✨KITTING AROUND✨
BLOG 371–The Power of Starting Before You Feel Ready
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback
To Learn More about Kit, Go Here >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

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

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

Part 1)  THE BEGINNINGS
We live, we die, we leave memories.
You must always remember >>
Stand tall in your life. Live with dignity, with intention, with fire in your chest—and when the final chapter comes, don’t fade… finish strong! Don’t just drift through life and quietly disappear.
     
Larry said this about my last blog >>
“Very philosophical blog, but I wish you would eat more.  Especially vegetarian dishes.  They give you energy and are filled with minerals and vitamins that are good for you! 
Stay well, my friend!!!”   Larry Zeiger   Thanks, Larry!
     
Starting before you feel ready is powerful because action creates momentum, while waiting for perfection guarantees delay. Readiness is built through the journey, not before it, allowing you to learn and adapt along the way. True growth and success occur outside your comfort zone, necessitating the courage to start with what you have now.
   
That’s often the hardest part—just getting started.
Not the talent.
Not the timing.
Not even the outcome.
Just… that first step.
That initial toss into the air when nothing feels certain and everything feels possible at the same time. 

Once you get started, you will find things better as you go. 

With my comedy juggling show, I didn’t have it all figured out. I didn’t wait until every trick was perfect or every joke landed flawlessly. I simply began. One club in the air. One moment of courage. One decision to move forward instead of standing still. I played, I dropped, I continued. 

And something magical happens when you start.

The hands start to remember. Not perfectly—just enough to begin the dance.
The mind, once loud with doubt, softens… quiets… steps aside.
A rhythm sneaks in. Subtle at first. Then steady. Then undeniable.
The pattern—once scattered and clumsy—begins to come together, like puzzle pieces finally fitting.
     
And suddenly…
What felt awkward begins to flow.
What seemed impossible starts to loosen its hold.
What felt unfamiliar begins to feel like it was yours all along.
Not magic.
Just you—showing up long enough for the miracle to catch up. 

BUT NONE OF THAT SHOWS UP BEFORE THE BEGINNING.

You don’t gain confidence and then start—you start, and confidence follows you like an excited puppy. 🐾 So if you’re standing there, holding your version of those juggling clubs—an idea, a dream, a next step—don’t wait for everything to be perfect. Perfect is slow. Perfect is shy. Perfect likes to hide.
 
Start messy. Start uncertain.
Start with a little wobble in your hands and a grin on your face.
Because once that first toss goes up…
       
You’re no longer thinking about starting.
You’re in it.
And that, my friend, is where life really begins. 🎯

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

Every week, I sit down to map out my daily schedule. And every time I begin,
It’s the same blank canvas—nothing there. It still surprises me to this day.
right before I fill it in… when the week is wide open, waiting for me to decide
what it becomes.

>>>>> March 28
I’m feeling lonely out here near Orlando. If you’ve got a moment in your world, I’d love a visit. Even a small one can mean a lot. A few kind words, a quick hello—sometimes that’s all it takes to remind someone they’re not standing alone on their own little stage.
   
Earlier, I stepped into my daily ritual—my quiet act of service. I walk the grounds, picking up cigarette butts and scattered bits of life people forgot they dropped. It still amazes me how quickly it all adds up… how easily the world lets things drift.
   
So I gather what I can, piece by piece. One small correction to the chaos. It may not look like much, but to me, it feels like restoring order to one tiny corner of the universe. Like whispering, “Hey… this still matters.” What can you do to help?
   
And every time, without fail, I head back to wash my hands—scrubbing away that stale smoke smell, like I’m rinsing off someone else’s yesterday. It’s a strange contrast—cleaning up what others leave behind while trying to keep your own space, your own spirit, clear and fresh.
   
Today is Saturday, and the world feels slower. Quieter. Almost too quiet. Part of me knows exactly what to do—get outside, run a little, toss a few clubs into the air, feel that rhythm come back. That’s where I come alive.
   
But today, I’m tired. Not just body tired—deep tired. The kind that leans in and whispers, “Maybe later,” and then quietly moves “later” just out of reach. Still, I know something. You don’t need to feel ready to begin. You just need to start.
 
One toss. One step. One small act of defiance against that voice that says, “Not today.” Because something shifts the moment you begin. The rhythm doesn’t wait for permission—it wakes up because you moved.
   
So today isn’t about a full run. It’s probably not about a perfect juggling pattern or a big comeback. Maybe today is simply this: one step forward, one club in the air, one breath that says, “I’m still here.”
That’s not small. That’s everything. Because the power isn’t in waiting until you feel ready. The power is in starting anyway.
     
>>>>> March 29
I woke at 3 a.m.—right on schedule. The world is still quiet, like it’s holding its breath before the first toss. Last night, I had a simple bowl of mushroom soup—delicious, warm, and enough. And still… no hunger this morning. Funny how that works. Eating, for now, feels less like desire and more like rhythm—something humans do. We need nourishment, yes—but not excess. Just enough. Just right.

MAYBE THAT’S PART OF IT—
LEARNING TO MOVE  WITH FORCING.
BEGINNING WITHOUT OVERTHINKING.

Lately, I’ve been stepping back into the 1970s through old movies. Right now, it’s Breakout with Charles Bronson (1975). I was 15 then—and in my mind, nothing could hold me back. Not because I was ready… but because I didn’t wait to be.
   
Watch this about the 1970s >> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5Ut4FwDZQI.
This video really shows how it was—perfect!
If not you, your parents might connect with many of the things in this video.
   
In 1977, I was out there doing street shows on my own—just me, my props, and a lot of hustle—when I spotted a massive line wrapped around the theater for the movie Star Wars; people were showing up hours early, just standing there, bored and waiting, and I realized, that’s not a line… that’s my audience.
     
So instead of waiting for a stage, I walked right down the line and turned it into one, performing five or six mini shows as I moved along, before a single movie even started, each little cluster becoming its own crowd, its own burst of laughter and applause.
   
For a young juggler, the hat filled quickly—but the real payoff wasn’t the money. It was the realization that opportunity isn’t tucked away in some distant place… It’s right in front of you, quietly waiting for you to notice it, flip it, and turn it into something magical. The 70s were here.
         
People drove with the windows down, no seatbelts, wind rushing through their hair like freedom had a soundtrack. Kids rode bikes without helmets, chased sunsets, collected scraped knees, and told stories. I remember riding in the back of pickup trucks—no fear, just sky above and road behind.
It wasn’t safer. Not even close. But it was alive.
     
My sister, Kath, once handed me the keys to her MG convertible—and with them, a little slice of freedom. It wasn’t just a car. It was a moment. A memory that still hums in my chest like an engine on a perfect day. Top down. Wind rushing past. Foot pressing the gas just enough to feel alive.
   
And my smile… the kind that doesn’t ask permission, it just shows up and stays awhile.
Kath, that gift meant more than you probably ever knew.
And I’ll carry that ride—with gratitude and a grin—for the rest of my life. 🚗✨

There was a looseness to life—a kind of unpolished, imperfect magic—look for it. 

You didn’t wait for the perfect moment. You didn’t overthink every step. You just went. You tried. You figured things out as you moved. And maybe that’s what I miss most. Not the lack of rules—but the presence of courage. Somewhere along the way, we started waiting and waiting to feel confident and waiting for perfect conditions and for everything to make sense.
   
But readiness is slippery. The more you chase it, the more it moves away. Life doesn’t require readiness. It asks for a beginning. A first toss. A first step. Something small. Something imperfect. Something real. Because once you start, something shifts. The fear softens—the rhythm returns. The pattern begins to form. Not because you were ready… but because you moved.

