This morning was a disaster of my own making—an entirely avoidable one, at that. It all started with a simple yet catastrophic decision: going back to sleep.
My wife had to leave early for work, so I woke up with her, saw her off, and then—because I am, at times, my own worst enemy—I crawled back into bed. When my alarm rang at its usual time, I reasoned that there was no immediate need to rise and shine. Why rush? The world could wait. I could bask in the warmth of my blankets for just a little while longer.
Ah, but then—the horror! Like a bolt of lightning, it struck me. I had an appointment at the phlebotomy lab. This morning. In a moment, I went from blissful comfort to full-blown panic mode.
Suddenly, I was a man on a mission. Breakfast was a frantic affair—more a feeding frenzy than a meal. I barely finished swallowing before summoning an Uber to whisk me across town. Somehow, by sheer force of will (and the generosity of traffic lights), I arrived roughly on time. My reward? A needle in my arm and the satisfaction of knowing I had narrowly avoided disaster.
The Saga of the Quarterly Lab Visit
This whole lab ordeal isn’t a weekly thing, thank goodness. It happens once every three months—a fun little prelude to my nephrologist appointments. The lab used to be conveniently located within walking distance, but those were the good old days. Now, thanks to the ever-evolving world of healthcare logistics, both my doctor’s office and the lab have migrated to opposite ends of the city. Since my wife was at work, Uber was my chariot of choice.
A Kidney’s Hard-Won Victory
Once upon a time, my kidneys were in such dire shape that a transplant was on the horizon—stage five of kidney disease, the final boss level. But through some miracle of discipline (and possibly sheer stubbornness), I clawed my way back to stage three. Even my doctors were impressed. Kidneys don’t just bounce back like that. It’s been an uphill battle—strict diet, exercise, a truckload of medication—but I intend to keep it that way. If my kidneys have fought this hard, the least I can do is not sabotage them.
The Curious Case of the Urgency-Driven Wife
Speaking of discipline, my wife operates on a completely different level. She thrives on urgency. More time? Not helpful. More deadlines? That’s where she shines. She has goals stacked like dominos—lifelong ones, yearly ones, monthly ones, and even daily ones. Meanwhile, I apparently struggle with remembering a single appointment that’s been on my calendar for months.
A Morning Lost in Translation
In my defense, I used to have a built-in scheduling assistant—my wife. For years, she managed my appointments with an efficiency that I now recognize I took for granted. But since 2017, I’ve been the proud (if slightly forgetful) owner of my own calendar. And today, that system failed spectacularly. I’m fairly certain I ignored every phone alarm. Maybe I was half-asleep. Maybe I was just being me.
The Aftermath of Chaos
Once I got back home—blood drawn, dignity slightly bruised—I tried to restore order to my day. I worked out, did my language practice, and checked off my morning to-do list. By some miracle, I still had time before dinner prep to catch my breath and, of course, write about my self-inflicted chaos. What is the moral of the story? Maybe don’t ignore your alarms. Or better yet, don’t trust a half-asleep brain to make scheduling decisions. It does not have your best interests at heart.
This morning, I innocently peeked outside, expecting to see the same pleasant scenery from just a few days ago. Instead, I was met with a brutal slap of icy air, sharp enough to make me reconsider all my life choices. The mild temperatures of the past few days had been a cruel deception. The tiny green sprouts that had optimistically popped up earlier in the week? Gone. Buried under the relentless grip of winter’s encore performance.
I swear, nature has a cruel sense of humor. One day, it’s all sunshine and warm breezes, luring you into a false sense of security. The next, it sucker-punches you with a reality check in the form of bone-chilling wind. And today? Today was the kind of cold that makes you rethink your entire relationship with the great outdoors.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with it. Sundays are my designated recovery days, meaning I had no reason to step outside and voluntarily freeze. As long as I stayed inside my warm little fortress, winter could do whatever it wanted. I wasn’t participating.
