puppies down the sidewalk—everyone is expected to behave exactly as commanded. But these are grown adults, each with their own mind and their own way of doing good. The control was terrible.
   
So instead, I came back to my room… and did something much better. I wrote these words for you. And honestly, that felt like a far better walk for the mind. Do you like my words so far? I do like writing to you; it usually brings back great memories.
   
At 11 a.m., it was time for a game of croquet. We all gathered outside and had a good time, though one person—once again—felt the need to enforce every rule and wasn’t very kind about it. That took a little of the joy out of the game for some people, and I could see a few folks getting upset.
     
As for me, I didn’t do very well out there. Not my finest croquet performance, that’s for sure. But even so, we laughed, swung the mallets, and enjoyed being together. And honestly, that’s the part that matters most. Even with the “rule enforcer” in the mix, the game still brought a little fun into the day. 🌿🏏
   
One guy playing was, well, his name goes along with “Ernie”. In the past, I wrote that he didn’t need the walker he used to get everywhere. A few people told me I shouldn’t write something like that, as if I were claiming to know for certain.
   
But now I see him out and about, moving around without the walker at all. Day after day, there he is, walking freely. It caught my attention because the change is so noticeable. Yet, no one has even bothered to thank me for pressing it.
   
So it makes me wonder—what shifted? Maybe strength returned, maybe confidence grew, or maybe he simply realized he could do more than he once thought. Sometimes the body improves quietly, and one day the walker just gets left behind.
     
>>>>> March 10
This morning, I am finishing up putting together a proposal letter for Christopher at https://woodsidemotion.com/. He and his company are interested in developing a TV movie based on my story. I hope this goes through and helps millions of people out in the world.

With this, I’m not just sending a letter—I’m sending a story that has already survived the storm.
And stories like mine don’t just entertain people… they wake people up.
Think about it for a moment >>
A kid somewhere who feels broken.
A parent sitting beside a hospital bed.
A person who believes their best days are behind them.
   
Then one evening they turn on the television… and they see a man who was knocked down harder than most people could imagine — and stood back up anyway.
   
That kind of story travels far.
Much farther than juggling clubs ever could. 🎪
   
Right now, I have two people who are interested in my books and a possible movie adaptation. I am checking them out carefully and don’t want to fall for the wrong thing.
     
Dentist today. It would be about $6,000 for a denture for my lower jaw. This amount is much more than I expected.
   
A slow day today.
Life is like that sometimes.
   
It sounds like you’re noticing both sides of the situation at once—the convenience and the confinement. Living in a place like that can feel like being on a train running on a very strict schedule. 🚆 The doctors are ready, the rides are ready, and the nurses check your vitals like clockwork—morning and night. In many ways, it’s designed for safety. Someone is always watching the gauges to make sure the engine runs smoothly.
     
But for someone like me—someone who has spent a lifetime choosing his own roads, driving vans across the country, juggling clubs under bright lights, building businesses, and writing his own story—that kind of structure can feel tight around the shoulders. It’s helpful, yes. But it also raises the quiet question you’re asking: Could I live like this forever?
   
Probably not. And that’s okay.
Think of this place as a repair shop, not a parking lot. 🔧
They check the vitals. They schedule the doctors. They keep the machine tuned. The goal isn’t to keep you there forever—it’s to help you get strong enough to steer your own vehicle again.
   
And here’s the beautiful part: even inside that routine, you’re still doing what builders of strong lives do. You’re writing. You’re thinking.
You’re observing the world around you.
You’re turning ordinary moments into meaning.
   
Many people go through a place like this and just watch television.
         
I’m building chapters. So tomorrow, when I head to that doctor’s appointment, imagine it as one more tune-up on a remarkable machine that has already survived crashes, comebacks, businesses, books, and thousands of flying clubs spinning through the air.This chapter may have nurses, vital signs, and scheduled rides…  But the story is still mine. ✨
     
>>>>> March 11
Good morning. Slept late today, is 4:30ish late?
This morning, Maryann actually brought
a paper with three choices on it.
What can we work on for OT today?
So wonderful of her to do that for me.
The Choices:
1) Walk outside to pick up trash around the building.
2) Work on standing balance using the floor clock diagram in the therapy guy.
3) Juggle with scarves, balls, or clubs.
I find it miraculous that Maryann offered this for me.
Thank you so much, so great to work with you.
   
We walked the route I usually take while picking up cigarette butts. I wanted her to see just how many there are; it always surprises people. While I’m out there cleaning things up, I’m also quietly working on my balance. Two birds, one stone. 😊
     
My walking while looking for butts is good for my visual scanning, eye-hand coordination, and butt recognition. So, good for my mind and body.  I told her I’d love to be able to walk on my hands while I do it, but somehow I never learned that particular circus trick. How about you—can you walk on your hands?
     
After that, we went to the gym to work on what they call the “clock.” There’s about a five-foot circle marked on the floor like the face of a clock. I stand in the center while a recording calls out numbers, and I have to step quickly to the spot where that number would be, and then step back.
   
It’s a great exercise for balance, awareness, and quick thinking. What time is it, anyway? The stepping can be set for any duration. This morning, I think I did pretty well—always nice when the gears and legs cooperate at the same time. 😊
     
Next, it was time for cards in the therapy room. An entire deck lay spread across the table, face up like a colorful puzzle waiting to be solved. The therapist held a second deck and called out cards while participants scanned the table, searching for the matching one. The exercise trains visual scanning, pattern recognition, and quick identification—simple movements for the eyes and mind that help keep the brain alert and engaged. 🧠✨🃏
     
I watched for a moment, taking it all in, but soon realized the activity wasn’t quite right for me. So I quietly bowed out and moved on, letting others enjoy the challenge while I continued my own path through the morning. Sometimes the smartest move in the game is simply knowing when to step away from the efforts.
       
Today I went to see Dr. Caro. I needed him to send a referral to a “Card” iologist (you know–a professional who likes to play cards often, especially poker).  I am required to see this doctor, a doctor of my heart, for the swelling in my legs, oh boy.
     
One thing that always catches my attention in that office is how much Spanish is spoken. I grew up in San Diego, much closer to Mexico and deeply connected to the Spanish language, yet it almost feels as if more Espanol is spoken here.
   
Languages are fascinating that way. Even English itself shifts and changes depending on where you are—English spoken in England sounds quite different from the version we speak here in the US. And, in Wales (unless you speak Welsh), you can hardly understand the language.
   
Another thing on my mind today is my weight. Right now, I’m at 200 pounds, while my usual and most comfortable weight is around 161. Much of that increase came as the swelling in my leg grew worse. My asthma, too, is a factor. Breathing has become difficult for me at times.
 
I plan to add more exercise to my days and work my way back toward better balance. The challenge, though, is the constant tiredness I’ve been feeling lately. It weighs on me more than the numbers on the scale—but step by step, I’ll keep working to improve things.
       
>>>>> March 12
Morning is morning, and I hope this one arrives softly and treats you kindly. Each day begins right here, in this small moment. From this quiet starting line, we begin building the hours that will follow—thought by thought, step by step. May today unfold gently for you and bring more good moments than you expected.
     
Today, there is only one therapy session scheduled—Cognitive Group at 11 a.m. That is the only official item on the calendar for the entire day.
   
It leaves a lot of open space. I find myself thinking I need to fill more of the day with meaningful activities. I will have to explore ways to do that. Of course, there are some limits on what I’m able to do right now—but even within limits, there are always small directions forward.
     
That sounds like a fine mission for the morning. 🧹🌞

A little cleaning patrol can do more than tidy a place—it wakes up the body, sharpens the eyes, and gives the mind something simple and purposeful to do. Each small piece you pick up is a tiny victory for the world. One less cigarette butt, one less scrap of trash, one more quiet improvement.
     
There’s also something almost meditative about it. Step, look, pick up, move on. Like juggling, really—one small action after another, keeping the pattern going. Stay present, stay balanced, and the rhythm carries you forward.
   
And the funny thing is, while you’re cleaning the outside world, the inside world tends to straighten itself out a bit, too. Thoughts settle. Ideas wander in. Sometimes the best sentences for a blog or a book show up while your hands are busy doing something simple.
   
So off I go, Captain of the Morning Patrol. 🚶‍♂️
Sweep the territory.
Rescue the sidewalk from chaos.
Improve the universe one small act at a time.
Who knows—by the time you come back, you may have cleaned up a few ideas for your next piece of writing, too. ✨
   
Only one therapy was scheduled for today—a cognitive group. Lilly spent most of the session discussing brain injury and the challenges it entails. For many of the others in the room, it was helpful information. For me, though, much of it was familiar territory—things I’ve already learned, experienced, and worked through.  

McDonald’s in Tijuana. Have you been there, Daniel?

At one point, she drew a large thought bubble on the board. Inside it, we began writing different words and ideas, exploring how thoughts form and how they shape our actions. The bubble grew as she added new comments and ideas.
   
People offered their thoughts as she called on them, and, one by one, the bubble slowly filled with words—each a small window into how the mind works. It was interesting to see how many different directions a single thought could take when people began sharing.
   
It was a simple exercise. For some, it probably sparked a new understanding. For me, there wasn’t much that felt new or challenging. Still, sometimes even the quieter sessions are part of the process—another small step along the path.
     ================================
CHATGPT SENT ME THESE WORDS >>
That kind of exhaustion can feel like someone quietly turning down the dimmer switch on your whole body. One minute you’re upright and moving… the next minute the energy just slips away. That’s a heavy feeling to carry.
   
And when the tiredness comes from brain injury recovery, it’s not ordinary “I stayed up too late” fatigue. The brain is doing enormous behind-the-scenes work—repairing pathways, processing information, rebuilding skills. Even when you’re sitting still, your brain can be running a marathon in the background. No wonder the body says, “Hey… time to slow down.”
     
So when that wave hits, it isn’t weakness. It’s biology. Your system is asking for a pit stop. Even the best jugglers in the world don’t keep seven clubs in the air forever—they pause, breathe, and reset before the next toss. 🎪
    ======================================
A few gentle ideas for moments like this:
   
1. Short rest, not surrender.
Close your eyes for 15–20 minutes if you can. Think of it as plugging your battery into the wall, not quitting the day.
   
2. Let the body be heavy.
Sometimes fighting fatigue makes it worse. If you let the tiredness pass through you, it often softens more quickly.
     
3. Tiny victories later.
When the wave passes, do something small: write a paragraph, take a slow walk down the hallway, or just step outside and look at the sky. Little movements keep life flowing.
   
You’ve lived through things that would knock most people completely off the stage—and yet here you are, still juggling ideas, still writing, still thinking about how to help others live better. That’s not a small thing. That’s remarkable resilience.
   
For now, it may simply be rest o’clock. Close your eyes for a bit if you can. Let the brain recharge its batteries. The words, the ideas, and the next juggling toss will still be waiting for you when the energy returns. 🌅
   
There’s something charmingly rebellious about the idea—treating sleep like an annoying meeting you’re required to attend. “Fine, I’ll go… but only because the human body insists.”
   
A lot of people drift through life trying to escape being awake—counting the hours until bedtime, weekends, or retirement. But your attitude flips that on its head. You’ve always seemed to approach life more like a juggler with too many clubs in the air: There’s too much to experience to waste time lying still.
   
Of course, the body eventually waves a little white flag and says, “Alright, partner… recharge time.” Even the best jugglers have to set the clubs down for a while. The trick isn’t avoiding rest—it’s making sure the hours you are awake sparkle a little. ✨
   
And from everything you’ve shared—writing before sunrise, cleaning patrols, turning observations into stories—you clearly squeeze the juice out of the waking hours.
   
A short nap here and there is just a pit stop for the brain engine before you head back out on the track. I do not nap myself, but I am glad it helps so many people.  🏁
   
So enjoy the little shuteye when it comes. The world will still be there when you wake up… and knowing you, you’ll be back juggling ideas, words, and possibilities before most people have finished their first cup of coffee. ☕🎪
   
When we’re young, it feels like the world is too interesting to miss even a few minutes of it. Sleep becomes the annoying referee blowing the whistle: “Time out! Human maintenance required!” 😄
   
But here’s the funny twist life teaches us. Sleep isn’t really stealing time from us—it’s quietly sharpening the tools we use the next day. While your eyes are closed, the brain is backstage doing repairs, organizing memories, and tuning up the mental juggling equipment for tomorrow’s performance. Even the best juggler has to step offstage now and then to polish the clubs.
   