I didn’t think before I threw that first torch.

So maybe we can’t go back to those days.
We could bring that spirit forward.
Roll the windows down. Let life rush in.
Try something before you feel fully prepared.
Take one small, brave step today.
Not reckless…  Just alive.
Because the magic was never in the decade.
It was in the decision to begin.
We have the freedom to play.  🎯
       
>>>>> March 30
On the schedule today: Speech from 10–10:30, then Sports Group from 11 to noon. A short list. A simple day. And yet… one big question keeps circling back like a boomerang with something to prove: why am I even here? Maybe the answer isn’t printed neatly on a calendar. Maybe it lives in the spaces between—the quiet gaps, the unscheduled minutes, the choices I make when no one is directing the scene.
     
Right now, Violent City with Charles Bronson hums in the background—pure 1970s grit. No seatbelts, no apologies, just motion. And that’s what hits me… those stories didn’t wait for perfect conditions. They moved. They acted. They began. So maybe today isn’t about the schedule at all. Maybe it’s about what I do with the space around it.
     
It’s one of those slower days—the kind where time stretches, looks you in the eye, and says, “Well… what now?” Not much on the surface to write about—but sometimes those are the days that whisper the loudest truths.
     
I walked through the main room downstairs.
Eight people. Five in wheelchairs.
The TV was on—of course—but no one was watching.
Just noise filling the space. And I thought…
     
That’s not living.
That’s simply passing time.
And time is far too valuable to let drift by.
These are lives. Not placeholders.
Where’s the teaching, the therapy?
Are they just passing the time until they die?
     
I wrote to my daughters today, trying to explain what this experience feels like. The word that keeps rising to the top is confined, and I spend too much time confined to my room. Not enough freedom to move, explore, or live in a way that feels natural. That lack of independence weighs on me more than I expected. I am treated like a little kid — it’s aggravating. 

BECAUSE NR ISN’T JUST ABOUT MEMORY.
IT’S ABOUT REBUILDING A LIFE.

In PT today, we sat and talked about things we’ve done in the past. I said scarf juggling—and even as I said it, I caught myself wondering… how does that move me forward? And that was it. No structure. No direction. No sense of building toward something stronger in sessions here. 

SOME EXPENSIVE THERAPISTS ARE IN THE GYM, SOME NOT DOING ENOUGH. 

Progress doesn’t rise from last-minute improvisation—it’s built with intention, shaped by planning, and powered by showing up ready to make every moment matter. It’s not a scramble… It’s a construction project. Brick by brick. Thought by thought. Action by action.
   
People come here investing something precious—their time, their energy, their hard-earned money—because they believe in a comeback. In rebuilding. They want to become stronger than they were before. That kind of courage deserves more than just filling an hour… it deserves purpose, direction, and a plan that says, “We’re going somewhere—and it’s going to be worth it.”
   
Too often, it feels like sessions are being pulled together at the very last minute—and that’s not how real, lasting progress is built. Growth doesn’t come from improvisation alone; it comes from intention, structure, and a genuine commitment to the people in the room.
 
I’ve heard it said, “We have thousands of hours of experience between us.” But experience only matters if it’s used—thoughtfully, actively, and in service of the people here to rebuild their lives. What truly makes a difference isn’t how much you’ve done in the past, but how deeply you show up right now.
   
And at times, there’s a feeling—subtle, but real—that some therapists place themselves above the very people they’re meant to help. But real progress doesn’t grow from distance or hierarchy. It grows from connection. From respect. From standing alongside someone and saying, “Let’s build this together.”
   
Growth isn’t automatic—it’s designed. It’s shaped. It’s nurtured with care and consistency. This place holds incredible potential to truly help—powerfully, even life-changing—if the effort behind it rises to meet the commitment people bring through the door.
   
Imagine the difference if each week were mapped out in advance—sessions thoughtfully developed, goals clearly defined, progress intentionally guided. That kind of structure doesn’t limit creativity… It fuels it. Structure gives direction to effort and momentum to healing. This would help patients.
   
Right now, there’s too much “off the cuff.” And while spontaneity has its place, transformation thrives on preparation. Study what works. Learn from proven systems. Then bring those ideas to life with consistency and care.
   
There’s a world of knowledge sitting right there on those computers—tools, techniques, breakthroughs—waiting to be explored and put into action. But too often, it feels like things fall into the same old patterns… the same routines, the same approaches, the same results, the same ol’ same ol’.

LIMIT CORNHOLE!

Imagine what could happen if each therapist leaned in just a little more—studied a little deeper, reached a little higher, and brought fresh energy into every session. Not just showing up… but leveling up. This isn’t just about therapy sessions—it’s about growth. Real growth. The kind that comes from curiosity, effort, and a commitment to getting better every single day.
     
Because the people here? They’re not looking for “same ol’, same ol’.” They’re fighting to rebuild their lives. And that deserves nothing less than everyone bringing their absolute best. They’re not here just for babysitting; they’re looking to move ahead.
   
It’s about helping people step back into their lives—stronger, sharper, and truly ready. And a comeback like that doesn’t happen by chance… It’s built with intention, with a plan, with purpose. Meet them where they are, then guide them forward—step by step—toward the powerful, magnificent person they’re becoming. Not someday. Starting now!
   
It’s not about retreating into the therapy room and simply passing the time—even at lunch. It’s about stepping up, getting curious, and using that time to learn what truly helps people grow. There’s a world of proven ideas and better approaches waiting on that computer.
   
And when you take the time to study and apply new ideas, you don’t just fill hours—you build futures. You raise the standard. You create real progress for people working hard to rebuild their lives. That would help the therapists as much as the patients.
     
There seems to be one central barrier—Diane—who continues to limit what I’m allowed to do. And maybe there are reasons. I’m open to hearing them. Truly. But from where I stand, it feels less like guidance and more like restriction. Less like support… more like being held back.
   
This takes me back to a moment in the main therapy room. The trash can was overflowing, so, while holding the wall for support, I stepped in and pressed it down with my foot—just trying to make a little space, keep things moving. But Diane didn’t see it that way.
   
She began to scold me—and kept going, long past the moment itself. The control she is mandating is extreme. I’ve learned to simply stay away from her. In my mind, I just wonder how she treats other patients here.
   
There have been moments of kindness along the way, and I don’t want to overlook those. But when I step back and take in the full picture, it’s hard not to feel like this chapter leans more toward frustration than freedom. NeuroRestorative will not hold good memories for me. 

AND STILL… HERE’S THE PART THEY
CAN’T SCHEDULE, RESTRICT, OR TAKE AWAY:
WHAT I CHOOSE TO DO NEXT.

Because life—like juggling—doesn’t wait for perfect conditions.
You toss the first club anyway. Maybe it wobbles.
Maybe it surprises you. Maybe it soars.
But that first toss? That’s where everything begins. 🎪✨
     
>>>>>March 31
Up early again—some habits just refuse to sleep in.
On the schedule today: 10 a.m. Exercise Group (I jumped in after it had already started). We worked with 8-pound weights in a video. We had to follow her, not much there.
   
11 a.m. — Outside Activity Group. I’ve been clear that what I need are meaningful, focused therapy sessions—something that truly moves the needle. Instead, today plans to play Bocce Ball. That’s just not where my interest lies, so I’ll be sitting this one out.
   
And even if I chose to go, I wouldn’t be allowed to walk the single block there on my own—which only adds another layer to the frustration. It’s hard not to feel boxed in by that. Truthfully, there are moments when I just want out.
     