Now, about my legs. After months of dedicated running, I’ve built up enough endurance that muscle soreness rarely visits me. So, when I woke up and felt that familiar ache, I knew I had done something right. Yesterday’s run must have been extra brutal because my legs were making their displeasure known. Stiff, sore, and just dramatic enough to make me shuffle around like I had aged a few decades overnight.
But soreness is secretly a good thing. It means progress. It means my muscles are rebuilding, hopefully, stronger and faster than before. Maybe—just maybe—this is the kind of soreness that results in a breakthrough. Perhaps next week, I’ll find myself shaving seconds off my pace, gliding through my runs like some sort of gazelle. Or, you know, at least not feeling like I’m dragging bricks for legs.
In the meantime, today is all about stretching. I’ve actually been pretty consistent with it, mostly because I found a way to trick my brain into doing it. The secret? Pairing it with planking. After every plank session, I roll right into some leg stretches. It’s a system that works suspiciously well, and since I usually plank multiple times a day, I end up getting in at least three or more solid stretching sessions without even thinking about a small habit, but a game-changer for keeping my legs in running shape.
So, while the outside world insists on being a frozen wasteland, I’ll be in here, stretching, planking, and basking in the warmth of my personal sanctuary. I’ll let winter do its thing, and I’ll do mine—until tomorrow when I have to lace up my running shoes again and face whatever fresh weather betrayal awaits.
But that’s a problem for future me. Today, I am inside. Today, I recovered. And today, I pretend that winter doesn’t exist.
At long last, it seems the days of running in the bone-chilling cold are behind me. No more bracing for that sharp, icy slap of air first thing in the morning. As long as I give the sun a little time to do its job, the temperatures are downright pleasant. Granted, today still has a bit of a seasonal chill, but compared to last week? Practically tropical. And if the forecast holds, we might even tiptoe into actual warm territory soon.
With the start of a new week, I’m determined to hit the ground running—both literally and figuratively. I’ve stacked my to-do list a little higher than usual since my wife has been working longer hours. It’s her busiest season (audit and tax season—fun times), so I’m trying to take some things off her plate. A small gesture, but one that hopefully makes a difference.
The upside of this milder weather? My runs are feeling smoother, and faster when it’s too cold, my body protests. But now? Now, I can focus on picking up my pace and making the most of my workouts. And, of course, with spring around the corner, outdoor chores are about to demand their fair share of attention.
After wrapping up my morning exercise, I dove into my other tasks. Blog post? Almost done. Run? Still on the agenda. And then there’s my writing project—the one I’ve been neglecting. I plan to chip away at it while listening to Sanderson’s writing lectures, which, if I’m being honest, I should have been doing last week.
Confession time: I completely slacked off. I let distractions win. Writing? Ignored. Lectures? Skipped. The result? I’m further behind than I should be, and to make matters worse, I’m still floundering when it comes to figuring out how long writing a book should take. That uncertainty makes it too easy to procrastinate.
My wife, on the other hand, takes a much more structured approach. Whenever she starts a new writing project, she logs everything—research time, drafting hours, and revisions. She fully admits her memory isn’t great for tracking details, so she writes it all down. And here’s the key: after going through the process a few times, she gets a clear sense of how long each phase takes. She’s cracked the code.
Maybe it’s time I do the same. If I track my progress, I might finally figure out what’s realistic instead of just guessing (or, worse, stalling). So, here’s to getting back on track—one run, one blog post, and one writing session at a time.
Ah, what a difference a week makes! The weather has finally decided to cooperate, and my runs are feeling much more bearable. Yesterday was so mild that I nearly ditched my windbreaker altogether. Gloves? Left them behind. And guess what? I didn’t regret it.
Running in this kind of weather is a dream. My body isn’t wasting energy trying to keep warm or cool down—it’s actually focusing on, you know, running. And the results? Well, let’s just say I had a good day. Not only did I crush my target pace for two consecutive 5Ks, but I also set a new personal best for my 10K. Not too shabby for a guy who, just a few years ago, had to relearn how to control his body.