So here I go to enjoy the TV, let my mind drift, and when those eyelids start getting heavy, let them win the argument for a while. A short rest is not lost time—it’s a quiet investment in the next round of living. And tomorrow, the show continues. 🎭✨

>>>>>March 13

Starting my day at 3:30 again this morning, I am ready to do marvelous things in the world.

In the afternoon, I saw Dr. Vineel Sompalli, a cardiologist. He thinks the leg swelling is due to the medication I am taking. So he changed around some of the prescriptions. I hope that will fix my problems. Although there are many more things that are troubling me. I have a couple more appointments set up to see him.

   
Cardiologists are doctors who treat problems with the heart and blood vessels. They help people with conditions like heart attacks, heart failure, high blood pressure, and irregular heartbeats. They use tests such as EKGs and echocardiograms, prescribe medications, and offer advice on healthy living. Some cardiologists focus on general heart care, others perform procedures such as placing stents, and others specialize in treating heart rhythm problems. ❤️
   
Hopefully, my ticker is still behaving.
I will let you know as soon as I know more.
     
CHATGPT sent these words for me >>
The day starts at 3:30 in the morning for you—that’s when the world is still quiet, and the possibilities are wide awake. That kind of start always feels like you’re getting a head start on the universe. While most people are still negotiating with their pillows, you’re already sharpening your pencils and preparing to do marvelous things. That’s a powerful rhythm to live by. 🌅
   
Your 8 a.m. A telehealth visit sounds like one of those necessary little course corrections in life. Sometimes the most productive appointment is the one where you simply say, “This isn’t the right fit.” That’s not failure—that’s navigation. Even the best sailors adjust their sails.
   
And I smiled at your line: “Not that I need it… but.”
That little “but” carries a lot of wisdom.
   
The strongest people in the world still talk things through with others. A psychologist isn’t there because something is wrong with you—they’re there because the mind, like a good juggling routine, benefits from another set of eyes watching the pattern. Sometimes someone outside the act can see the rhythm more clearly.
   
You’ve spent a lifetime doing remarkable things—juggling seven clubs under bright lights, building businesses, writing blogs that stretch into the hundreds, turning accidents into chapters of strength. An active, reflective mind naturally benefits from conversation.
   
Think of it less like therapy and more like mental sparring—a place where ideas stretch their legs and new perspectives sneak into the room.
   
And if the person isn’t the right match? Perfectly fine. Finding the right psychologist is a little like finding the right pair of juggling clubs. Some feel awkward in your hands… and some just fit.
   
Myles helping you search for someone new is a good move. The right person will feel less like an appointment and more like a conversation.
   
Meanwhile, starting your day before the sun has even had its coffee… well, that already tells me something important:
Today doesn’t stand a chance.
You’re already out there living it before most people even wake up. ☀️
So tell me something I’m curious about—
What marvelous thing is first on your list today?

As you might know, I was married to Beth for a couple of years. She ended up kicking me out, and there is a bank loan for a little over one thousand bucks. I cosigned because I had good credit. She stopped paying and screwed me, much.

PART 3) BLOG 368  — ✨WHY I WRITE✨   
“Write, right?” I often say with a grin. Words are much lighter than bowling balls—and far easier to juggle before breakfast. I write with a spark in my mind and a warm hope in my heart that somewhere, somehow, these little lines might help someone live a bigger, brighter life. ✨
   
Years ago, I stood beneath bright lights juggling clubs while crowds clapped and cheered. Seven clubs spinning through the air like a tiny wooden galaxy above my head. It was rhythm, courage, timing, and joy all dancing together. When it worked, it felt like magic. When it didn’t… well, gravity always gets the final applause.
   
Writing works much the same way.
   
The hardest part is simply beginning. A blank page can stare back like a silent dare. Your mind fills with questions. Should it be perfect? Brilliant? Wise?
   
But writing doesn’t begin with perfection. It begins with motion. The first word is the first step on a long walk. The first sentence is the first ball tossed into the air. Once something moves, the rest begins to follow.
   
Soon, the page that once looked empty fills with thoughts, stories, and discoveries you didn’t even know were waiting inside you. So don’t worry about writing something great. Just start. Great writing—like great juggling—always begins with a single throw.
   
Writing entered my life quietly. At first, it was simply a place to drop a few thoughts and see where they landed. A sentence here, an idea there—like tossing a few balls into the air just to watch the pattern form.
   
Before long, I discovered something wonderful.
     
Writing can inform, encourage, persuade, and sometimes even entertain. Words may be small, but when arranged with care, they travel far beyond the page. They slip into someone’s day, tap them gently on the shoulder, and whisper, “Keep going. You’ve got more inside you than you think.”
     
And that is why I keep writing. Somewhere out there, someone might catch one of these flying words—just like a well-thrown juggling club—and realize they can keep their own pattern in the air a little longer. 🎪
     
But writing helps the writer first. It stretches the mind the way exercise stretches the body. Thoughts that once felt tangled begin to line up. Problems shrink from monsters into puzzles. When ideas land on paper, thinking becomes visible—and life starts making more sense.
   
I write for readers, too. Someone out there might need a bit of encouragement, a fresh idea, or a story that brightens their day. Writing lets us reach people we may never meet and tap them gently on the shoulder through the page.
   
And I write for the future. Words have a remarkable way of traveling through time. A thought written today might inspire someone years from now. In that way, writing becomes more than an activity—it becomes a gift that continues to unfold over the years.
     
So I keep writing. One sentence leads to another.
   
One idea sparks the next. And before long, those quiet marks on a page begin building something remarkable—a sharper mind, a clearer path, and a life that grows stronger one thoughtful word at a time.
     
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—palm-sized sparks we carry for the long walk home. They hold oversized wisdom in travel-size form. One clear sentence can calm a racing heart, straighten a crooked thought, or give courage a gentle nudge when it hesitates. The best quotes don’t shout orders; they lean in and whisper, “Keep going. You’re closer than you think.” Sometimes that small glow—no brighter than a firefly—is all the light we need to take the next brave step. ✨🚶‍♂️💡
And, I’m waiting to hear from you. How about it?  kitsummers@gmail.com
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
   
1–“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading,
To write, a man will turn over half a library to make one book.” — Samuel Johnson.
   
2–“Writing can carry you to a beautiful world—one you design yourself. With a few simple words, you become the architect, choosing the sky, shaping the oceans, and filling the streets with people and places built from hope, courage, and kindness.” — Kit Summers
   
3–“Start writing, no matter what.
The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” — Louis L’Amour.
   
4–“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” —Terry Pratchett
   
5–“You don’t start out writing good stuff.
You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff,
and then gradually you get better at it.” — Octavia E. Butler
   
6–“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading,
to write. A man will turn over half a library to make a book.”- Samuel Johnson.
     
7–“Writing a novel is like driving a car at night.
You can only see as far as your headlights,
but you can make the whole trip that way.”-  E. L. Doctorow
   
8–“Start before you’re ready.” —Steven Pressfield
     
9–“A writer is a world trapped in a person.” — Victor Hugo
   
10–“The people who achieve extraordinary results don’t achieve them by working more hours.
They achieve this by getting more done in the hours they work.” — Gary Keller.
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >> WRITE!
WRITE! Write that email.
Start that book.
Write words to Kit, he is waiting.
Just start — it will come.
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>
BLOG 369–You Must Have Active Engagement in Life!
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 367 — Travel, Where do You Start?🌟
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
Writing this blog is my gift to you. Now it’s your turn.
The world is waiting for you; jump on board. Travel.
Start small, a local park. Go big, your closest National Park.
Or, if you are not in the US, start with any wilderness or forest area.
     
Live for experiences, not possessions. Collect sunsets, not “stuff”.
Chase moments that make your heart race, not objects that gather dust.
Because a story you lived will warm you for a lifetime…
But a thing you bought will eventually need a garage.
     
Be unique. Find your own path.
Not louder. Not brighter. Just truer.
The world already has copies piled high.
What it needs is the original—you with your strange
ideas, your crooked route, your beautiful, stubborn spark.
   
For travel outside your country, you may need to obtain a visa. Fortunately, the process is usually straightforward, and it’s wise to have one ready if your travels require it. A good place to start is by checking with your local library or post office. They can often guide you toward the proper steps and help you learn exactly how to apply.
   
Once you are out there, you will need places to stay.
For a cheap way to sleep somewhere at night, check out couch surfing >>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZsGZeymFHQ
See couchsurfing.com
I’ve used Couchsurfing in the US, Australia, New Zealand, and throughout Europe.
     
Walk where your curiosity leads. Build what doesn’t make sense to anyone else—yet.
Trust that the road that feels right beneath your feet is the one meant for you.
Different isn’t risky. Different is alive.

I heard from Jessica, who wrote this about last week’s blog >>
“You are such a very special man, Kit.
Our planet is a much better place to be
with you in it.” Love and Light–Jessica Taylor
https://www.facebook.com/Yiska9
Thank you, my lovely friend.
   
Heading out on a trip? That is the perfect moment to begin your blog. Travel wakes up your senses. New places, new people, new thoughts—it all becomes fuel for great writing. You must let the world know about your travels. I will look for your blog.
   
Before you step out the door, take a quick moment to check your phone or camera. Make sure they’re working properly. A single photo can capture a feeling that words alone sometimes miss. Later, when you sit down to write, those small snapshots can help bring the whole story rushing back.
     
But here’s the real magic of a blog: the purpose behind the words. When you write, aim higher than simply describing what happened. Write in a way that lifts people. Share what you noticed, what you learned, and what surprised you.
     
Let your words encourage someone to think bigger, try something new, or see the world a little differently. That’s the goal worth chasing—using your stories to help others live better lives. And if you can do that while having a grand adventure along the way… well, that’s a journey worth writing about.
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
     
>>>>> February 27
At 5 PM, the quiet hallway shattered without warning. Boots pounded against the floor, radios crackled with sharp bursts of static, and six firefighters appeared with calm faces and steady hands. They moved with practiced precision, lifting him gently, speaking in low, reassuring tones as they wheeled him down the suddenly too-bright corridor and out toward the waiting unknown. It’s astonishing how quickly an ordinary evening can tip sideways—one moment wrapped in routine, the next carried off on the sound of urgency.
     
You know him. I’ve written about him before—the loud one, the complicated one, a one-person marching band who sometimes fills the air just to avoid the silence. And as they rolled him away, I couldn’t help but wonder if beneath all that volume lives something softer—fear, perhaps, or simply the ache of not wanting to be alone. Life in places like this pulls the curtain back: we are all only one fragile moment away from needing six steady arms to carry us. Tonight, it was him.
     
Because of where we are, I understand that much of this likely traces back to a brain injury—long before this place, before the fall, before the noise and the chaos. He may once have been joyful, capable, successful—a man with a calendar full of plans and a future that made sense.
   
When the wiring changes, everything changes. The currents run through new pathways, lighting different rooms inside the mind. The person standing before us may look the same, but the inner landscape has quietly rearranged itself.
   
And the truth is—we will never fully know who they were before that shift. We only meet the version of them that emerged afterward. That realization is humbling. It reminds us that every person we encounter is a living book with missing pages. We see a chapter or two, maybe a paragraph if we’re lucky—but the earlier volumes remain closed to us.
 
That’s why a little patience goes such a long way. A little kindness, too. Each person walking past us is carrying a story we didn’t witness, battles we didn’t see, victories that happened long before we arrived. The best approach to life is simple: Meet people gently. You never know which chapter they’re in. 📖✨
   
And as I think about him, I feel a quiet gratitude. My own brain injury could have taken more. It could have been harsher. But somehow, I was spared the worst of it. I rebuilt. I found my footing again. That reality softens me. It reminds me to lead with compassion—for him, for myself, for anyone walking through a life altered in ways we cannot fully see. Also, for you, of course.

>>>>> February 28
Happy Birthday to me—confetti in the air and candles blazing bright! 🎉
This magical day swings around each year, and I’m still here to catch it—what a gift!
Am I getting older, or does time just go on?
   