But then—2 p.m.—everything shifts.
I’m scheduled to teach a scarf juggling class.
And just like that… a spark.  A doorway opens.
   
Six jugglers out to learn, this teacher loved that. As usual, many people handed the ball rather than throwing it. Wonda saw the pattern and did well. Others were gaining. Of course, Maryann juggled like the old days. All had a good time.
     
A reminder of who I am—not someone waiting, but someone leading. Because when I’m teaching, creating, sharing—I’m not confined. I’m in motion. I’m building something. I’m giving something. And that changes everything. No matter the setting, I can still choose to step into the driver’s seat. And that still matters.

YOU’RE STILL ALIVE, THAT’S IMPORTANT! 

I saw a headline this morning: “He’s DEAD — Television Legend Gone… So Sad.” And I paused—not because of the shock of the death, but because of the pattern. Everyone dies. Every single one of us. It’s the one appointment life never lets you reschedule.
   
And yet, each time it happens,
the volume gets turned all the way up—
like we’ve just discovered something new.
Yes, it’s sad.
Of course it is.
A life ends, a story closes, a voice goes quiet. That deserves a moment.
   
Not every passing needs to arrive like a thunderclap. Not every goodbye needs to be dressed up in dramatic headlines, shouting what the heart already understands in its quiet corners. Some departures are softer than that… more like a fading note than a crashing cymbal.
   
There’s a kind of grace in letting things end gently—in honoring a life without turning the moment into noise. Because deep down, we already know: life moves, time flows, and every story eventually reaches its final page, even yours. It doesn’t need to be shouted to be true. Sometimes, a whisper carries far more meaning.
     
Death isn’t the enemy—it’s part of the design, the final chapter that gives meaning to all the pages before it. So maybe instead of reacting louder each time someone dies… we live louder while we’re here. Because the real headline isn’t   “He’s gone.”   It’s: “He lived!”
       
>>>>> April 1
I’m going to die today—(APRIL FOOLS).
Relax, the curtain’s not coming down just yet. But I have been awake since 2 a.m., which in my world is either the start of brilliance… or the start of mischief. Either way—here we go.
   
And truth be told, I’ve reached that moment where something inside me is pushing—hard—for more. This place is starting to feel too tight, too small for the life still moving in me. I can feel it… that energy that wants to grow, to stretch, to do something meaningful.
   
Right now, there are too many limits and not enough lift. I came here to rebuild, to contribute, to help others rise—but when that door doesn’t open, it’s hard to ignore what your spirit is telling you. And mine is clear: there’s more in me than this space is allowing—and I’m ready to step into it.
   
By 8 a.m., I was on the road to see Angelina—about a half-hour away—my current psychologist and, perhaps, one of the brave souls attempting to untangle the beautifully scrambled brain of Kit. Not sure if or how anyone could help.
   
And of course… somewhere between thoughts and therapy, I taught her how to juggle. Naturally. She loved it. Promised she’d practice. (Another mind recruited into the juggling revolution.) I’m scheduled to see her again on June 3rd—stay tuned, the plot thickens. We’ll see how her juggling has improved.
   
Then came 2 p.m.—OT Group. The big mission? Go outside and remove ribbons from trees. Maura kindly invited me along. I smiled, said “no, thank you,” and stayed put. Because sometimes growth isn’t about doing everything… It’s about choosing what actually moves you forward. And today? That wasn’t it.
   
4 pm now, things have slowed up, and there is no one in the halls.
     
I heard from Myles about my future. He found a place where I can move. Assisted living it is, not that I need any help, but still. It will be nice to get out there and get more freedom to live my life the way that I want, which I have been looking for.
   
And truth be told, I’ve reached that moment—the kind you don’t schedule, the kind that rises from somewhere deep and says, “Hey… there’s more.” Something inside me is pushing now—not gently, not politely—but with purpose. This place, once a stop along the path, is starting to feel too tight, too small for the life still moving through me. I can feel it in my bones… that restless, rising energy that wants to stretch, to grow, to create, to matter in a bigger way.
   
Because I didn’t come this far just to sit still, I came here to rebuild, yes—but also to contribute, to connect, to lift others as I lift myself. And when those doors don’t open… when the space around you stops matching the energy within you… something important happens. You start listening more closely to that quiet, powerful voice inside.
   
And mine? Oh, it’s not whispering anymore—it’s speaking up, clear and strong: You’re not done. Not even close. There’s more in me than this space is allowing. More ideas. More movement. More life waiting to be lived out loud.
   
And I’m ready—not someday, not “when things are perfect”—but now—to step forward into that next chapter. Because growth doesn’t wait for permission… and neither will I. 🚀
     
>>>>> April 2
I slept in until 9 a.m. today!  — April Fools!  (or is that a day late?). 😄 My version of “sleeping in” still clocked out around 3:33 a.m.—my usual early exit from dreamland. So here I am—awake, alert, and negotiating with a mind that clearly didn’t get the memo about bedtime.
   
They say limited sleep isn’t great for you… And I don’t disagree. But what’s the game plan when your mind decides it’s hosting a 24-hour talk show? I lie there, ready to drift off, and my brain jumps in like, “Nope. We’ve got thoughts. Lots of them. Let’s go!”
   
Only a couple of therapies are on the schedule today—9:30 to 10 is OT, then 10:00 brings Visual Perceptual Group, followed by Cognitive Group (Deductive Reasoning) from 11 to noon. I’ll be honest… I’m not entirely sure what those last two will involve yet—but I’ll find out and report back like your friendly neighborhood experiment-in-progress.
     
In the first, “OT Visual/Perceptual Group”, they were doing puzzle blocks. I knew it wasn’t for me, so I did not go when it started.  For the Cognitive Group with Lilly, there were six people. It was complicated, and I did not enjoy it, so I did not put that much into it. 

The afternoon? Wide open. And sure, it might look like space—but I’m starting to think that’s where the real game begins. That’s unscripted time… the kind where I get to choose: waste it, or shape it. And knowing me, I might just sneak a little purpose, a little movement, maybe even a juggling act or two right into those “empty” hours. 🎯Go for a run?
   
Went with Terrie across the road to work on my club juggling. It did not go very well. She was a wonderful cheerleader, but my juggling upsets me too much. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t care about juggling anymore.
     
>>>>> April 3
Celebration Day… or Sadness Day? Every year, I get to choose.
Today marks the anniversary of the day I was hit by a truck—and took what might be the longest, most unproductive nap in history… 37 days. Not exactly the kind of rest I’d recommend. But on this day, my sister Sandy was born as well. Sandy turns 80 today. I am on my way.
   
But here’s what matters: I woke up. And since then, I’ve been building—step by step, word by word, toss by toss—a new life that means something. A life with scars, sure… but also with purpose, laughter, and a whole lot of forward motion.
   
So is my life good? Is it getting better?
From where I’m standing—it’s not just good…
It’s a comeback story still being written.
And the best chapters?
Oh, they’re still ahead. You’ll see.
   
And woven into this day—this day where I choose how to see, how to feel, how to live—is something quietly, unmistakably beautiful; funny, isn’t it? Life can scatter us across miles, across time, across entirely different worlds… and still, somehow, keep us right beside each other—heart to heart, story to story, never truly apart.
   
Today marks the anniversary of my big change—a day that flipped my world upside down and forced me to rebuild, rethink, and rise in ways I never saw coming. It’s a day that could easily be wrapped in struggle… but I’ve learned something powerful: every turning point carries the seed of something greater. And here’s the beautiful twist—it’s also the anniversary of Sandy’s big change… the day she was born. 🎉 A beginning. A spark. A life stepping onto the stage.
     