My goal for this year? A sub-9-minute-per-kilometer 5K. Ambitious? Maybe. But here’s the kicker: It’s only January, and I’ve already pushed my pace down to 9:32/km. That’s progress. Real, tangible progress.
Now, let’s talk about running for a second. It’s a weird sport. Improvement is painfully slow, especially if you start from zero—trust me, I know. I wouldn’t call myself fast (or even moderately speedy), but I’m persistent. Whether the weather is unforgivingly cold or oppressively hot, I lace up and hit the road. I don’t quit. I just keep going.
My wife once told me that, eventually, running wouldn’t feel like a struggle—it would just be something I did. And she was right. At some point, my body got used to it. Even more surprisingly, I started experiencing what she calls “runner’s high.” She used to rave about how addictive it was, and while I wouldn’t say I’m hooked just yet, I do get it now. There’s something incredibly rewarding about seeing progress, even when it happens at a pace that would make a snail yawn.
Zooming out and looking at my progress over a year instead of obsessing over daily runs? That’s when I truly see how far I’ve come.
Of course, once summer rolls around, I expect my pace to slow down again—because running in the heat is basically self-inflicted suffering. But come fall, I’ll be ready to pick up speed again. The key is consistency. Just keep running, and the results will follow.
Oh, and speaking of progress, my planking game is back on track. Two-minute sessions are feeling solid again, thanks to the new platform. So, endurance? We’re rebuilding that, too.
All in all, I’d say things are looking pretty good. Now, let’s see what next week’s runs bring!
Last night, I decided to start my winter running routine early. The day is getting shorter, and the sun is rising past 6:40 a.m. now. I used to run a little past 8 a.m. to avoid the Nashville heat. The later the sun rises, the chilly the outside temperature is. The coldest temperature of some of the day was below 40F.
I started to shift around my workout schedule so that activities involving going outside are done much later in the day. I began adding pull-ups and push-ups just like before implementing the summer exercise curriculum. After setting my breakfast bowl and coffee on my desk,
It had just been a few months since the change, so I decided to do push-ups like I used to. In reality, that is not what happened. I found doing the pullups to be much more complicated than I remember them being the last time I did them. Previously, I remember being able to do a set of 10 without pause, but today I could only manage 4. I completed 10 in total but had to drop off for a few seconds between bursts of effort. At least the push-up exercise was easy for me to complete.
It was a little disappointing. Now, I wonder how long it will take me to return to where I was before summer. I’ll just have to keep working on them and doing what I can until they’re more accessible. The only way I will do this is to increase the rep per set gradually.
In summer, I had to do much more chores outside. The chores can be stressful for my body, especially with the steep hill in our backyard. Some days, I didn’t have enough energy to complete both, so I changed my exercise routine. I have kidney conditions, so I get tired much faster than a healthy adult.
I started adding muscle training to my routine in the last two years. It was better in the first year because my reps and sets for each session were much smaller.
For next year, I should schedule a little differently so I can still do my muscle training, like push-ups or pull-ups. There are some solutions to this. I could have yard work split not into two days but three days. I could also reduce the days I work out but keep doing them.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve introduced some new routines into my daily life, including running and lawn mowing. While these activities are refreshing and beneficial, they’ve also presented challenges, particularly in maintaining my schedule. I’ve found it difficult to complete my tasks as smoothly as I would like, and it’s made me reflect on how we often need to make adjustments when we introduce something new into our lives. When you’re trying something unfamiliar, it’s common to tweak your routine multiple times before it feels right and fits seamlessly into your lifestyle. Without these adjustments, there’s a risk of falling into a pattern of making excuses to avoid specific tasks, especially the more daunting ones. Eventually, you might stop doing them altogether.
In my case, I’ve been trying to juggle multiple responsibilities—on top of my new running and mowing schedule; I still want to keep up with my regular chores, like laundry and vacuuming the house. It’s a balancing act, and I’ve noticed that when I try to pack too much into a single day, I get exhausted relatively quickly. The summer heat in Nashville only intensifies this fatigue, making it even harder to stay on top of everything. I realized that if I didn’t find a way to manage my time and energy better, I might start dropping some of these activities, which I didn’t want to happen.