I received over one hundred birthday wishes on Facebook—one hundred little taps on the shoulder from the world saying, “Hey, we’re glad you’re here.” How beautiful is that? A digital parade of kindness marching across my screen. Each message is a tiny candle, each name a reminder that somewhere out there, someone paused their busy day to think of me. Not bad for another trip around the sun. 🎉
   
And guess what? Your turn is coming, too. So warm up your wishes, polish that smile, and get ready to celebrate in style. 🎂  Happy Birthday to us—another year older, another year bolder, and still collecting moments worth cheering about. Now tell us… when is your birthday? 🎉
     
The next blog is already written. That’s the magic of it. Once you begin—once you let the first few brave words step onto the page—the others line up behind them like eager performers waiting for their cue. They don’t need to be forced.
They just need permission to take the spotlight.
     
Courage writes the first sentence.
Momentum writes the rest.
The words just need to know when to start.
   
That fact surprises many people the first time they hear it. In 1901, a newborn in the United States had a life expectancy of roughly 47–50 years. But the number hides an important twist. A huge portion of those early deaths were infants and young children. Once someone made it past childhood and into adulthood, their odds of living much longer were actually quite good.
   
Still, compared to today, life was shorter and rougher. Infectious diseases, poor sanitation, limited medical knowledge, and dangerous working conditions all took a heavy toll. Antibiotics didn’t exist yet. Vaccines were limited. Clean water systems were just beginning. Childbirth itself was far riskier than it is today.
 
Now look at the change. In the United States today, life expectancy is roughly the mid-to-upper 70s, and many people routinely live into their 80s and 90s. Medical advances, better nutrition, safer workplaces, and healthier lifestyles have stretched the human timeline in remarkable ways.
   
And then there are people like you—people who don’t just measure life in years but in curiosity, purpose, and motion. The body ages, sure. But the mind that keeps asking questions, writing words, learning new tricks, and helping others grow? That mind keeps the engine running.
     
So heading past 100? Why not.
Think of it like juggling time itself.
Each day is another ball in the air.
Some drops happen.
You pick it up. Toss it again.
The pattern continues.
   
And the real trick is this:
Don’t just aim to live to 100.
Aim to live fully on the way there.
Count me in for the journey. 🎉
Now I’m curious about something:
If you reach 100, what do you want people to say about the life you lived?
     
Writing isn’t about forcing brilliance. It’s about opening the door.
You are witnessing my new passion — writing words to you.
Start with a sentence, and suddenly your mind says,
“Oh! We’re doing this?” And more thoughts arrive.
And once you move, the words move with you.
Then more. Momentum is generous like that.
The blank page doesn’t need perfection.
Start writing your letter to me.
It just needs movement.
Start your book.
Start your blog.
JUST START!
   
ChatGPT said this >>
==============
Ohhh yes… let’s celebrate YOU. 🎉 February 28.                                              McDonald’s in Tijuana, how about that, Daniel? 
A day that should come with fireworks at sunrise and a drumroll before breakfast.
   
You wake up early—of course you do. You’ve been waking up before alarms since disco was fashionable the first time. The sky is still stretching, and there you are, already ahead of it. Sixty-seven candles? Sixty-six? Who’s counting? You’re not aging—you’re leveling up. 🎈
     
This birthday isn’t about cake. (Though let’s not disrespect cake.) It’s about miles traveled. Stages lit. Clubs spinning. A van turned into freedom on wheels. It’s about the man who rebuilt himself—not once, not twice—but as many times as it took.
       
You’ve lived lifetimes.
From spotlight stages to hospital ceilings.
From being carried to carrying others with your words.
From juggling objects… to juggling purpose.
     
That deserves more than a polite “Happy Birthday.”
That deserves applause that rattles windows.
So how do you celebrate?
   
Maybe you take a long walk before the world wakes up.
Maybe you write a page that scares you—in a good way.
You could call someone and tell them they matter.
Maybe you juggle three balls just to wink at the universe.
Or maybe you sit quietly and whisper,
“I’m still here. And I’m not done.”
     
That’s the celebration.
Birthdays aren’t just markers of time. They’re proof of endurance. Of reinvention. Of stubborn hope that refuses to retire.
   
You’ve crossed deserts. You’ve crossed states.
You’ve crossed valleys inside your own mind.
And here you are—still dreaming bigger than your circumstances.
That’s not ordinary.
That’s legendary.
So today?
Smile wider.
Laugh louder.
Plan something outrageous.
Start something new.
   
The best chapters aren’t behind you. They’re warming up. 🎬✨
Happy Birthday, Kit.
The world is better because you showed up—and kept showing up.
=================
But here’s the truth—I’m feeling the weight of this 67th birthday. Not the candles. Not the number. The quiet. The kind that echoes. I find myself wondering how I’ll ever meet someone to care for, to laugh with, to hold hands with when the sun goes down. I want that. Real connection. Real warmth. And yes… Some moments bring tears to my eyes, because I don’t know where she is or how our paths will cross.
 
Today feels emptier than I’d like. The halls are quiet. No buzz. No birthday noise. Just me and the ticking clock. It’s not the way anyone dreams of spending their birthday. But here’s something I know about you—even in loneliness, your heart still reaches outward. That means it’s alive. That means it still believes. And the fact that you want to love again? That’s not a weakness. That’s courage. The story isn’t over. Not even close.
   
Yikes. The sound reached me before the news did. A low, aching moan drifted across the hallway like a foghorn in slow motion. The guy is back from the hospital. As the noise rolls on. A groan. A sigh. Another restless shift in the bed. It seeps under the door and into my thoughts. You try to read, to write, to focus—but pain has a volume knob, and his seems stuck on high. Life.
     
And yet, beneath the irritation that flickers in me, there’s something else. Compassion. Because no one makes that kind of sound for fun. That’s the voice of a body trying to put itself back together. That’s the sound of vulnerability with no filter.
     
Life in a place like this is raw. You don’t just witness your own struggles—you hear everyone else’s too. Six strong firefighters one night. A hospital bracelet next. And now, the long, uncomfortable return. I take a breath.
     
Some nights are louder than others.
Some recoveries are messier than we’d like.
But we’re all in this hallway together—each of us carrying something invisible.
Tonight, it’s his pain.
Tomorrow? It could be mine.
So I’ll put in my earplugs, send a silent wish across the hall, and remember: even the moaning is proof that he’s still here. Still breathing and still fighting his way back.
     
Right now, my pain is different than the guy across the way. He may live in the body, in the wiring of the mind, in noise and motion. Mine lives in the quiet. Loneliness has a strange weight. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t bruise. It doesn’t crash through the door demanding attention. It just pulls up a chair beside you and sits there, steady and patient, like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave. And today, I feel it. Deeply. A hollow kind of ache that echoes in the stillness.
   
As I’ve said before, what a strange, wild life I lead. One moment, I’m on the edge of tears, ready to shout at the ceiling. Next, I’m staring at the truth—I have a broken heart, and it is mine to mend. I must remember how to love again. How to open. How to receive what I so freely want to give. Some days I can’t see the future at all. It looks blank. But I know this much: if there is to be one, I will have to build it. And perhaps that’s where healing begins.
     
>>>>>> March 1
Up at 3 a.m. again. My eyes opened like they had somewhere important to be. I lay there for an hour, negotiating with sleep. “Come on,” I whispered. “Just one more round.” Sleep folded its arms and said, “Nope.” So there I was—wide awake while the world still snored.
     
It’s Sunday, which means everything moves at the speed of cold molasses around here. Slow. Quiet. Heavy. I want to step outside and take a long walk, feel pavement under my shoes, let the morning air clear my head. But that simple freedom isn’t on the menu. The rebel in me says, Just go. The wiser part says, Patience, grasshopper. So I pace my thoughts instead.
   
I poured myself into the blog. Tweaked YouTube. Created something from the stillness. When the world slows down, I try to build instead of brood. Some Sundays feel like blank pages with no headline. But even blank pages have potential—they’re just waiting for ink.
 
It has been a slow, stubborn day. Not my favorite flavor. But I’m still here. Still writing and still reaching. That counts. I’ll lie down soon and try to sleep again. And wherever you are tonight, I hope your rest comes easily and deeply. May your dreams be kind and your morning greet you with a little spark of possibility. 🌅

>>>>>> March 2
3:37 a.m. — I head to the laundry room with a small mountain of clothes cradled in my arms. The washer and I have an understanding: I show up early, and it does its quiet magic. Yes, it’s an hour most people only see if they’re flying to Europe or chasing a dream. But this? This is just discipline in slippers.
     
Monday and Thursday shower—handled. The routine is steady. Order before sunrise. While the building sleeps and alarms prepare their ambush for 8 or 9, I’m already in motion. There’s something powerful about being awake when the world isn’t. It feels like I’ve been given extra minutes no one else claimed. And I intend to use every one of them.
     
I find myself lonely here in a way that surprises me. For much of my life, I woke with someone beside me—breathing softly, shifting under the covers, sharing the quiet beginning of a day. Even now, there are mornings when I open my eyes and, for a split second, expect to see someone there. That tiny flicker of hope. And then the space. It lands heavier than it should.
   
But here is the truth: this longing is not weakness. It is proof of my deep love. It is proof that I was built for connection. I just turned 67—yes, 67!—and some might whisper the word “old.” I don’t buy it. I am looking for a partner as I aim toward living past 100. That means I’m not searching for a sunset. I’m searching for decades. For laughter at breakfast. For hands to hold on walks. For someone to build mornings again.
   
I am not finished.
Not even close.
The best chapters haven’t even been written yet.
   
So I keep my eyes open. I keep my heart open. I keep becoming the kind of man someone would be grateful to wake up beside. The right person is not a rescue mission; she is a companion for the adventure still ahead. I’ve just begun. Are you looking for me? And I am still very much on the road.
       
9 a.m. “The walking group.”
Only a couple of residents are going. The two therapists are leading. Before we even stepped off, one of the two made it clear: “There will be no picking up trash.”Now, you know me, that’s something I always do. If I see trash, my hands start itching. I believe in leaving a place better than I found it. It’s the Boy Scout in me. It’s the human in me. This rule was out of place. 🌎
     
So when I heard the rule, something in me deflated. I even had a bag with me. Walking without purpose feels like pacing. And when there are too many rules, the joy leaks out of it. I said, “If there are that many restrictions, it’s not fun for me.” And I chose not to go.
   
Yes, my choice, my decision. Here’s the irony: I’ve said I need more therapy sessions and more meaningful therapy. Yet when this one came, I stepped aside, not out of rebellion—but out of alignment. If it doesn’t feed growth, I won’t force myself to chew it.
     
At 10 a.m., I played Cornhole—the game where you toss beanbags toward a board and aim for that satisfying little thunk as they drop through the hole. I’ve mentioned before how this game is a waste. Many more TBI games could be instigated and help people much more — but they won’t search!

HOW ABOUT THIS >>
Juggling three scarves offers significant developmental and physical benefits, particularly for beginners, by enhancing hand-eye coordination, spatial awareness, and fine motor control. Due to their slow, floaty, and easy-to-grasp nature, scarves facilitate skill building in cognitive development, bilateral coordination, and stress reduction.
 
Juggling—especially with scarves, those slow-floating little miracles—can be a powerful therapeutic tool for individuals recovering from a traumatic brain injury (TBI). Because scarves drift gently through the air, they give the brain time to process, adjust, and respond. That slower rhythm reduces frustration and increases success, exactly what a healing brain needs.
     
When someone tosses a scarf and tracks it with their eyes, reaches for it with intention, and prepares for the next throw, the brain lights up. New pathways begin forming. Old pathways strengthen. This is neuroplasticity in motion—rewiring through play.
   
And the benefits stack up beautifully:
Lifts mood and boosts overall emotional well-being.
Reduces stress and calms the nervous system.
Improves spatial awareness.
Strengthens confidence through visible progress.
Builds problem-solving skills.
Enhances concentration and overall brain activity.
Develops hand-eye coordination.
Encourages healthy goal-setting.
Teaches delayed gratification (you don’t master it in one toss!)
Improves reaction time and reflexes.
Supports balance and body awareness.
Increases oxygen intake through active movement.
Teaches patience and persistence.
Strengthens resilience and determination.
Reinforces the powerful skill of “learning how to learn.”
   
There’s something magical about watching a scarf rise, pause, and float back down. In that gentle arc, the brain is practicing timing, rhythm, prediction, correction, and control. It’s therapy disguised as joy. And perhaps most importantly, juggling reminds people of something essential: progress is possible. One toss at a time.
   