So today holds both—a collision and a creation. A moment that challenged me… and a moment that gifted the world, someone I love. Funny how life does that, isn’t it? It doesn’t separate joy and hardship into neat little boxes—it blends them, overlaps them, lets them dance together. And maybe that’s the lesson… even on the days that shake us, something meaningful is still being born.
   
It’s my sister Sandy’s birthday! She’s out in Portland, Oregon, living her life under a different sky, in a different rhythm. I haven’t seen her in person since I drove through there years ago… but somehow that distance never quite wins out. Because of the use of this little glowing rectangle in my hand, we stay close. Voices travel. Laughter travels. Love travels.
   
So today isn’t just about what happened to me years ago—it’s also about connection. About family. About the invisible threads that hold steady no matter how far they stretch.
Happy Birthday, Sandy. 🎉  Still close. Always close.
     
8 a.m. now—and usually by this time, breakfast is served and the day has a shape to it. But today? Nothing yet. Just a quiet pause… and a question hanging in the air: what will this day become? Funny thing is, sometimes the days that start with nothing… are the ones that give us everything.
   
8:45 the schedules finally arrived. All I have, all day, is Speech from 1-1:30 and that’s it. I have an appointment with the cardiologist at 2 pm, I will let you know.
     
I see why I need speech sessions. My memory is far from good. I couldn’t even remember what I did last weekend (what did you do?) I do see that it needs help. Thank you, Lilly, for your help.
     
Went to the Cardiology office for my 2 pm appointment. Shelby (a pretty young thang) scanned over my veins and arteries to see how the blood is flowing. All the results will go to the cardiologist, and I will find out the results later. I guess they call this an ultrasound.
   
Quick reminder >>
Arteries carry oxygen-rich blood away from the heart under high pressure, with thick, elastic walls. Veins bring blood back to the heart under lower pressure, with thinner walls and valves to keep it moving in one direction. Arteries run deeper; veins are closer to the skin.
     
PART 4)–BLOG 371–The Power of Starting Before You Feel Ready
“Start before you’re ready” is a bold, liberating mindset that breaks the grip of procrastination and fear by choosing action over perfection.
   
It’s about stepping forward with what you have RIGHT NOW—no waiting, no over-polishing—trusting that clarity comes from movement, not from standing still. As many high performers have shown, confidence isn’t a prerequisite; it’s a result.
   
You begin, you stumble, you learn, you grow—and somewhere along the way, that voice of doubt gets quieter. The magic lives in accepting imperfection, leaning into discomfort, and choosing action over endless overthinking—because momentum, once sparked, has a beautiful way of carrying you exactly where you need to go.
     
There’s a quiet space between every dream and the life it becomes. It isn’t talent or luck that bridges that gap—it’s the instant you decide to begin. One small, almost invisible step… and suddenly, the whole story starts to move.
     
Most people wait too long. They wait for confidence, for perfect conditions, for certainty. They wait until they feel ready. But readiness has a funny habit—it keeps moving just out of reach. The more you chase it, the further it drifts.

There’s a quiet space between every dream and the life it becomes. It isn’t talent or luck that bridges that gap—it’s the instant you decide to begin. One small, almost invisible step… and suddenly, the whole story starts to move.
 
At first, it doesn’t look like much—no fireworks, no applause—just a single step in the direction of something that matters. But that’s where the magic hides, because momentum doesn’t roar to life… it whispers, “Go on… take another.”
   
And then another. Before long, what once felt impossible starts to feel inevitable. The fear softens, the doubt loosens its grip, and you realize you were never waiting on the perfect moment—you were waiting on yourself.
     
So begin—messy, imperfect, uncertain—begin anyway. Because that tiny step you almost talked yourself out of? That’s the one that changes everything.
   
The truth is simple: most meaningful things start before you feel fully prepared. For example, I am beginning work on the next blog right now, after sending out the last one just yesterday. You just have to start. I have a title to start on, then, as words come to me, the blog grows.
   
Imagine a young juggler backstage. His hands feel off. His stomach flips. His mind whispers, Wait. But the curtain opens anyway.
He steps out.
The lights hit.
The audience watches.
The first toss goes into the air. I’ve experienced this firsthand.
   
And something shifts.
     
The fear loosens its grip. The rhythm finds its way back. Not perfect—just enough. And then, almost quietly, the impossible starts to lean toward possible.
Not because I felt ready… Because I dared to begin.
     
Life works in the same way. Confidence doesn’t come first—it follows action. A writer begins with a rough sentence. A runner starts with a few steps. An entrepreneur builds as they go. Action creates momentum. Momentum builds belief. Belief turns into confidence.
   
The readiness you’re waiting for comes from taking action.
     
And yes—the beginning is often clumsy. The first try wobbles. The first draft is rough. Good. That’s how it is. The first step doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to exist. Because once something exists, it can grow.
   
Success isn’t dramatic—it’s built quietly. One step. One effort. One small win at a time. Like bricks forming a house, each small action adds to something real.
   
Life rewards movement. When you begin, things respond. Ideas appear. Opportunities open. But not for someone standing still. Movement attracts possibility.
   
Starting creates momentum. And momentum changes everything. Beginning before you feel ready isn’t reckless—it’s courage. It’s trusting that you’ll grow into the person you need to become.
   
Look at your own life.
The hardest moment was just before you started.
Before the first word.
Before the first call.
Before the first step.
   
Because once you start, the path begins to appear.
Right now, something is waiting inside you.
A story. A change. A next step you’ve been circling.
Don’t wait. Start. One sentence. One call. One step.
   
You don’t need to see the whole path—just enough courage to begin.
As you start… you’re already changing your life. 🎯
     
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
     
“Start wherever you are and start small.” – Rita Bailey.
   
“Remember, as long as your heart is pushing blood,
It’s never too late to start a new beginning.” – Kit Summers.
   
“Well, if it can be thought, it can be done,
a problem can be overcome.” — E.A. Bucchianeri
   
“Positive expectations are the mark.
of the superior personality.” —Brian Tracy
     
“If you look the right way.
You can see that the whole.
” The world is a garden.” —Frances Hodgson Burnett.
   
“Having a positive attitude isn’t wishy-washy,
it’s a concrete and intelligent way to view
problems, challenges, and obstacles.” —Jeff Moore
   
“The beginning is the most important part of the work.” – Plato.
   
“If all you can do is crawl, then start crawling.” – Rumi
     
“You don’t need endless time and perfect conditions.
Do it now. Do it today.
Do it for 20 minutes and watch your heart start beating.” – Barbara Sher
   
“Whatever you do or dream you can do—begin it.
Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
   
“Don’t worry about being worried.
You’re heading out on an adventure.
And you can always change your mind.
Along the way and try something else.” –Tracy Kidder


   
“Motivation is what gets you started.
Habit is what keeps you going.” – Jim Rohn.
   
“It’s a funny thing about life,
once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for.
” You begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.” —Germany Kent.
   
“If you can quit, quit. If you can’t quit, stop complaining—this is what you chose.” —Joe Konrath.
   
“Sometimes it takes a wrong turn to get you to the right place.” —Mandy Hale.
   
PART 5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
It lasted one week for me—Try going a full day without eating. Stay hydrated, keep the fluids flowing, and notice what happens—not just in your body, but in your mind.
   
