I’m reaching out to share that I’m shifting my perspective. I’ve realized that my words have been filled with negativity, often reflecting my frustration with the situations in life. But I’ve come to understand that it’s not what happens to us, but how we respond, that shapes who we become. I choose to embrace a more stoic approach, accepting life as it is while focusing on growth through challenges. While I may never fully make sense of everything, I’m determined to keep trying, as no one really has all the answers. What matters to me now is making the most of my existence—overcoming challenges but also transforming them into something positive, a source of light to uplift those around me. I want to bring joy, make a positive impact, and connect with you in a meaningful way. Above all, I want you to truly understand me.
Today, during my lunch break, I called Robin. I’m not entirely sure if it’s spelled “Robin” or “Robyn,” but she’s mom’s hospice case nurse.
Yesterday as I was flying back to Florida from Southern New Mexico, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we might be missing something. “Maybe there’s some treatment we haven’t explored yet, or perhaps there’s a reasonable explanation for this whole situation that I just haven’t grasped.” I thought.
I didn’t arrange for hospice care—my brother did that when he was still speaking to us. But after the transition, he stopped communicating with either me or my father. I don’t even know how it went from a memory care facility to hospice care. I always thought hospice was just for the very end, but I’ve since learned it’s about making someone with a terminal illness as comfortable as possible and can go on for over a year.
Over the weekend, while I was caring for mom and giving dad a break, it felt like we were just giving up. It didn’t seem like we were doing anything to help her—it was just about managing pain and trying to calm her agitation.
Today, during my lunch break, I called Robyn. I needed to hear directly from someone who could give me a clear answer. I asked her, “Is there no hope? Can we not try anything else?”
She was kind but firm. “Your mom is in the final stages of dementia.” She read through a list of evaluation metrics that would classify her under the hospice treatment. Can she do this..…… Can she do that……… Does she know……… all answers were “No.”
“I know it’s hard.” Robin said.
As I reflect this certainly progressed quickly—what was Stage 3 is now Stage 6, all in less than a year. “We’re doing everything we can to keep her comfortable.” Robyn said.
I sat with that for a moment. “Ok” I told her. “Thank you.” I think I just needed to hear it out loud from a reliable source.
As I sit here reflecting, a part of me—the part that’s always been relentless or perhaps just stubborn—refuses to believe this is the end. Maybe I’m in denial, and I just don’t want to accept it.
This weekend, while sitting next to mom in a rare moment of stillness, she turned to me and asked, “You’re not scared of anything, are you?”
Today, I’ve reached 42. I’m filled with gratitude, as not everyone is fortunate enough to make it this far, and in decent health too. This year has been a tough one, watching both myself and those around me age. As time passes, I find myself longing for youthfulness, vitality, and longevity. If there’s one thing I truly struggle with, it’s the process of aging.
While my cognitive abilities remain sharp, family members have become forgetful of things—like my birthday. I’ve also started spotting some white hairs on my scalp, thankfully there is an easy solution for that as I’ll continue to mask them with dye as long as I can. Thankfully there are not many wrinkles yet, and I’ll work to stave those off with whatever measures possible.
Some health metrics are beginning to show signs of decline, as expected, but I remain committed to attempting to eat well and staying active. I’m especially thankful that I can still run—it’s my stress reliever and my key to staying vibrant for years to come.
Here’s to another year, filled with hope and the potential for more life ahead.
Today at work, I needed to rely on my teammate to be my guide as I scaled up to 257 feet of the tower. The change came gradually, but I now experience a sense of vertigo whenever I climb an open grid metal stairwell where I can see hundreds of feet beneath me.
At times the fear creeps in as I tilt my head down, and I worry that I might black out from the sensation. It was my turn to scale up for safety checks, but there I stood, questioning what had shifted within me as I faced this fear.
Looking down from 257 feet in an industrial setting, I peered through the platform levels, my gaze passing over scaffolding, air cannons, and machinery. Despite the surroundings, the beauty of the sunset overhead was undeniable.
There were three stages of observation, and although I had the confidence to face them, I felt the familiar wariness creeping in as I made my way up the tower.
“Be strong,” I reminded myself as I climbed up an 8 ft. ladder toward the second observation point, between two levels, at 200 feet above the ground. From this height, everything at ground level appeared minuscule—yet, the vast view of Florida’s trees and a pristine blue lake to the west, untouched by the industrial environment, felt strangely calming.
When I finished the tasks and descended, I left work feeling a sense of accomplishment, having conquered one of my biggest fears of the day. What made it even easier to face was knowing I had a reliable teammate by my side, ready to act in case anything went wrong.
“Excuse me, what book is that?” A man pointed at the paperback tucked under my arm as I sipped my hot grande caramel macchiato and browsed through Moleskine journals.
“Oh, it’s Infinite Possibilities,” I replied.
“May I take a look?” he asked.
“Certainly.” I said, handing it over.
As he flipped through the pages, I couldn’t help but wonder about his intentions. I’m a regular at Barnes & Noble, but no one had ever approached me for a conversation before. Could this be one of those movie moments where a guy strikes up a chat, hoping to get a girl’s number? I doubted it—He must notice that I’m much older than he is, and I certainly wasn’t dressed to impress. Still, the thought lingered.
It was just past 5:45 p.m., nearing the 6 pm closing time on New Year’s Eve.
“Mike Dooley, I’ve never heard of him,” he said.
“I think he was on Mel Robbins’ latest podcast,” I responded.
I later realized I was wrong—it was a neuroscientist with the last name of Dotty, not Dooley, who had been on the episode.
The young man, casually dressed in a blue sweater, button-down shirt, and slacks, seemed to know about Mel Robbins. He mentioned reading about her 5 Second Rule, and we quickly found common ground, exchanging titles of self-help books which lead to discussing our professions.
At this point, I still wasn’t sure what his intentions were, but the conversation was pleasant and easy. He talked about building wealth with his wife, and they now had intentions to focus on giving back to others.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “after you’ve amassed riches and achieved your desires, it’s all about giving back.”
Interesting, I thought. Was this some sign, divine intervention? Could this be the serendipitous answer I’d been seeking? Maybe this was the direction I needed for 2025.
“Contributions,” I said, feeling a spark of realization.
“Exactly!” he replied.
We ended our conversation with a warm exchange of “Happy New Year” and “Take care.” I returned to browsing the journals, still reflecting on the strange nature of our encounter. These unexpected moments often seem to appear when I’m actively seeking spiritual guidance
As I waited in line at the register, I watched the man walk out the front entrance, empty-handed.
Journaling was Recommended 