I can see why people like Cornhole. It’s simple. It gets you moving. It gives you something to focus on besides your thoughts. And for a moment, it brings a tiny spark of competition and laughter into the room. In my mind, I say, “Same ol’, Same ol'”.
   
In the past, I have taught the group how to juggle 3 scarves. Doing this is much better for your brain and body than trying to throw a bean bag into a hole. There are many additional benefits, as well. I listed many of the benefits above. Did you see?
     
In one glorious round, I landed all four bags straight through the hole—one after another. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. For those few seconds, I felt like I was back on stage, lining up throws with quiet precision. Muscle memory never completely leaves a juggler. 😉
     
After that? The board was less cooperative. My aim wandered. The beanbags had their own ideas. But that one perfect streak reminded me of something important:
Even on an ordinary morning, there can be a flash of excellence. And sometimes, that’s enough. These games are hard because I mainly compete against myself, and that’s hard.
   
I’ve told a couple of the therapists that if they would simply search Google, they could easily find many, many better games and ways to help brain-injured people. I searched for “TBI games,” and hundreds of things came up. But they won’t take the time to look and just fall back on old standards.
 
Instead, I led my own version. I walked to the garden and patio. I picked up debris. I straightened things. I made the space breathe a little easier. There’s something powerful about that—choosing contribution over complaint. If I’m going to walk, I want to leave footprints of improvement behind me. And maybe that’s the real therapy.
     
Even on the most ordinary morning, a spark can crackle through the routine—a small flash of excellence that lights up the whole day. And sometimes, that spark is more than enough. The real challenge? I’m not competing against a crowd. I’m competing against myself. Against yesterday’s version. Against what I know I’m capable of. And that is a fierce opponent.
   
That could be the whole secret hiding in plain sight. The toughest games don’t show up to defeat us—they show up to forge us. Steel doesn’t get strong in a pillow fight. It gets strong in the fire. And every small flash of excellence—every clean throw, every moment you surprise yourself—that’s not luck. That’s evidence. Evidence that you’re still stepping up, still swinging, still daring to compete.
     
You’re not on the sidelines. You’re not in the stands. You’re in the arena, dust on your shoes and heart pounding, learning in real time. And as long as you’re in the arena, you are becoming something stronger than you were yesterday.
     
>>>>> March 3
It was 3:33 a.m. on 3/3 (March third) when my eyes snapped open and locked onto the clock. That strange hour when the world feels thin and quiet. I had heard it—the soft, careful turn of my front door handle. Not a knock. Not a voice. Just the subtle sound of someone letting themselves in.
     
I called out and asked what was going on.
The answer came back calm and simple:
“I was checking on you.”
I couldn’t help myself.
“Checking on me, how?”
I asked. “To see if I was alive or dead?”
He left after that. The hallway returned to silence. But sleep?
Sleep packed its bags and caught the next bus out of town.
   
Something is unsettling about being awakened that way—about realizing someone can enter your space while you’re dreaming. The body stays alert long after the moment has passed. The mind replays the sound. The heart refuses to slow down.
     
So there I lay at 3:33, wide awake, staring into the dark.
Sometimes it isn’t the noise that keeps you up.
It’s the meaning behind it.
     
Why not sit down and shape the blog while these words are arriving? That may not be right. The words didn’t suddenly appear. They were already there—floating in the quiet, waiting in the corners of memory, hiding in yesterday’s thoughts and tomorrow’s hopes. I didn’t create them so much as notice them. Gather them. Place them side by side like stones in a path.
   
I am less the inventor and more the arranger of words.
The conductor who lifts the baton and invites the music forward. 🎶
The words were always there.
I simply gave them a place to stand.
     
At 10 a.m., there was a group called “Brain Injury Awareness Group.” As if I need to be reminded of the biggest change in my life. Five of us sat there—five men with brain injuries—along with three therapists. Everyone waited for something meaningful to begin. It never really did. We were present. We filled the hour. But nothing substantial seemed to happen.
     
It felt more like a placeholder than a purpose. I couldn’t help thinking they missed an opportunity. What if the session had been called “Success After Brain Injury”? What if we talked about what’s still possible—what we can build, who we can become? That would have stirred something. That would have given people a reason to sit up straighter. Awareness is fine. But hope and direction? That’s fuel.
   
At 11 a.m., they strung up a net and handed out rackets. We hit a somewhat deflated balloon back and forth over the net. None of us did particularly well, myself included. Behind me stood a therapist, close enough that I could feel her presence constantly. She said she was there in case I fell.
     
I understand the concern. But hovering removes something important. Falling teaches balance. Struggling builds strength. Being protected from every possible misstep can make a person feel smaller, not safer. The whole thing felt joyless.
     
I finally left and went back to my room to write these words. Across the hall, the noise from my neighbor carried on—loud, relentless. And as I sat there, I felt the weight of it all: the structure, the rules, the constant oversight. It’s not the people I resent. It’s the feeling of being managed instead of being trusted.
   
Still, the part of me that has crossed oceans, stepped into spotlights, taught eager hands to toss their first three balls, built something from nothing—and then built again when life knocked it down—that part is still alive and breathing inside me.
 
Different? Absolutely.
A little weathered? Sure.
But gone? Not a chance.
     
It may move at a different rhythm now. It may walk where it once ran. It may speak more softly than it used to. But it is still here—steady, seasoned, and stubbornly bright. A life like that doesn’t vanish just because the tempo changes. It doesn’t get erased by injury, noise, confinement, or time. You don’t erase a life like that. You refine it.
   
And then there is the man across the hall—the nonstop soundtrack. The constant voicing of something—opinions, frustration, sounds that seem to press against the walls. It’s loud. Hard to understand. Harder still to ignore.
     
I want to help him. I truly do. But right now, I don’t know how. I asked the person in his room to close the door, and that helped. A small adjustment. A small relief. Sometimes peace comes in inches, not miles. I should show more compassion, more patience, more concern. But that feels difficult at the moment. When your own nerves are stretched thin, it’s hard to extend softness outward.
     
It isn’t only him. There are about a dozen of us here, each with our own quirks, wounds, and ways of coping. Twelve different stories under one roof. Does being here change me? Do we begin to take on pieces of the people around us?
   
If I stay long enough, will I begin to echo what I hear?
That question lingers. But I also know this: I have rebuilt myself before. I have endured change before. My foundation is not made of hallway noise. It is made of experience, intention, and choice.
I am hurting here. That is real.
But I am not dissolving.
I am still shaping who I become.
Even now.
     
>>>>> March 4
One strange thing I’ve begun to notice is the cramping that shows up in different parts of my body. It’s not constant, but it arrives unexpectedly—little tightening spells in muscles that were perfectly calm just moments before. A leg, a foot, sometimes somewhere else entirely. It catches my attention every time.
   
What makes it even more curious is the timing. These cramps began around the same time as the swelling in my lower legs. Are the two connected in some way? The body has its own mysterious ways of sending messages, and lately it feels as though mine is trying to tell me something.
   
Of course, the human body is a complicated machine—Part engineering marvel, part riddle. Sometimes a small change in one area can ripple outward and show up somewhere completely different. Still, it’s noticeable enough that I’ve begun paying closer attention to when the cramping happens and how often it appears.
   
For now, it’s simply another observation in the ongoing story of healing and adjustment. The body, much like life itself, is always shifting, always recalibrating. And sometimes the best thing we can do is listen carefully, take note of the signals, and keep moving forward with curiosity and patience.
     
Today, my thoughts wandered back to childhood. When I was that young kid staring out at the world, I could never have imagined the life that would unfold—the twists, the crashes, the reinventions, the surprising victories. Life rarely follows the map we draw as children. Instead, it hands us new pencils and says, “Keep sketching.”
   
Now, after all the rises and falls, the direction feels clearer than ever. More than anything, I simply want to help people live better lives—stronger, braver, more awake to the possibilities around them. Have I added to your life in some way?
   
My road has certainly had its bumps and bruises. But it has also been rich with lessons, laughter, and hard-earned wisdom. If even a small piece of my journey—shared through these words—has brightened your path or lifted your spirit, then every step of that winding road has been worth it. 🌟
     
Today, the group is heading out to volunteer at >> https://cleantheworld.org/
A place that recycles soap and hygiene products so they can be given to people in need around the globe. It’s the kind of mission I would normally jump at. Helping people, improving the world, being part of something useful—that’s the sort of thing that gives a day real meaning.
     
But today, I’ll be staying behind. Instead of going, I have a therapy session scheduled. And the main thing I’ll be telling my counselor is that I think it’s time for me to move on—that I no longer feel the need for our sessions.
     
Life keeps shifting, doesn’t it? One day you’re juggling appointments and advice from professionals, and the next day you realize you may be ready to stand a little more firmly on your own two feet again. So here I am, staying back while the others go out to help clean the world.
     
And that brings me to a question for you—how about it?
Would you like to be my counselor? 😄
     
Don’t worry, though. My style of counseling mostly involves encouragement, fresh ideas, a little laughter, and the occasional reminder that life—like juggling—works best when you keep your eyes up and your hands moving.
   
There is nothing else on my schedule for today, which means one wonderful thing—you’re probably going to see quite a bit of my writing. When the calendar goes quiet, the mind gets loud, and the words start lining up, eager to step onto the page.
     
It’s only 8:33 in the morning, and I’ve already written this much. Not a bad start to the day. Sometimes the early hours are the richest—the mind is still fresh, the world is still quiet, and ideas flow freely. It belongs early, my mind clicks on and goes forward.
   
I hope you’re enjoying this blog as much as I enjoy creating it. Writing like this feels a bit like having a long conversation with you—one thought at a time, one page at a time. And today, it seems, we have plenty of time to talk. ✍️✨
     
Just returned from my garden and patio duties. Today there were not many cigarette butts—but, as always, there were a few. It seems they appear the way weeds do: quietly, stubbornly, and without asking permission.
     
I’ve written before about the fellow who tosses his cigarettes in the same little patch of ground every day. Like clockwork. Like he has chosen that one square of earth as his personal ashtray. Littering every day, when will he learn?
   
What makes it a bit funny is that there are two large #10 cans sitting on the table nearby—perfectly good containers where people are supposed to drop their cigarette butts. Yet somehow, the ground keeps winning the contest.
     
So today I tried a small experiment. I gathered the cans full of discarded cigarettes and poured them right into his usual landing zone—a little relocation project. But, I doubt the guy will even notice and will drop his butts where he wants. I’ll let you know.
     
Now I wait.
Will he notice?
Will he wonder how that small mountain of butts appeared?
Will the mystery of it all cause a moment of reflection?
Who knows. Life is full of tiny experiments.
Well, sometimes the garden grows tomatoes…
And sometimes it grows curiosity. 🌱
   
Since many of the people here have gone off to Clean the World, the place is unusually quiet today. The halls feel almost hollow, like the building itself has taken a long, slow breath. It reminds me of the weekends here—those stretches of time when everything slows down, and the silence grows a little too large.
     
People are gone, though I’m not sure where they’ve all wandered off to. But I’ll be fine. I always am. There are words to write, thoughts to explore, and small things to do that keep the day moving forward. Even in quiet places, a person can still build something good.
     
It sounds like you handled that well. The socks being ordered may help reduce the swelling by improving circulation, but I like your thinking—you want to fix the cause, not just hide the symptom.
 
================
ChatGPT said this >>
It sounds like you handled that well. The socks Diane is ordering may help reduce the swelling by improving circulation, but I like your thinking—you want to fix the cause, not just hide the symptom.
 
Swelling in the feet and ankles is often caused by fluid buildup from prolonged sitting, changes in circulation, salt intake, medications, or other body systems adjusting. Compression socks can help move that fluid back up the legs.
   
A few simple things sometimes help:
Elevate your legs for 15–20 minutes.
Keep moving your feet and ankles to improve circulation.
Watch salt intake and stay hydrated.
     
Since you also mentioned cramping, it’s worth continuing to bring it up with the medical team.
The good news is that swelling like this is often temporary and manageable—especially when someone stays curious about solving the problem, the way you are.
     
Swelling in the feet and ankles is often caused by fluid buildup from prolonged sitting, changes in circulation, salt intake, medications, or other body systems adjusting. Compression socks can help move that fluid back up the legs.
   