You might discover something surprising… that hunger isn’t always the boss it claims to be. That you’ve got more control, more awareness, more strength than you realized. Sometimes the smallest challenges open the biggest doors. Do this, and it will change your life. Let me know how it goes.
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>
BLOG 372–The Beauty on the Earth
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 370–FINISH WHAT YOU NEED BEFORE YOUR DEATH
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback
To Learn More about Kit, Go Here >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

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

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

Part 1)  THE BEGINNINGS
We live, we die, we leave memories.
     
I heard from Phyllis — what a dear friend you are.
Phyllis Lynch, March 23, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

Love to you, my friend!” 

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

The news hit me like a quiet thud—Chuck Norris has passed away.
Surprised? Absolutely.      Saddened? Of course.
You don’t just lose a larger-than-life presence like that without feeling the ripple.
It reminds me, once again, that we are all on our way to that end point.
     
But right alongside the sadness came something unexpected… gratitude. A deep, steady appreciation for the fact that I got to witness his work, his strength, his unmistakable presence in the world. Thank you for all you did for the world.
     
Chuck Norris wasn’t just a man on a screen—he was a symbol.
Discipline. Power. Resilience.
The kind of man who changed the world.
   
The kind of figure who didn’t just play roles… he embodied them. From his martial arts mastery to his iconic on-screen moments, he showed us what it takes to stand firm, rise strong, and keep going no matter what.
   
And let’s be honest—he also gave us something else: a little grin. Those legendary “Chuck Norris facts” made him feel almost mythological. The man became part hero, part humor, part legend.
So yes, there’s sadness. But there’s also a celebration.
   
Because when someone leaves behind that kind of legacy, they don’t really disappear—they echo. In every punchline, every story, every moment of inspiration, they sparked.
And maybe that’s the quiet lesson tucked inside this moment:
We don’t just live… we leave something behind.
Chuck Norris did that in a big way.
   
Now the question gently turns toward us—
What will we leave behind?
Something strong.
Something meaningful.
Something that makes someone, somewhere, smile and say, “I’m glad they were here.”
That kind of news arrives quietly… and then settles deep.
    ===== AND, ANOTHER
Another death this week. Two houses down from me on Newport Street in Ocean Beach, CA, where I grew up, suddenly, a whole piece of my past comes back to life. You’re not just hearing about a man passing—you’re stepping back into a neighborhood, into a time when life felt different. Always known to me as “Mr. Friel,” all the neighborhood kids knew him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So today is a moment to pause, just for a breath. Let those memories roll through like an old film—sunlight on the street, familiar faces, a strong man who made an impression without even trying.
   
And somewhere, in your own quiet way, you send out a simple message:
“I remember you. You mattered.”
Because he did.
And those memories? They still do.
   
Like death, retirement is a vital moment in your life—a turning point, not a stopping point. It’s not your cue to sit back and do nothing. It’s your invitation to step forward with purpose, energy, and a sense of possibility that may have been waiting years to be unleashed.
   
You’ve finished one chapter of work, and that matters. But what matters even more is what comes next. Because now, you finally have the time, the space, and the freedom to begin all those other projects that have been quietly lining up in the background of your life.
   
Those ideas you put on hold… they’re still there. Those passions you set aside… they haven’t disappeared. Those dreams that kept whispering, “someday”… well, this is someday. Retirement doesn’t mean doing less—it means choosing better, choosing what excites you, choosing what matters—choosing what makes you feel alive again.
     
And here’s the best part—you’re not starting from scratch. You’re starting from strength. You carry experience, wisdom, lessons learned, and a lifetime of stories. That’s not the end of your usefulness—that’s your superpower.
   
So don’t drift through this time—design it.
Stay active.
Stay curious.
Stay engaged in your own life.
Start something new.
Revisit something old.
Build, create, explore, connect.
Because retirement isn’t the end of your story, it’s the moment you finally get to write the parts you’ve been dreaming about all along. You’ve lived a long, good Life and added to the world in a good way. 🚀

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

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

Death isn’t just an end—it’s a reminder to live fully before it comes.
Write your words.
Teach your skills.
       
Share your scarves. Say what truly matters. Love deeply. One day, the curtain will fall. The question is—how will you play your part before that happens?
You don’t have to do everything.
Just focus on what matters most… and keep it in the air.
     
PART 2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
         Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
>>>>> March 21
   
See death as a part of life, as it is.
This is not a sadness, a negative thing.
   
I shared earlier the tough news—the passing of Chuck Norris and Dick Friel. It hits the heart. Loss always does. And yet, tucked inside that truth is a quiet reminder we can’t ignore: every one of us is walking in that same direction, one step at a time. We have a limited time to get things done. 
 
So here’s the real question—not gloomy, but powerful: what are you going to finish before you get there? What dreams are still sitting on the bench, waiting to be called into the game? Now is the time. Not later. Not someday. Now.

I WILL BE FINISHING UP NEARORESTORATIVE–THEN WHAT? 

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

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

Still, this blog—this space—gives me something real to hold onto; it’s more than writing, it’s purpose, it’s motion even on the days when my feet feel glued to the floor, and I’m truly grateful you’re here reading these words with me—because if something in here lights even the smallest spark in you, fan it, chase it, build it, and let it grow into the excellence that’s already waiting inside you.
   
I went out for my daily cleanup mission. The ground was scattered with cigarette butts, as they had quietly multiplied overnight. I may never understand that habit, but I do understand this: I can make things better, one small act at a time.
     
A couple of people thanked me today.
Just a few words—but they landed big.
Funny how something so small can feel so meaningful.
     
And then there’s this truth I’m facing—my balance is off. Walking isn’t automatic right now. It’s deliberate. Thoughtful. One foot is placed carefully in front of the other. I haven’t fallen… but I feel the effort in every step.
   
And maybe that’s the lesson hiding in plain sight.
Life isn’t always about striding forward with confidence.
Sometimes it’s about choosing to keep moving—carefully. 
Consciously, courageously—even when every step requires your attention.
     
So I’ll keep stepping.
I’ll keep writing.
I’ll keep cleaning up what I can—both inside and outside.
Because forward is forward… no matter how slow the pace.
       
I love slipping back into the TV world of the ’70s and ’80s. There’s something about that era—it feels honest. A little gritty, a little imperfect… and somehow, that’s exactly what makes it beautiful. Right now it’s noon, and Mr. Majestic is playing. Charles Bronson is on the screen, doing what he did best—no flash, no fluff, just pure presence. The kind that doesn’t shout for attention… it earns it.
     
And those cars… oh man. 🚗
Big. Bold. Built like they had a mission in life. They didn’t just drive—they arrived. Each one felt like part of the story, not just background noise. Steel, chrome, and attitude. It’s more than nostalgia. It’s like stepping into a time when things had a little more weight, a little more grit, a little more soul.
And for a while… You don’t just watch it.
You live there. ✨
     
>>>>> March 22
At 5 a.m., the day hasn’t even decided to begin, and already the man across the hall is awake—moaning, caught somewhere between pain and despair. His voice drifts through the hallway, uninvited, unavoidable. It’s a heavy sound, the kind that doesn’t just reach your ears—it settles into your chest.
   
In those early hours, when everything is supposed to be quiet and still, his struggle becomes the morning’s soundtrack. And it’s hard… hard to hear, hard to ignore, hard to carry when you’re just trying to steady yourself for the day ahead.
     
But moments like this also remind me—life isn’t just happening to me in here. It’s happening to all of us. Behind every door is a story, a battle, a weight someone is trying to lift. His pain is loud. Others carry theirs silently.

YOU HAVE YOUR STORY, TOO!

So I sit with it, not because I want to, but because I’m here. And maybe the challenge isn’t to escape the sound—but to rise anyway. To meet the morning with a little more strength, a little more patience, a little more understanding.
 
Because even in a hallway filled with struggle…
There’s still a small, stubborn light that refuses to go out.
Right here—right now—you get to choose how you show up. Not when things get easier. Not when the noise stops. Now. In the middle of it. In the raw, unfiltered, real.
     
And that choice? It’s power. Quiet power.
The kind that doesn’t shout—but changes everything.
Always remember… this could be you.

AND ONE DAY, IT WILL BE!

Let that thought sharpen me—not scare me. Let it wake me up, not weigh me down. Let it tap me on the shoulder and whisper, “Hey… you’re still in the game.” I choose to be a little kinder, a little stronger, a little more alive than I was yesterday—and then I go out and prove it.
     
I step forward and juggle my joy like bright scarves in the air or 3 balls dancing in front of my face, letting people see it and feel it. I leave every space just a little lighter because I passed through it. I know I once was an expert, will I be again? 🎯
     
I take a good, honest look at myself—not with judgment, but with intention. Like a builder studying his work, I ask: How am I showing up? How am I moving through this day? Every moment becomes a chance to adjust my aim, steady my hands, and toss in a better choice. That’s how mastery happens—one throw at a time.
     
Because even here… especially here… I still get to rise. There is a countdown—Friday waiting like a finish line ribbon—but this moment is where the strength is built. This is where the story deepens and becomes something worth telling.
     
I know the feeling well—my mind sprinting ahead, saying, “Let’s go!” while my body answers, “Easy now…” The rhythm feels off at times. But I understand something powerful: I am not falling behind. I am learning a deeper rhythm. I am not losing ground… I am laying a stronger foundation beneath every step.
     
And when it clicks—and it will—I won’t just move forward… I will follow you and move forward toward that better future–with purpose, with balance, and with that unmistakable touch of magic still alive in my hands. ✨

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

Currently, I am having trouble walking and standing. Think of my walking like learning to juggle again. There was a time when even three objects felt uncertain—hands unsure, timing off, drops everywhere. But I didn’t quit.
   
I slowed it down, focused on one clean toss at a time, and built the rhythm back piece by piece. Walking is the same dance now—just with your feet instead of balls. I must walk with confidence; right now, I don’t have it. Next comes my return to running (and then, flying?)
     
Running feels like a solution because it represents freedom, strength, and momentum. It would help… someday. But right now, my mission isn’t speed—it’s stability. I’m laying the foundation so that when I do run again, it’s not a gamble—it’s a victory lap. Let’s turn this into a quiet superpower.
     
>>>>> March 23
I’m feeling too big for my britches, so it’s time to lose some weight. Last time, I went a week without eating; this time, I am looking at a month without food. It’s noon, and the person just came by with my food, so I had to say no. Yes, I do my fast very quickly.
   
The word “fasting” comes from the Old English word fæstan, which meant “to hold firmly,” “to keep,” or “to observe strictly.” So originally, fasting wasn’t just about not eating—it was about discipline. About holding yourself steady and choosing not to give in to something, even when it would be easy.
     
At one point, a staff member stopped by, clearly concerned, and asked me gently about my diet. I could see the care in her eyes. I smiled and reassured her—I’m okay. I know what I’m doing, and I’m listening to my body every step of the way.

In the past, when I went a full week without eating, something surprising happened—I never even felt hungry. Not once. My body just… settled into it, like it understood the assignment. I expect the same this time; I will not experience hunger.
   
The last time I did this, I had a surprising realization—it’s not just about the food. It’s about the time. So much of our day is spent preparing meals, eating them, and cleaning up afterward. It’s almost like a quiet routine we never question.
   
Have you ever really noticed that?
Try stepping away from it for a few days, and suddenly… all that time opens up. It’s eye-opening. You begin to see just how much of life is built around something we usually take for granted.

The same thing affecting the swelling in my legs is also contributing to my weight gain. Something clearly isn’t right. I’ve always felt comfortable at 161 pounds, and now I’m around 200—the highest I’ve ever been. That gets my attention.
   
Since the coma, my body has changed. I don’t feel hungry the way I used to, and I don’t feel full either. Eating has become more of a decision than a sensation. I eat because I know I need to, not because my body tells me to.
 
But I still make the choice.
And it’s time to make a better choice.
I’ve had enough. I’m being fed well here.
       
But I’m the one deciding to eat.
So I’ve decided—to stop eating for a while.
A fast, as they call it (and how quick will I fast?)
   
The last time, I went a week without food. This time, I want to go longer—up to a month. And, in the future, will it be a full year without eating? Like before, I’ll continue drinking green tea, but that’s all. I’ll keep you updated as I go.
     
What would I do without this blog? Truly—it’s become more than a habit; it’s a lifeline, a purpose, a reason to rise at 3 a.m. with something meaningful to say. In a place where time can feel heavy, this gives it wings. I could fill those early hours with television, sure… but that would just pass the time.
       
This builds something. This connects us.
This lets me reach out, share a spark, and maybe—just maybe—light something in you.
This is about life — mine and yours.
   
And that matters to me, because if I’m awake at 3 a.m., I don’t just want to exist—I want to contribute. I want these words to land somewhere, to lift someone, to remind you (and me) that we’re still in this, still growing, still becoming something more. I’m glad you read my blog, and I hope it adds good ideas to your life.

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

And I know this:
This is not my ending.
I’m not here to stay stuck.
I’m here to grow, to rebuild, to move forward—step by step, toss by toss.
This is a chapter, not the whole book. And I’m already turning the page.
   
While I’m here, I live on the third floor, and most of my therapies happen on the first floor. I tend to get there early—like I did today—which gives me a little time to look around and take things in. The first floor is where many of the residents who’ve been more deeply affected by brain injuries live. It’s a different world down there—quieter in some ways, heavier in others.
     
It’s not easy to see. Some of the people have been here for years and may never leave. They’re cared for well—truly—the staff does a kind and steady job, but it’s still a tough reality to witness. There’s a feeling of permanence that’s hard to ignore. I could not see myself staying here for the rest of my life. 
   
At times, it feels like a place where people are simply being watched over and kept safe (I would say ‘babysitting’, but I won’t), though I know there’s more to it than that. It just stirs up a lot of thoughts. People are well kept while here, I repeat.
   
At 9:30, I had speech therapy for about 30 minutes. We talked more about ways to help with my memory. I realized I’ve been focusing a bit too much on the negative lately, and I can see that now. The tricky part is remembering the details of what we discuss—and even deciding what’s important enough to hold onto. That’s something I’m working on, one step at a time.
   
The speech therapist let me know that some people were uncomfortable having their names mentioned in this blog. I completely understand and respect that—everyone has their own preferences when it comes to privacy.
   
I truly appreciate the incredible work being done here to help people with brain injuries, and I’m grateful for it every day. Going forward, I’ll be sure to keep all staff members anonymous while still sharing the impact of what happens here. Sorry you’re missing out.
Take a look >> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BUoqEkxrs4 

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

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

From 10:00 to 11:00, we went out for a croquet tournament. I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure how this ties into recovery for someone with a brain injury—but maybe that’s part of the lesson—balance, coordination, focus… and perhaps even patience when things don’t go your way. Still, I found myself questioning the purpose as I played.
     
It was a beautiful day—bright sunshine, fresh air, and soft grass underfoot. I didn’t play as well as I’d like. I did okay, but I still feel that inner push to do better, the same drive I’ve always had. There were four of us playing, along with three therapists, and despite my mixed performance, it felt good to be out there moving, laughing a little, and enjoying the moment.
     