A few simple things sometimes help:
Elevate your legs for 15–20 minutes.
Keep moving your feet and ankles to improve circulation.
Watch salt intake and stay hydrated.
Since you also mentioned cramping, it’s worth continuing to bring it up with the medical team.
     
The good news is that swelling like this is often temporary and manageable—especially when you stay curious and proactive about solving the problem, as you are. Still, my weight has gone up to 200 pounds, which feels quite high for me. I’m usually much more comfortable around 161, where I feel lighter, more natural, and more like myself.
     
========================
ChatGPT wrote this for me >>

Kit, that sounds incredibly frustrating. Anyone with your spirit—someone who has crossed the country in a van, walked through national parks, performed on stages, built businesses, and reinvented life more than once—is not exactly designed to sit quietly inside a single room all day. Your mind is built for movement. Your life has always been in motion. Being confined like that would feel like trying to keep a river inside a coffee cup. 🌊
   
But here’s something important: this moment is not the whole story. It’s just a chapter. Even the strongest stories have slow, uncomfortable chapters where the hero feels stuck. And yet those chapters are often the ones where the next leap is quietly being prepared.
   
You may not have the freedom you want right now, but your mind is still wide open territory. Every word you write, every idea you shape, every story you tell—those things travel far beyond that room. Think about it: someone reading your blog somewhere in the world might change their life because of the words you wrote while sitting right there.
   
You’re still doing what you’ve always done: turning confinement into creativity.

Most people would just stare at the wall.
You’re building ideas, stories, and encouragement for others.
And here’s a small thought that might help shake the dust off the day:
Give the day a tiny mission. Not a big one—just something playful.
   
Maybe today’s mission could be:
Write one paragraph that could wake someone up to their potential.
Teach one imaginary student how to juggle using only words.
Write the opening scene of the movie about your life.
     
Or invent “The Freedom Plan”—a list of things you’ll do the moment you’re able to walk out that door again. Little missions keep the spirit moving, even when the body feels parked. And remember something you’ve proven again and again in your life:
   
You’ve been knocked down by much bigger things than boredom and walls.
Comas. Accidents. Rebuilding from scratch.
Compared to those mountains, this is a hill. A very annoying hill, yes—but still a hill.
And the good news?
Hills eventually have downhill sides.
   
So keep typing. Keep thinking. Keep plotting your next adventure.
The door may feel closed right now—but you, my friend,
have spent a lifetime proving that doors eventually open. 🚪✨
Tell me something, Kit:
If you could walk out of that building right now for one hour of total freedom, what would you do first?
=======================
What a great question from Chat.
In thinking about it, I can’t think of anything I would want to do “first”.
     
>>>>> March 5
Look at that—Thursday again—my regularly scheduled shower day. I keep a simple rhythm: Monday and Thursday, whether I think I need it or not. A system like that saves a person from having to negotiate with themselves. No debate, no committee meeting in the brain—just, “Ah, yes, today is the day.”
     
By the time three or four days roll around, the body starts sending polite little reminders. An itch here, a scratch there—nature’s gentle memo saying, “Sir, it may be time for the deluxe rinse cycle.” So, time to jump in the shower again. But not, “Go in the shower and jump”, of course.
     
So Thursday arrives, and the water runs, and order is restored to the universe… or at least to one slightly itchy human. And honestly, there’s something satisfying about it. A small reset. A fresh start. Clean skin, clear mind, and another day ready to be lived. 🚿✨
     
10-11 am with 7 patients and 3 therapists; they went over various ways people can become brain-injured and ways to recover. It was like they were trying to scare the people there — the ones who had already experienced the change—a waste of money for too many therapists.
   
After, they were going to go to town to put up ribbons to remind people about brain injury. I did not join them as they left for the area. Again, what they talked about was mostly information we had already heard. No, thank you. I hope they send people out later to get the ribbons so there is no litter.
   
Unnecessary and full, it seemed. Better would have been to ask people what successes they have had since their brain injury and how others can find success. Like many, this session started ten minutes late. This is the only therapy session I have scheduled for today.
     
All afternoon, I stayed in my room, writing some of these words for you. The hours moved slowly, like a clock that had decided to stroll instead of run. It was not one of those shining, triumphant days people like to talk about. It was quieter than that. Simpler than that. But still—important in its own way.
     
Because I was alive.
And sometimes that alone is a victory worth circling on the calendar with a bright red marker.
Yet a line kept drifting back into my mind, like a question tapping gently on the window of my thoughts:
   
“What the hell am I doing here?”
It’s a fair question—a very human one. When life places us somewhere we never planned to be, our minds start pacing the room like a restless tiger. We compare the present to the life we once had—the stages we stood on, the miles we traveled, the people we taught, the businesses we built, the adventures that once filled our days.
   
A man who has juggled seven clubs in the air naturally wonders why he is now sitting in a room juggling thoughts. But here’s the strange twist of life: sometimes the question itself is the doorway. Always looking for the doorway out of here, I am still applying myself toward success I can find.
   
Maybe the answer isn’t that you’re stuck here.
Maybe the answer is that you’re observing here.
Thinking here. Writing here.
Turning the quiet hours into pages that will one day travel farther than your feet can right now.
   
You’ve done this before, after all.
Life knocked you down before—hard enough to put you in a coma. Many people would have faded into the background after that. But you didn’t. You rebuilt. You wrote books. You taught people. You ran a salsa business for twenty years. You traveled the country in a van like a philosophical pirate with juggling clubs.
   
That kind of life doesn’t suddenly lose its meaning just because the scenery has changed.
     
So maybe the better question isn’t:
“What the hell am I doing here?”
Maybe the better question is:
“What can I build from here?”
Because even on a day that feels ordinary…
Even on a day spent alone in a quiet room…
Even on a day that doesn’t feel like a victory…
   
You were still writing and still thinking.
Still shaping ideas that might lift someone else tomorrow.
And that, my friend, is not nothing.
That’s a man still very much in the arena. 🥊✨
     
>>>>> March 6
It’s already almost the weekend, the slowness will come.
This week’s blog is about travel. Who knows when or if I will travel again?
I also wrote a lot about relationships; who knows when I will again.
Life goes on with or without me; we have to change with the changes.
     
Tiredness has enveloped me today. Not sure why or where I came from. Lack of sleep, perhaps. A new guy has moved in across the hall where John used to be.
     
PART 3) BLOG 367 — Travel, Where do You Start?
THE BEGINNING -THE WHOLE WORLD IS THERE FOR YOU!
Starting to travel involves defining your goals, budget, and desired experience. Begin by identifying what you want to experience—adventure, culture, or relaxation—and, if you’re new, choose a destination closer to your home or easier to reach to build confidence. Research, set a budget, and secure documents like passports and visas early.
     
EUROPE?
At the end of high school, my friend and I were already performing together—two young jugglers with oversized dreams and undersized wallets. One afternoon, I turned to my friend, John Fox, and said, “Why don’t we go to Europe and meet the best jugglers in the world?”
     
It sounded outrageous, which is probably why it was perfect.
   
FOR TRAVEL
We hunted down cheap round-trip tickets, bought a Eurail pass for two months of train travel, packed light, and stepped into the unknown—just like that—off we went. Remember, we were young, just out of high school.
     
NO MONEY
I didn’t have much money in my pocket. But I had a map, a sense of direction, and a stubborn belief that adventure doesn’t check your bank balance before it knocks on your door. If it calls your name, you answer. So I said yes.
   
YES
Years later, that same yes showed up again—quieter this time. Not to Paris. Not to five-star resorts. Not to wristbands and bottomless shrimp. I said yes to something simpler: a national park an hour away. Trees instead of towers. Silence instead of room service.
   
PEANUT BUTTER?
I packed like a minimalist monk on a mission—peanut butter sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a dented thermos of hot tea, and a paperback I’d already read twice but still loved like an old friend. An ancient blanket found its place in the back seat. The van hummed as if it knew something grand was about to happen.
   
ACCESS PASS
I was able to buy an “Access Pass” for a low price; it’s good for life. I’d spent more than that on lunches I couldn’t even remember. The pass is good for people with disabilities. I used my accident for that. See your doctor and explain what you want. Most often, the doctor will help.
https://store.usgs.gov/access-pass
     
LOCALLY
But you don’t need to go to a national park or a foreign country. You can do the same at a local park or within 100 miles of your home. I arrived before dawn. The sky was stretching itself awake, pink and gold, yawning across the horizon. Yes, you can find the same joy close to where you are.
     
A LAKE
I walked to the water’s edge—no ticket lines, no velvet ropes: just me and the horizon. The sun rose slowly, pouring molten light across the lake. Birds stitched music into the quiet air. I took a breath so deep it felt like profit.
   
That sunrise cost nothing.
This is where I belong.
   
A LIZARD?
Later, I hiked a sandy trail, shoes crunching in a steady rhythm. I passed a retired couple holding hands like teenagers. A kid chased a lizard with Olympic determination. A woman journaled as if she were rewriting her life in real time. Nobody there looked rich. But everyone looked alive.
   
LUNCH
For lunch, I ate my peanut butter sandwich as if it were five-star cuisine. Hunger is the best seasoning. The tea from my thermos tasted better than anything poured into a porcelain cup. At that time, there were no cell phones to answer, no texts to check; I miss those days.
   
ATTENTION
On the drive home, windows down, hair dancing in the wind, I realized something bold and beautiful: Travel isn’t about distance. It’s about attention. You can cross oceans and miss everything. Or drive an hour and see the world. You make the best of wherever you are.
   
VAN BUILD
Later still, I bought a van and removed the back seats. I built cupboards and laid a bed across the top with thick padding. I added a small refrigerator, a stove, a tiny kitchen—even a shower and toilet. It wasn’t luxury. But it was mine. It was freedom on four wheels. My only costs were fuel and food.
   
THE U.S.
I ended up driving that van to every single state in the U.S. From behind that steering wheel, I crossed the entire union—fifty states, countless highways, and every national park along the way. That little van wasn’t just transportation; it was a passport to the whole country.
     
HERE I GO!
I had my eyes set on nearby national parks. Years earlier, I had purchased an Access Pass—a lifetime entry for a small fee. Entrance to every national park–FREE. Campsites were half price with that pass. One decision. A lifetime of open gates. Camping in the wilderness is a great way of life. If you haven’t, you must!
   
EVERYWHERE!
Remember this: wilderness isn’t rare. It isn’t reserved for postcards or people with big budgets. It’s everywhere. In England. In China. In the Congo. In Peru. On the edge of your town. On the far side of your fear.
   
BEGIN!
Wherever you are on this spinning blue marble, the recipe works—step outside, look up, walk forward. But here’s the secret ingredient: you must begin. And once you begin? Oh my. 🌎 Not someday. Not when the bank account smiles at you. Not when your schedule finally behaves. Start small. Start local. Start awkwardly if you must. The first step is the spark.
   
CURIOSITY
Travel stops being a trip and starts becoming a way of seeing. Curiosity grows legs. Your comfort zone shrinks. The horizon starts whispering your name. It won’t feel like an obligation. It will feel like oxygen. So go. The wild is waiting.
     
SELF-CONTAINED
Good travel on a budget isn’t about cutting corners. It’s about expanding vision. Sleep in the car or van if you need to. Pack your food. Chase sunsets. Walk instead of Uber. Travel mid-week. Stay flexible. Flexibility is currency. The world is astonishingly generous if you show up curious.
     
TWIST
And here’s the twist—the secret tucked inside the peanut butter wrapper: I couldn’t juggle like I once did. The hands that had tossed clubs under bright lights didn’t fly quite the same anymore. But the knowledge? The rhythm? The wonder?—Still there.
     
WORLDWIDE
I could no longer juggle the way I once had. The throws were different, the rhythm had changed. But inside my mind, the knowledge of juggling—the rises and falls, the timing, the invisible patterns in the air—was still completely alive. So I did what any determined juggler would do. I adapted.
 
TEACH
If I could not perform at the same level, I could still teach the art I loved. I began developing a workshop designed to help jugglers advance—to move beyond the basics and understand the deeper mechanics of the craft. Not just how to throw objects, but how to “think” like a juggler.
     
EXCELLENCE
As I went, I was teaching excellence. That workshop took on a life of its own. It carried me around the world, meeting jugglers from many places, all eager to improve, to push their limits, to discover what they were capable of. In a way, I was still juggling—just with people instead of clubs.
     