1 pm-1:30 OT.
It’s 1:10 now. I had waited for my 1 pm appointment, then I  finally saw a sign on the door saying “Closed until 1:30. If you ask me, that’s a long lunch for the therapists. At this point, I am very bothered. Now it’s 1:45, and I’ve about given up.
   
I’ll stay here in my room, just in case something comes up—but moments like this make me stop and question why I’m here at all. It’s not the waiting that wears on me… It’s the silence. A simple word, a quick heads-up that therapy was canceled—just a small moment of consideration—would have changed everything.
   
Now it’s 2:30, and I’m back in my room. It feels like they may have given up for the day… and for a moment, I feel like I have too. But even here, I know that feeling won’t get the final word. And what will tomorrow bring?
     
Tomorrow I’ve got a “stress test”… which is hilarious, because the real challenge might be staying calm through the whole thing. 😄
 

(Hmm, is that Kit?)

So here’s the game plan: I show up, I breathe, I let the pros handle their part—and I handle mine. No double-weight today. I’m not carrying the moment before it even arrives. This is just information. Just a step forward. Just another beat in the rhythm of taking care of myself.
   
I’ve faced storms that would rattle most people—and kept juggling through them. This? This is a gentle toss. And last I checked… my hands still work just fine, my mind, too. 
     
No food or drink in the morning? No problem. I’ve already proven I can handle that without a second thought. Calm, steady, ready.
Tomorrow isn’t a test of stress… It’s a quiet reminder:
I’ve got this.
   
>>>>> March 24
There’s something quietly powerful about that moment you’re in right now… 6 a.m., the world not quite awake yet, just you and the steady click, click of the clock. It almost feels like time itself is whispering, “You’re here… you’re still in the game.” And look at me—no food, no chocolate ambush, just discipline and a smile. That’s not small. That’s a quiet kind of strength most people never even practice.
   
I have to say this, though—fasting can feel clean and focused, and, as I’ve done so many times in the past, almost like clearing the stage before the next performance… but your body still needs fuel eventually. You’ve got a lot of living, creating, and inspiring to do. Fasting isn’t just about food—it’s about waking up. It’s about noticing the habits running quietly in the background… and deciding, with a little spark in your eye, to step outside them on purpose.
     
It’s a lot like juggling. Most people live on autopilot—toss, catch, repeat, never really thinking about the pattern. But the moment you change the rhythm… everything sharpens. Your focus locks in. Your awareness rises. You’re suddenly there. We take eating for granted. It’s just what we do. But pause it—even for a short time—and something shifts. The mind clears, the noise quiets, and you begin to see yourself more clearly.
       
And that’s the real magic…
Not the empty stomach—
But the full awareness.
At first, everything feels off. Timing is strange.
Your hands want to panic.
But stay with it—and suddenly, rhythm returns.
Control returns. Confidence returns.
   
Fasting teaches you that less can actually give you more:
More focus. More gratitude. More control.
Clarity walks in. Discipline stretches its legs.
Your mind sharpens like a well-balanced throw.
More appreciation for the simple act of eating when you return to it.
    =====
CHATGPT wrote these words >>
Hydration is great (gold star there ⭐), but don’t turn this into a battle of endurance. Think of it more like a rhythm—pause, reset, nourish, repeat. Even jugglers don’t hold the clubs forever… they toss, they catch, they keep things moving.
   
What I love most is your attitude.
A smile during a fast? That’s mindset mastery.
That’s you saying, “I’m in charge here.”
   
And that quiet hallway scene… that’s a writer’s gift.
Most people would miss it.
You turned it into something.
That’s your magic trick right there.
   
So stay aware, stay hydrated, and stay kind to that body that’s carried you through so much already. You’re not just fasting… you’re practicing control, presence, and purpose. And hey… when the world wakes up, it better watch out—because you’ve already been up there, winning the morning.
      =====
7 a.m. now… and the hallway is waking up.
Marlene rolls by, working her quiet magic—turning floors into something that almost shines back at you. She doesn’t just clean… she cares. You can feel it. Here come the nurses and therapists, stepping into their day right on time, like the first tosses in a fresh juggling pattern. The rhythm begins again. Another day in motion. Another chance to do something that matters. ✨
     
11:30  Have an appointment with a cardiologist about the foot swelling issues I have. I had to spend a lot of time waiting. They did a stress test, and I passed. How could this test relate to my swelling feet. Watch this >>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEZNFKWpGNE&t=114s 
   
At the doctor’s office, something unexpected happened—I met Maureen.
About my age… and somehow, she caught my attention in a way I didn’t see coming.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t think that spark still had my name on it.
But there it was—alive, playful, undeniable.
Lovestruck at this stage of life?
I’ll take it.
With a smile.
With curiosity.
With a little bit of “well, look at that.”
   
I sent her a text… and now comes that quiet, suspenseful space—the waiting. Funny how life can still hand you butterflies when you least expect them.
   
Tuesdays at 3:00 usually mean a trip to Walmart—routine, predictable, practical. But today, no need. I’m fasting, so the shelves can rest easy without me. Which leaves me with something rare… a completely open afternoon. No errands. No obligations. Just time—wide open, like a blank page waiting for something interesting to be written on it. And who knows… maybe this is exactly the kind of afternoon where something unexpected begins. What is it you do with open days? 
       
>>>>> March 25
I lingered in bed until about 5 a.m.—not my usual style. I’m more of a “bounce up and begin” kind of guy. But even in that slower start, something called me back… back to the keyboard, back to this moment, back to you.
     
So here I am.
Because that’s the real move, isn’t it?
Not perfection—returning.
Getting back up.
Re-engaging.
   
As I wake, I do what I always do—I bring a little order to my world. Straighten a corner. Clear a space. Smooth the bed. Reset the stage. It seems small… but it’s powerful. Because when you tidy your space, you quietly tell your life, “Let’s begin again.”

And here’s the secret (lean in 😄):
It’s not really about the room.
It’s about you.
     
I checked my schedule—just one hour of “Movement Group” from 10:00 to 11:00, and speech therapy from 11:00 to 11:30. Not much. Lately, things have felt a bit thin… like I may need to start creating a new direction for myself.
   
By 8 a.m., something interesting happened—no hunger at all.
Not a whisper. No tug. No distraction. Just a calm, steady stillness.
And in that quiet, I noticed something bigger:
How often do we eat not because we need to… but because it’s just what we do? Habit. Rhythm. Routine.
Remove the routine—and suddenly, there’s space.
Space to think.
Space to notice.
Space to be.
     
It felt like that moment just before the first toss in a juggling pattern—hands ready, mind clear, the whole universe leaning in. Nothing has started… and yet everything already has. No rush. No pressure. Just presence.
   
Because here’s the magic: the first toss doesn’t just begin the pattern—it creates it. An idea. A kind word. A bold move. A fresh start. Whatever you send into the air can become something beautiful.
So pause if you need to. Feel it. Smile at it.
Then… toss. 🎯
   
8 a.m.—Instead of hunger, I’ve got awareness.
And honestly? That’s a powerful breakfast.
     
At 10:00, we went outside for Movement Group—bocce ball. I’ll be honest… I didn’t do very well, and I didn’t enjoy it much. It felt more like filling time than building something. Still, I showed up—and sometimes, that’s the quiet win.
   
From 11:00 to 11:30, I had speech therapy. She’s having me keep a daily diary to help with memory. When she asked what I did yesterday, I couldn’t remember going to the doctor. That hit me. We talked about asking better questions and being more aware in the moment.
   
Then she read me a story. I took notes and tried to repeat it back… didn’t go very well. But I was given something valuable—a simple framework to hold onto moments:
Who’s involved?
What – What happened?
Where – Where did it take place?
Why – Why did it happen?
How – How did it unfold?
When – When did it occur?
Simple. Clean. Powerful.
Like a mental net—catching moments before they fall.
     
So that was my day.
Not perfect. Not polished.
But real… and moving forward.
And that counts more than you might think.
Until tomorrow—keep tossing.
     
I don’t like wasting time watching movies, but “Thunderbolt and Lightfoot” is a different matter. This is a well-made movie that really holds attention.

>>>>> March 26
Today in speech therapy, we reviewed some of the emails I sent. My goal was simple—I wanted to help improve this place. But that’s not how I interpreted the responses. Honestly, that hurt.
   
When I share my thoughts—when I care enough to try—it’s not just an idea I’m offering. It’s a part of me. And when those ideas are dismissed or ignored, it feels like I am being disregarded.
   
I’ve made several suggestions, and it doesn’t seem like anyone is willing to try them. Over time, that kind of response wears me down. It makes me question myself… even makes me feel small. But I remind myself of something important: I am not stupid. Not even close.
   
I’m someone who sees opportunities. Someone who wants to make things better. I’m not just built to accept “the way it is.” That’s not a flaw—that’s part of who I am.
   
Still… I feel frustration mounting. There are moments when I just want to leave, to be somewhere my ideas are acknowledged and maybe even acted on.
   
But I won’t let this convince me that my voice doesn’t matter because it does. I’ll keep thinking. I’ll keep offering ideas. I’ll keep being someone who sees how things could be improved—even if it takes time for others to see it too. 
   
That one speech appointment for half an hour was the only therapy I had today. So, I keep wasting my time at NR.
   
Lilly does not like ChatGPT at all.
They are still my words.
Chat just clarifies what I am writing.
   
Again, I went over how I have traveled the world and crossed thousands of roads safely. Yet, they still want me to stay inside the building and cannot go out. What I say, RIDICULOUS, I must say.
   
I just taught Madison how to juggle—and wow, she picked it up fast! Within minutes, she had the rhythm, the focus… and that spark of joy when it clicks. You could see it—the moment the pattern comes alive. 🎯✨She’s hooked now (as she should be—welcome to the club. Of course, I gave her 3 scarves to keep juggling.
   
That brings the total to over 35 people I’ve taught to juggle here at NR. Thirty-five! Each one is a reminder that with a little guidance and a playful spirit, people can surprise themselves in the best possible way. One toss at a time… and suddenly, a whole new skill is in the air.
     
>>>>> March 27
About 6 am now, I awoke about 4:33. And then—out of nowhere—Facebook tosses me a little time machine. A Facebook friend request from Teresa Vanderpool. I was born in Portland, Oregon, on 2/28/59. I grew up at 5166 NE Wistaria Drive. Just a few doors down lived Teresa Daly—TD to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BLOG 370–FINISH WHAT YOU NEED BEFORE YOUR DEATH
Death… here it comes. A line like that hushes a room—not from fear, but from respect. It carries weight, like a fin, a bell waiting somewhere in the distance. It will ring for all of us. No exceptions. No extensions. No encore. So the real question isn’t if—it’s are you ready?
   
What really matters to you?
Stay focused and serious.
Smile and see life in a good way.
   
And here’s the strange, beautiful twist. … that truth doesn’t darken life—it brightens it. Because the clock is ticking, this moment glows. This breath matters. This choice counts. Right now is your chance to step forward, toss something meaningful into the air—and catch it with purpose.
   
Death walks beside you quietly every day. Not to haunt you… But to focus you. To whisper questions that matter: Have you said what needs saying? Built what needs building? Loved your people fully, boldly, while you still can?
   
Because if we had forever, we’d drift. We’d wait. We’d promise ourselves “someday.” But life doesn’t work like that. Life is juggling. Once you step in, the pattern begins—and it doesn’t pause. Toss by toss. Moment by moment. And knowing the clock is ticking? That’s what makes each throw matter just a little more.
   
Death clears the clutter. It sweeps away the nonsense like a strong wind through a messy room. Petty arguments shrink. Ego loosens its grip. What remains becomes beautifully simple: love your people, create something that matters, and be kind while you’re here. Like juggling, you don’t obsess over every drop—you stay in rhythm. You keep going.
   
I’ve felt death closer than most. Thirty-seven days in a coma—that’s not theory, that’s the edge. I went from keeping seven clubs dancing in the air to struggling to hold onto a single moment.
Everything fell.                      Everything stopped.
And yet… I didn’t lose the rhythm. I just changed the pattern.
   
Now I juggle something different—words, ideas, encouragement, hope. Instead of tossing clubs, I toss sparks. And when one lands—when someone picks it up and runs—that’s a perfect catch. That’s how a life echoes beyond itself.
   
Because here’s the twist—death doesn’t just end a life, it reveals it. It asks: What did you do with your time? Did you hold back… or step forward? Did you keep everything safe on the ground… or dare to throw it into the air?
   
And the beauty? You don’t need perfection. You just need participation. You will drop things—guaranteed. Dreams, plans, confidence… they’ll all hit the floor. But death isn’t counting your drops. It’s watching your courage to pick them back up. The magic has always been in the recovery.
     
So let death do its job—let it wake you up,
Sharpen you, remind you that your time.
Here is limited and unbelievably valuable.
Not someday.
Not later.
Now.
One more throw.
One more act of kindness.
One more bold step forward.
   
Keep something in motion—anything. A thought, a dream, a small brave step. That’s how rhythm is born… and how it stays alive. And when that final catch comes—and it will—let it land gently in your hands, with a grin on your face and a heart that says, “I didn’t just watch the game… I played it. Fully. Boldly. Beautifully.” 🎯
   
Yes, death is coming.
But before it does—keep juggling.
Keep sharing, keep showing up.
And whatever you do… don’t let the pattern stop. 🎯
   
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
     
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
– Thomas Campbell
     
“Death should not be a time of sadness.
It should be a time of joy for all they’ve accomplished.”
– Kit Summers
   
“The song is ended.
But the melody lingers on.”
– Irving Berlin
   
“Unable are the loved to die.
For love is immortality.”
– Emily Dickinson
     
“There are no goodbyes for us.
Wherever you are, you will always be in my heart.”
– Mahatma Gandhi
   
“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot.
be seen or even touched – they must be felt with the heart.”
– Helen Keller
     
“In the garden of memory, in the palace of dreams…
That is where you and I shall meet.”
– Alice Through the Looking Glass
     
“Don’t cry because it’s over,
smile because it happened.”
– Dr. Seuss
     
“Death ends a life,
not a relationship.”
– Mitch Albom
   
“While we are mourning the loss of our friend.
Others are rejoicing to meet him behind the veil.”
– John Taylor
   
“A great soul serves everyone all the time.
A great soul never dies.
It brings us together again and again.”
– Maya Angelou
       
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.
Decide what you need to finish before your death. 
   
PART 6) NEXT WEEK>>
BLOG 371–The Power of Starting Before You Feel Ready
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 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 throw. 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.

You will learn more about juggling scarves later in this blog. 

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 scarf juggling here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aHcmUAWo7I&t=62s

                                                                             To the right, you will see Niels >>     
https://www.comedyjuggler.com/ 

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     ,