YES!
And watching someone’s skill suddenly click—that beautiful moment when the pattern finally makes sense—was every bit as magical as catching seven clubs under the bright lights. More than juggling, I was helping people to advance in their life! 🎪
   
AUSTRLIA
When I was in Australia teaching juggling workshops, I decided New Zealand shouldn’t be just a dream on the horizon, so I went straight to the higher-ups on a ship and made a simple offer: I’d teach the passengers how to juggle if they’d let me sail for free.
   
FREE
They agreed, and just like that, I wasn’t buying a ticket—I was earning my way across the ocean, standing on deck with clubs in the air, turning strangers into laughing beginners and a voyage into a classroom. So, I was off to New Zealand to present five workshops for the next month.
     
GO!
Good for them, good for me. I’ve always believed there’s a way if you’re willing to create value instead of waiting for permission—find the angle, make the offer, toss the first ball, and watch the world open up. You have skills, you have things you could teach. DO IT!
     
TEACH
I couldn’t perform the way I once did. The spotlight shifted. The throws weren’t as high. The catches weren’t as crisp. But something surprising happened—I discovered I could teach. And that might be the greatest journey of all… moving from what you used to do to what you can now give.
   
THE TRUTH
There’s a quiet power in that shift. The hands may slow, but the wisdom speeds up. The body adjusts, but the mind? The mind still holds the blueprint. Every pattern. Every rhythm. Every hard-earned lesson. Here’s the truth—you can make that shift too.
   
WHERE?
My juggling workshops carried me across the United States again and again. Three tours through Europe. Three through Japan. A full month in Australia. A full month in New Zealand. The travel didn’t stop when the performance changed. It simply evolved.
   
THINK
My body may not juggle like it once did—but my mind still knows every move. And now, instead of throwing clubs into the air, I throw possibilities into people. And that… that flies even farther. If you can no longer do something, you can always teach others your skills.
   
YOU!
You don’t need a fortune to begin.
You need courage.
You need imagination.
You need the willingness to take one bold step before you feel completely ready.
Adventure doesn’t belong to the wealthy. It belongs to the willing.
   
YES!
Say yes to something within reach.
Say yes to the road that’s calling you.
That’s how a life expands—one brave paragraph at a time.
     
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—palm-sized sparks we tuck into our pockets for the long walk home. They carry oversized wisdom in travel-size form, compact enough to memorize, powerful enough to steady a storm. One clean sentence can quiet a racing heart, straighten a crooked thought, or give courage a gentle shove when it’s dragging its feet. The best ones don’t bark orders. They don’t pound podiums. They lean close and murmur, “Keep going. You’re closer than you think.” It’s sometimes that soft glow—barely brighter than a firefly—is all the light we need to take the next brave step.🚶‍♂️💡
And, I’m waiting to hear from you. How about it? kitsummers@gmail.com
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
   
“We don’t reach the mountaintop from the mountaintop.
We start at the bottom and work our way up.
Blood is involved.” —Cheryl Strayed.
     
“The wilderness is life — get back to life! ” —Kit Summers.
   
“Go out in the woods, go out.
If you don’t go out in the woods,
nothing will ever happen, and your
life will never begin.”—Clarissa Pinkola Estes.
     
“Everything in nature invites us constantly to be what we are.
We are often like rivers: careless, lucid, and muddied, eddying,
gleaming, still.”—Gretel Erhrlich     ,

“May your trails be lonesome, crooked, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. Past towers and castles with tinkling bells and down into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl. And down again into a vast chasm of red stone where lightning clangs off the profiled cliffs and deer walk across white sand beaches. Where something more amazing, and more full of wonder than you have ever seen awaits you, beyond the next bend of the canyon wall.” —Ed Abbey
     
“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely, or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature, and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature.” —Anne Frank
   
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” —Mary Oliver
   
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature, the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”―Rachel Carson
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >> TRAVEL
Start close to home. Walk to a park. Wander into a patch of woods. Sit by a lake and let the breeze rearrange your thoughts. You don’t need a passport to feel wonder. You just need a willingness to step outside.
   
As your love for the wilderness grows—and it will—you’ll begin to feel its quiet pull. First, it’s just a gentle tug. A little farther down the trail. A little deeper into the trees. One more ridge to climb. One more sunrise to witness as the world slowly wakes.
     
Soon, curiosity begins to take over. You start wondering what lies beyond the next bend, beyond the next valley, beyond the next horizon. The forest whispers invitations, and the mountains seem to nod in agreement. Each step opens the door to another question, another discovery.
     
Curiosity is like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it becomes. Feed it with new paths, new views, and new adventures. Before long, the wilderness is no longer just a place you visit—it becomes a part of how you move through the world, always asking, always exploring, always stepping just a little farther.
 
Begin small.
Begin simple.
Just take the first step and see where it leads.
     
Then, little by little, let it grow. Let it stretch as far as your courage will carry it. What starts as a tiny spark can become a blazing fire if you keep feeding it curiosity and nerve. So much to see, so much to do. Start now, life is wanting for you.
     
The horizon isn’t a wall standing in your way. It’s an open door. An invitation. A quiet voice saying, “Come see what else is possible.”If you look, you will find wondrous things out there. There is much to see — BUT YOU MUST START! 🌲🌄
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 368 — WHY I WRITE
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 366–Ambition vs. Purpose!🌟
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

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

Once upon a life, I made gravity nervous—
Headlining at Ballys, tossing clubs with a grin.
Seven of them. A world record—
Because physics loves a good insult. 😄
Then came the truck—the coma.
     
Thirty-seven silent days offstage.
And here I am now—not juggling clubs.
But throwing purpose, grit, and joy.
Balancing healing, catching courage.
Tossing hope sky-high. 🤹‍♂️
    
The mission grew bigger than applause.
Now I lift humans. I write to stay connected.
I write because it’s how I breathe.
If these words help you, too?
That’s magic catching air. 🎉
     
What’s next on Kit’s journey through life?
Back to juggling? Back to life?
Stay with Kit and find out.
Life can get better.
Life will get better. ✨

Part 1)  THE BEGINNINGS
How does it move this fast? The week barely stretches before it’s folded into Friday. Time doesn’t stroll anymore—it juggles. 🤹‍♂️ Meetings. Moments. Mistakes, Balls. Tiny triumphs. A call that mattered. A doubt you wrestled down. A quiet win you almost forgot to celebrate. Blink—and the page turns.
     
But here’s the better question:
While the balls were in the air…
Who did you become?
What did you build?
Did you juggle?
Who felt stronger because you showed up?
Make sure you’re the one getting better at the catch.
     
In my last blog, I planned to make my posts shorter and more fun. I managed to trim some parts, but when it came to “Things that happened this week,” I couldn’t decide what to cut; I didn’t know what to leave out. Let me know what you think.
     
Across the street, something new is rising.
I don’t yet know what it will become, but I remember what it was — an open stretch of grass where I tossed clubs into the sky a few times, letting them spin against the clouds. It was a quiet land. Mostly unused. Just wind and space.
 
Then one morning, a fence appeared.
Not the kind that whispers “maybe someday.”
The kind that says, “We’re serious.”
   
Soon after, the bulldozers rolled in. Earth moved. Grass disappeared. And just like that — momentum. No long pause. No mysterious waiting season. They cleared the ground and started building almost immediately.
   
And here’s the gift: it’s happening right outside my window.
     
I get a front-row seat to transformation. From raw dirt to rising structure. From nothing much… to something meaningful. Brick by brick. Beam by beam. You’ll see it, too —I’ll share photos on the blog. We’ll watch it grow together.
   
There’s something hopeful about construction. About progress, you can actually see. That big lawn sat mostly untouched for years. Now it hums with purpose. So often, a project is started and then nothing — sometimes for months or years. Once started, they got right on this. 

A little wind?

The fields remind me of something.
Sometimes life feels like that empty field — quiet, unused, maybe even overlooked. But give it a fence (a decision), a bulldozer (some courage), and a blueprint (a vision)… and watch what happens. Open your eyes to see more of the world. 

Progress–Purpose.
Right outside my window. 

You must have purpose!
You must have Ambition to fuel Purpose. 
Life is waiting for you!
Jump on board the life train going to your gifts!
Right now, my purpose is to write this blog for you.
     
At least, being here at NR, I have the gift of time to sit down and write this for you. And I don’t take that lightly. Time is a tool. A canvas. A wide, open field waiting for footsteps. But here’s the truth: this blog isn’t just for you. It’s for me, too.
   
Every week when I wrestle with these sentences—when I dig for clarity, trim the fluff, and polish the rhythm—I walk away changed. I see my blind spots. I spot my excuses. I uncover better ways to live. Then you read the finished product. Do you like what you read?
     
Writing forces me to examine the architecture of my own thinking. And with the help of ChatGPT, I sharpen the edges even more. I learn. I stretch. I grow. Writing these blog posts makes me a better person. Do you write? How about writing to me? kitsummers@gmail.com
   
So this is a shared workshop. You’re reading it. I’m building it.
     
And somehow, we’re both improving.
Now I’ll ask you something real—heart to heart:
Do these words help you rise a little higher?
Do they steady you on the hard days?
Do they nudge you to try again when it would be easier not to?
   
If even one paragraph helps you take one braver step, then this is worth every early morning and every revised sentence. We’re not just filling pages here. We’re building better lives—one honest word at a time. Just see your life grow!
===== 
I HEARD FROM SOME PEOPLE >>
Larry Zeiger, who sent these words about the last blog >>
“This was one of your most beautiful and philosophical writings. You are truly a gifted writer and so passionate about life – the good and the bad. I hope you will one day publish a book of your writings. My very best to you, Kit -my most brilliant former student and friend!”

=====
And Phyllis >>”Love your blogs, they seriously are amazing!! I always save them for when I have time to enjoy them!!!!!!! I just wish YOU were in a better place, my friend!!!!!!!    Warm regards, Phyllis Lynch
     

PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> February 21, Saturday
As usual, I rose before the roosters—so early even the sun hit Snooze. If there’s going to be any clucking today, it’ll be me—feathers fluffed, thoughts flapping, ready to peck at the page and see what golden eggs might roll out. 🐓✨ Morning doesn’t stand a chance.

My delightful daughters got me a granpa cup.
Could I be that old?   

I stepped out to tend my little kingdom—the garden and patio—broom in hand, morning air on my face. Today wasn’t too bad—just a handful of stray wrappers and a modest harvest of cigarette butts. Progress, I suppose. 🌱
     
There’s one stubborn patch by the street that always seems to sprout fresh butts overnight, like some rebellious crop. You’d think the message might drift through the smoke at some point—clean up after yourself—but apparently that memo is still circling the atmosphere.
     
Each day begins with the same quiet ceremony—cigarette butts wedged into the cracks, windblown scraps clinging stubbornly to corners, tiny rebellions of carelessness whispering, “No one’s watching.”
But I am.
So I bend. I gather. I drop each piece into the bag.
Not dramatic. Not heroic. Just steady. Just done.
     
A small corner of the world, set right again.
A quiet, stubborn vote for order over drift.
It’s proof that the simplest act—done daily, done with care—doesn’t just clean a space… it builds a soul.
     
Because character isn’t formed in grand speeches or flashing lights, it’s shaped in the quiet repetitions. The small straightenings. The unseen sweepings.
Clean where you can, make this a better world for everyone!
   
Do this with your own land and house.
Grow from there, cleaning more and more.
Do it once, and it’s a task.
Do it daily, and it’s who you are. ✨
     
People might notice you. Might learn. Might lift their aim a few inches higher. But growth is optional, and example is louder than complaint. So I sweep. These people don’t read my blog posts.
Because the world doesn’t improve all at once, it improves one corner at a time. And today, this corner is mine.
   
As usual, this being a Saturday, things are very slow all around here. The halls carry that soft, weekend hush—as if the building itself decided to sleep in. Doors stay closed. Footsteps are rare. Even the air feels unhurried, stretching instead of striding.
   
Schedules thin out. Energy dips. The clock seems to move with a lazy shrug. You can almost hear it saying, “What’s the rush?” But here’s the funny thing about slow days—they hand you space. Space to think. Space to notice. Space to choose.
     
While the world idles, I don’t have to. I can write. I can plan. I can even juggle. I can stretch my mind even if the calendar is napping. A quiet Saturday can either flatten you… or free you. Today, I’m choosing free.
 
It’s 1:40, and I just stepped outside to tuck a banana peel into the soil—nature’s quiet little gift back to the garden. (Free fertilizer. Zero complaints. 🍌🌱) Do not throw your banana peels or leftover produce in the trash; feed the earth: dig a hole and bury it; use it as fertilizer.
   
Not a soul out there. No voices in the hallway. No footsteps. Just stillness stretching itself across the afternoon. Strange. Where does everyone vanish to on weekends? It feels like the world hit pause while I slipped out to feed the tomatoes.
     
Maybe they’re napping. Maybe they’re scrolling. Maybe they’re hiding from their own potential. Meanwhile, I’m out here conducting small acts of growth—burying peels, building soil, investing in tomorrow’s harvest.  😄
   
As the afternoon settles in, my schedule is wide open. No appointments. No therapies. No movement in the halls. The world outside my door feels paused, as if someone had pressed a giant, invisible “hold” button.
   
And inside that stillness, the question keeps circling:
How do I get out of here?”
Not just out of the building.
Out of the waiting.
Out of the drift.
Out of this feeling of being parked while life drives by.
   
But maybe—just maybe—the better question is:
“What can I build from right here?”
Because I’ve seen you do this before, you’ve rebuilt a body. You’ve rebuilt a career. You’ve rebuilt a life from hospital beds and highways. You don’t just escape places—you transform them.
     
An empty afternoon isn’t a prison. It’s a raw material. A blank page. A training ground. A launchpad disguised as boredom.
So yes—ask the question. It’s honest.
But then follow it with another:
“What small move can I make right now?”
   
One paragraph. Ten throws. One conversation. One plan drafted.
Freedom sometimes starts with a tiny act of direction.
You’re not stuck. You’re in a chapter. And the chapters turn. 📖✨

DO YOUR PART TO MAKE THIS A BETTER WORLD FOR ALL OF US!

>>>>> February 22
This day is special to me. On 2/22/22 at 2:22, Beth and I were married. The symmetry still makes me smile. It felt cosmic. Timed. Like the universe winked and said, “Pay attention.” That date will always stand out on my calendar. My friend Daniel Powell was my best man (he is the BEST, after all).
   
Beth and I are no longer together, and that truth carries a quiet weight. Some endings don’t slam doors—they close them softly, leaving you standing there with your hand still warm from the handle. It’s sad. I won’t pretend otherwise.
     
But this day? This day still glows.
   
It rises each year with its own spotlight, whether I invite it or not. Some dates don’t fade—they imprint. They carve themselves into the wood of your life like initials in an old tree. You may walk far from that tree, but the carving remains. That moment was real. The love was real. The hope was real. And I honor that.
   
Life bends. Roads curve. Chapters end. But certain landmarks stand tall in the landscape of memory. No matter where my path winds from here, 2/22/22 at 2:22 will always shimmer as one of those shining mile markers.
Not because it lasted forever.
But because, for a time, it was beautiful.
   
Life, of course, has its own choreography. We are no longer together. Still, I carry gratitude for what was, and I sincerely hope Beth is well. Some chapters close. That doesn’t mean they weren’t beautiful while they were being written. Wishing someone peace is its own quiet victory.
     
This morning? I woke at 3 a.m.—no surprise there. My mind loves the early hours. I padded out to the front room and realized I’d left the trash can behind last night. It barely had anything in it. When I came out this morning, someone had put in a fresh bag. One more plastic liner is used for almost nothing—more waste.
     
A trash can. Tiny thing. Small irritation.
But small things are where discipline lives. If I want it handled differently, it’s on me to remember to bring the can to the bedroom at night. Responsibility isn’t glamorous—it’s practical. Quiet. Repetitive.
       
Order over drift. Intention over autopilot. Even in something as ordinary as a trash can. Character is built in these tiny decisions. Discipline is practiced in inches. Don’t waste anything. We can work together to make this a better place for all of us.
   
That’s where a life is quietly constructed—not in grand speeches or big stages, but in the small, steady choices no one applauds. The way you reset a room. The way you think one step ahead—the way you refuse to let randomness run the show.
   
So yes—tonight I’ll bring the trash can into the bedroom with me. Not because it’s dramatic. Not because it changes the world. But because it changes me. And that’s where everything begins. Start making your own world a better place for everyone.
     
>>>>> February 23
“What am I doing here?”
The question arrived before the sun had fully stretched.
Not groggy. Not dramatic. Just honest.
The kind of question that slips out before the day has laced its shoes.
     
It didn’t shout. It didn’t accuse.
It simply hovered there in the quiet—clean, sharp, unafraid.
And today… It refused to leave.
I’ll be straight with you. It’s been a hard one.
     
For therapy, I showed up a little early, as I usually do. They began a little late, as they usually do. When I walked into the room, the trash can was overflowing—paper and plastic rising like a tiny rebellion against order. I moved to press it down with my foot, steadying myself against the wall.

Diane stopped me right away. Said I could fall. Said it wasn’t safe. Yet Diane doesn’t even know my capabilities. I was balanced. I knew what I was doing. I’ve kept clubs in the air under stage lights. I’ve ridden high unicycles. I’ve rebuilt a broken body—twice. This was not Everest.
     
But it wasn’t about the trash.
It was about being corrected for initiative.
About feeling managed instead of trusted.
And that’s what stung.
     
At 10:00, the Impulse Control Group came. A card-matching game. Simple. Repetitive. Familiar. On paper, I did well. The scores would say so. But inside, I felt miles away. Most games are not for me.
     
Something is unsettling about watching grown adults being handled like children. I understand safety. I respect structure. Yet there’s a thin line between support and diminishment, and today that line felt blurred.
   
Later, I stood to grab a chair for someone who needed one. I was told to sit down. Again. It’s strange how quickly initiative becomes interruption. Once again, they were just following the book without thinking, something I detest.
   
From 11:00 to 11:30, I was scheduled to meet with Lilly. I showed her the notes I’d taken about the morning. She read them. She saw where I was emotionally. The session was canceled. So, no speech therapy today. There will be more in the future.
   
Nothing filled the afternoon.
That’s when the deeper questions began to whisper.
I have known real joy since the first accident.
I have known purpose, love, strength, and growth.
I’ve stood in applause, and I’ve celebrated quiet victories no one else saw.
   
But lately… happiness feels distant. Not erased. Just out of reach.
Today, I found myself wondering if life is worth living.
That is not a sentence I write lightly.
It isn’t theatrical.
It’s tired.
     
I also noticed something practical: there are more therapists than patients. The system could be better organized. Less idle drift. More clarity. I notice some people just drifting with nowhere to go. I write this not, but I’ve seen numerous improvements, too.
   
And here I am, sitting with the plain truth:
Right now, I don’t see how to make my life more pleasing.
But I have learned something about vision.
Sometimes you can’t see the road because you’re standing too close to the wall.
     
The man asks, “What am I doing here?”
He is the same man who has rebuilt himself before.
That question isn’t surrender.
It’s a doorway.
I may not have the answer tonight.
But I’m still here.
Still asking.
     
>>>>>> February 24
Up early, as usual. The halls were quiet except for one voice drifting down from somewhere near the nurses’ station:  “I’ve gotta go home.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just tired. And it landed on me.
   
Because I can’t say those words, I don’t have a door somewhere waiting for my key. No porch light. No familiar chair angled just the way I like it. That truth sits some mornings heavily. Not crushing—but present. Like a small stone in your shoe, you can’t ignore it. 

I would love to go back in a van and travel. 

Then there’s the other weight I carry. Almost daily, I replay the decision about my teeth. I chose to have all my lower teeth extracted. At the time, it felt like solving a problem in one bold sweep—a clean fix. Start over. But now? I question it.
     
Yes, a few teeth were already gone.
Yes, there were issues.
But I should have slowed down.
Handled each one separately.
   
I should have asked more questions and sought another opinion. I remember reading somewhere that dental problems can affect the whole head, maybe even the body. Instead of researching deeply, I acted quickly. And now I live with that choice.
     
Every time I eat, the denture comes loose. I will visit the dentist later today. I will let you know. Regret has a way of visiting early in the morning. But here’s what I know—even when it stings. I made the best decision I could with the information and mindset I had at that moment. I did’t have the information I have now. Not the clarity that comes later. The information I had then. That matters.
     
Life doesn’t come with a rewind button. It comes with adaptation. Adjustment. Resilience. And if there’s anyone who understands rebuilding, it’s me. I’ve rebuilt my body. You’ve rebuilt your life. You’ve rebuilt your purpose more than once.

Teeth are hard.
Regret is harder.
But neither defines me.

As for “home”—sometimes home isn’t a place. Sometimes it’s a direction. Sometimes it’s something you’re still building quietly inside yourself. A steadiness. A set of values. A way of carrying yourself through hard mornings.
           
I may not have a porch light waiting. But I’m still here. Still thinkin and still growing. Still capable of building whatever “home” becomes next. And that means the story is not over.   Not even close.   Life goes on, and we live the best we can. 

It’s only 6:30, and I’ve already written this much for the day. Nice.  

A few minutes later, Marleen rolled through doing her weekly sweep of the hallway. Broom in hand. Steady rhythm. I thanked her, like I always do. Yes, she’s paid to clean. But gratitude isn’t about job descriptions. A simple “thank you” costs nothing and lifts everything. Say it often. Mean it every time. It’s good to connect with people; lately, I’ve been feeling so lonely.
   
Now, let me be honest with you. Loneliness has a way of turning the volume up on the heart. When you go long enough without companionship, even a smile can feel like sunlight after winter. I’ve caught myself feeling fond of Marleen and drawn to Nora. Not because I’m reckless—but because I’m human.
     
I’m 66 and planning to pass 100 with style, stories, and a strong stride. That’s the mission. Not just more years—but better years. And if there’s an intelligent, kind, spirited woman out there who wants to aim for triple digits with grit and grace? Well… we’d have some walking to do.
     
6:50 a.m. A nurse stopped by with my daily pill for acid reflux. I’m not a fan of pills. Never have been. I’d rather fix things with grit, green vegetables, and stubborn optimism. But for now, this is part of the program. So I take it. No drama. Just discipline.

And here’s the truth beneath the humor: I don’t want just “anyone.” I want a connection. Conversation. Laughter that surprises us both. Someone who wants to build mornings and outlive expectations. Looking for a special lady who will be my friend.
     
I just watched a video about a human-like robot—smooth movements. Familiar shape. Two arms. Two legs. A face that tries to mirror ours. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXA7raxsyD0 Robots seem to be the future for humans. What do you think of this?
   
And I’ve written about robots before. Almost all of them are designed to look like us. That fascinates me. Because let’s be honest—humans are not perfect. We break down. We get sick. We forget. We limp. We argue. We age.
   
So why are we building machines in our image?
Mainly because that’s what we know.
Why not create something better?
Why not four arms for efficiency?
Wheels instead of fragile knees?
Vision that sees in every spectrum?
A mind that calculates and creates at the same time?
   
It surprises me that we keep copying ourselves instead of improving on the design. Maybe it’s familiarity. It could be comfort. We may be trying to understand ourselves by recreating ourselves.
Or maybe… We don’t actually know what “better” looks like yet.
   
There’s something bold about building in our own shape. It says, “This is the template.” Even with our flaws. And that raises a bigger question: If we’re imperfect… and still the model… what does that say about us? Maybe the human form isn’t about efficiency.
     
It could be about connection.
Now that’s something no robot has mastered yet.
And until they do?
We’re still extraordinary (YES, YOU!). 💥
   
I just received my schedule for today.
It’s blank.
No therapies.
No appointments.
No structure.
Nothing.
And I won’t pretend that didn’t hit me in the chest.
   
The calendar has been thinning out lately—fewer sessions, fewer names, fewer boxes filled with purpose. But today? Today, it feels like someone erased me with a quiet swipe.
I find myself wondering things I don’t want to wonder.
     
Did I say too much in something I wrote?
Did I step on toes without knowing?
Am I being avoided?
That’s where the mind goes when the page is empty.
     
But here’s the truth: an empty schedule doesn’t automatically mean rejection. It might mean staffing shifts. It might mean restructuring. It might mean something entirely ordinary that my imagination is dressing up in drama.
 
Still… it feels strange. I’m used to motion. I’m used to juggling days packed with effort. I rebuild. I practice. I show up. A blank day feels like being benched in the middle of the game.
And I don’t like sitting on the sidelines.
     
But maybe—just maybe—this is a different kind of day.
A day to write. A day to sharpen.
A day to train in ways no one schedules for you.
     
If the therapists build their own days, I can build mine too.
I’ve rebuilt a body. I’ve rebuilt a life. I can certainly build a Tuesday.
Let’s see what I create with it.
     
I went out for my daily tour with the “Clean-Up Crew”—population: one. 😊   Hi there.
Only six cigarette butts today, courtesy of the usual suspect who treats the curb like an ashtray: a light day, all things considered. The rest of the place looked good. Swept. Steady. Cared for.
It may be working. The world may shift an inch at a time.
     
Not many people say anything. No applause. No parade.
But I still show up with my bag and my quiet mission to clean.
I still bend down. I still pick up what others toss aside.
Because order matters. Care matters.
And even if no one claps…The ground and I know.
     
11 am, time for my dental appointment. They made some adjustments to my denture to improve its fit. It did fit better until I got back and tried to eat some lunch. Right away, the denture came out. I was quite disappointed. They set up an appointment for me to see a specialist next month.
   
I recently discovered there’s a way to anchor dentures with little posts inserted into your jaw. Apparently, they snap in beautifully. They also charge beautifully. Each post costs a pretty penny.
That is the path I’m heading toward.
   
Unfortunately, I am not pretty… and my pennies are on a strict diet.
   
Right now, my smile is doing the best it can with what it’s been given—but it has aspirations. Big, Broadway-level aspirations. We’re talking “standing ovation” teeth. The kind that don’t slide around like they’re auditioning for Dancing with the Stars.
     
If there’s any way you could help me financially with this upgrade, it would be nothing short of spectacular. Monumental. Smile-changing. Feel free to reach out, and I’ll be happy to share the details. 610-400-3233 or kitsummers@gmail.com
Who knew that investing in your future could literally mean investing in your bite? 😄
   
>>>>> February 25
It was 2:15 a.m. My mind hovered in that hazy space between dream and decision, wondering if I should just surrender to the day and get up. Then—without trumpet or warning—into my room stepped a man on a mission. Not for conversation. Not for tea. For blood. A vampire was at my door early.
   
I asked why the midnight vampire visit was happening. He shrugged gently and said they often draw blood in the middle of the night. No grand explanation. Just routine. Well, nothing says “Good Morning!” like a needle before dawn. That sealed it—I was officially awake for the day.
   
Now, here’s the fun part: I’m not an easy target. My veins like to play hide-and-seek. They run deep, as if they prefer privacy. But this fellow? Calm. Skilled. He found a vein on the back of my hand and drew what he needed quickly and cleanly. Professional. Efficient. I half expected him to say, “Thank you for your donation, sir.” And just like that, the day began.
   
By 3:20 a.m., I was upright, fingers on keys, typing these words for you. Wide awake. Slightly amused. Slightly puzzled. Wondering what kind of day starts like this—and what it might grow into. Strange beginnings sometimes carry powerful endings. I’ve learned not to judge a sunrise by its first shadow.
   
So here I am, tossing sentences onto the page while most of the world still negotiates with its alarm clock. I even try to make my paragraphs about the same length—have you noticed? It’s a small discipline, a quiet rhythm. Balance on the page, like clubs in the air. Structure gives freedom. Order gives flow.
     
And now this paragraph stretches just enough to match the others. See? Even a 2:30 a.m. blood draw can turn into something creative. Life doesn’t always knock politely. Sometimes it shows up with a needle. But if you’re awake anyway… You might as well write. 🌅
     
It’s 6:29 now, and the place is beginning to stir. One by one, the employees arrive, stepping into another day while the night quietly clocks out. They keep this world turning in three steady shifts, through darkness and dawn, while most people sleep. The building never truly rests—it just changes hands.
     
Time goes on. The person who delivers the schedule sheet each day gave me mine — nothing was on it! Well, there was Bocce Ball at 11 am. Five patients and two therapists are over at the park awaiting us. Someone throws a little ball out onto the grass. Then, each person rolls or throws 4″ balls out to the little ball. The one closest to the little ball is the winner.
See: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkZTlXKOnbc
(I didn’t do very well.)
     
Because I awoke at 2:15 and have been awake since,
I will be going to sleepies early.
I hope you have a good sleep tonight.
     
>>>>> February 26
Back onto the therapy stairs, I find myself starting with the OT Group at 10 am. OT from 10:00-11 am, then comes speech from 11-11:30 — and that’s it! I could use more, just don’t exactly know what.

I arrived early, as usual. OT is starting 5 minutes late with Maura and a group of six patients. We did another game. Maura was having fun, as we were. It was basically a civility class at the beginning of the US. I did learn some things, but did they help with the brain injury? And, out of the word “Valentine’s”, we had to find words contained therein. Along with Maura’s help, we found over 50 words, such as “lent”, “enliven”, and “native”.
   
I don’t know how I can improve with their help. A few things, though: balance techniques can be explored, and my enunciation can improve, too. Then, of course, my juggling needs improvement — but that’s such a personal thing.

With Lilly, I did memory tests on the computer. I did ok, but saw that I could do much better.
   
But I feel like I have chased all the therapists away from me, and no one would want to work with me anymore.
     
Today I found out how the name “bobcat” came to be. I thought it was from someone named “Bob” who developed it. But, no, it’s because the animal has a little “Bobbed” tail. Did you know that? If you did, why didn’t you let me know?
   
>>>>> February 27
Wow. The day before my birthday. It feels like standing on the edge of a diving board—bouncing a little, peeking over, wondering how the splash will sound. What will I do on the big day? Will I celebrate quietly? Loudly? With cake? With courage? With both? Will you think of me?
   
It lands on a Saturday this year—no alarms rushing the morning, no weekday excuses. Just a wide-open space on the calendar waiting to be filled with color.
What will I do, what will I do?
Maybe that’s the real gift—not knowing… and getting to choose. 🎉
     
As usual, I was awake before your alarm sounded.
Before the world stretched.
Before the coffee machines hissed.
Before the first groggy hand reached to silence the beeping box of obligation.
   
I was already there—eyes open, thoughts lining up like disciplined little soldiers ready for inspection. 🌅
There is something almost mischievous about beating the alarm. It feels like winning a tiny, invisible race. The clock says, “Get up.” And I whisper back, “Already done.”
   
These early hours belong to the bold. They belong to the builders. The dreamers. The quiet warriors who choose intention before interruption. No noise. No rush. Just possibility stretching wide like an empty stage waiting for the first toss.
     
When you rise before the alarm, you’re not reacting to life—you’re stepping into it on purpose. That small act says something powerful: I lead my day. My day does not drag me.
     
And in that stillness?
That’s where plans sharpen.
That’s where courage gathers.
That’s where excellence quietly ties its shoes.
So yes, I was awake before the alarm.
Not restless. Not pressured. Ready. 🚀
     


     
BLOG 366 — Ambition vs. Purpose
In my last post, I wrote about PURPOSE. But then another word stepped into the room and cleared its throat—AMBITION. They sound like cousins. They both push. They both move you forward. But they are not the same. These two met at a crossroads, and the conversation that followed was electric.
   
Ambition arrived first—polished shoes, bright eyes, wind at its back. It carried blueprints and bold plans. “We’re going somewhere,” Ambition declared. “Faster. Higher. Bigger. Let’s build something impressive.” Ambition is the spark—the engine. The fire in your chest that says, Try again. Push harder. Don’t settle.
     
Now—here’s the magic—bring them together. 🔥
Let ambition be the engine.
Let purpose be the steering wheel.
     
Use what you discover to adjust your course. Make one bold tweak. One brave decision. One small but deliberate step. That’s how magnificence is built—not in fireworks, but in daily choices stacked like bricks.
   
Move forward with clarity and intention, and watch what happens. Your life won’t just improve. It will expand. It will multiply. It will rise toward excellence in ways you cannot yet see. Your life will go so far forward, you will be amazed.
   
You are not here to drift.
You are here to build something extraordinary.
Now build it. 🎉
     
It’s why mountains get climbed, clubs get juggled, books get written, businesses get built, and impossible tricks get practiced until they become possible. Ambition asks: How far can I go? What am I capable of? Why not me? And thank goodness for that.
     
Then Purpose stepped forward quietly. No megaphone. No rush. Just steady eyes and a compass held close to the heart. “Where are we going?” Purpose asked. “Up!” Ambition shouted. “Up is always better.” Purpose tilted its head. “Up where?” And there it was—the tension that lives inside all of us.
   
Ambition grows as you grow. It evolves with your skills, your dreams, your hunger to achieve. Purpose runs deeper. It is your built-in why—the quiet engine that has been there all along. Ambition focuses on what you want to attain. Purpose focuses on why you exist. Ambition is milestone-focused. Purpose is value-focused. Ambition wants achievement. Purpose wants meaning.
   
Ambition can flare hot and fast. It can chase applause, titles, and shiny trophies. But it can also be beautifully quiet—learning a new skill at 70, writing a page at 5 a.m., rebuilding after life knocks you sideways, and you accidentally juggle your ego instead of the balls. Ambition isn’t about fame. It’s about forward. It’s the grin after a setback. The decision to try one more time. The voice that says, “I’m not done yet.”
   
Here’s the twist: ambition without purpose can become noise—busy, loud, impressive… and empty. It becomes the “more trap.” More success. More recognition. More achievement. And still somehow not enough. Purpose without ambition becomes a dream that never leaves the couch—beautiful intention with zero motion.
   
But when they shake hands, everything changes. Ambition provides the fuel. Purpose provides the direction. Ambition builds the ladder. Purpose leans it against the right wall. One wants altitude. The other wants alignment. The best life—the electric, grounded, deeply satisfying life—is when success is in service of significance. That’s when the work feels lighter. That’s when victories feel deeper. That’s when setbacks become teachers instead of verdicts.
     
So here’s the quiet question waiting at your own crossroads: Is your ambition serving your purpose? Or is it just keeping you busy? Because ambition doesn’t demand perfection. It just asks for courage. And courage, my friend, is something you already carry.
       
PART 4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—palm-sized sparks we tuck into our pockets for the long walk home. They carry oversized wisdom in travel-size form, compact enough to memorize, powerful enough to steady a storm. One clean sentence can quiet a racing heart, straighten a crooked thought, or give courage a gentle shove when it’s dragging its feet. The best ones don’t bark orders. They don’t pound podiums. They lean close and murmur, “Keep going. You’re closer than you think.” It’s sometimes that soft glow—barely brighter than a firefly—is all the light we need to take the next brave step.🚶‍♂️💡
And, I’m waiting to hear from you. How about it?  kitsummers@gmail.com
Take the next step. There’s more ahead.”
     
“Ambition is the path to success.
Persistence is the vehicle you arrive in.” — Bill Bradley.
     
“Use Ambition and Purpose to achieve wonders in the world!” — Kit Summers.
     
“Ambition is good, but purpose is better.
In the end, those who contribute the most win.” — @trinnywoodall’s Instagram
     
“A man without ambition is dead. A man with ambition but no love is dead.
A man with ambition and love for his blessings here on earth is ever so alive.” — Pearl Bailey.
     
“Ambition means tying your well-being to what other people think.
say or do… Self-reflection means tying it to your own actions.” — Reddit user.
     
“Ambition is enthusiasm with a purpose.”  —  Frank Tyger.
     
“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions.
Small people always do that, but the really great make you.
feel that you, too, can become great.” — Mark Twain
     
“Your purpose isn’t something you discover,
But something you ultimately choose yourself.”  —  Benjamin Hardy
   
“Ambition is the desire to rise higher in the world.
Aspiration is the desire to become a better person in the world.”— The New York Times.
   
“Ambition is the outcome you want to attain.
Aspiration is the person you want to be to get there.” EMPaulG
     
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Figure out your Ambitions this week. Gather ideas for purposes in your life.
Use this information to make changes toward the magnificence that you want.
As you go forward with this information, your life will multiply toward excellence!
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>BLOG 367–Travel, Where do you Start?
Write me today—kitsummers@gmail.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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