After some trial and error, I discovered that the key to improving my routines—running, kombucha bottling, or laundry—was to start earlier. This simple change has made a significant difference. For example, I’ve started bottling kombucha and doing laundry a day earlier than I used to. Additionally, I’ve begun running and lawn mowing several hours earlier in the day. These adjustments have been surprisingly effective.
I implemented my new laundry plan this week, and it’s been a success. Instead of doing all the laundry in one go, I’ve split the tasks across two days. I tackle some of the laundry on Thursday and finish the rest on Friday. This change has had a positive ripple effect on my running routine. I’m not as exhausted as I used to be, so I have more energy left for my runs later in the day. In fact, I beat my target pace while running this morning—a small victory that felt incredibly rewarding. It’s incredible how a few simple tweaks can lead to such noticeable improvements in multiple areas of life.
From this experience, I’ve learned that starting tasks earlier not only helps me get them done more efficiently but also reduces the mental burden of having to begin them in the first place. There’s something liberating about knowing that I’ve already checked off a significant part of my to-do list by the time the day is in full swing. It’s one less thing to worry about, and that peace of mind is invaluable.
Looking forward, when I think about new routines or habits I want to develop, I’ll keep this lesson in mind: start earlier than necessary. This approach not only sets me up for success but also opens the door to further improvements down the line. While I might find opportunities to refine these routines in the future, for now, I’m satisfied with the progress I’ve made. It’s a good reminder that the most minor changes can sometimes have the most significant impact.
My English could have been better when I first arrived in North America. I had passed the TOEFL exam well enough to enter a Canadian university, but my reading skills needed to improve. In my first year, I often had to read my textbooks five times with a dictionary to keep up with my coursework.
Reading has been a passion of mine since childhood. Back then, it was hard to find Japanese books in Canada, so I had no choice but to read English books.
I would be lying if I said it was easy. It was nothing but frustration. It took me trial and error to improve my English. I was desperate to satisfy my reading needs. With patience, I eventually reached a point where I could read English as if I were reading in Japanese.
I know that foreign books are more accessible online in North America nowadays. You can even get a translator for your web reading.
Reading books has many benefits, and so many books are written in English. Suppose you want to learn to read books in English as a second language. In that case, I have something to share about my learning experience. Today, I want to talk about how I improved my English reading skills.
Reading but Not Understanding
In my first year, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fully grasp the stories I read. It gets more complicated to read novels. Unlike textbooks, Novels follow a relaxed format, making them more challenging for me to understand than academic papers.
A novel contains plots to create a story. A book has many components, such as a theme, characters, symbolism, etc., to create a story. Each of these components is connected to understanding a story you are reading. Unfortunately, I spent so much energy deciphering each word that I couldn’t spare any mental capacity to connect these components or to visualize a story. The book was full of English words I understood individually with the help of a dictionary. Still, I could not piece them together into a coherent narrative.
Then there were phrases like “cat got your tongue,” which made me think my book had turned into a horror story. It took me a while to understand these kinds of expressions. Such informal idioms aren’t used in Japanese to describe someone being unusually quiet.
When you’re “reading” like I was, you cannot summarize the chapter you are reading. All my focus was on translating words, so my brain ultimately gave up on understanding the story.
I often wondered if reading English books could have been a better use of time. I struggled to comprehend them, which was a frustrating experience.
Interruption of Reading
Suppose you are reading a book way above your reading level. In that case, you will interrupt your reading whenever you encounter unknown words. I found I needed a flow of reading to focus on the book’s story. Looking up too many unknown words interrupts the flow. Our brains aren’t designed to multitask. Every time I looked up a word, it distracted me from reading. Although it was essential to look up new words, it took my focus away each time I opened my dictionary.
It did not help; I used an English dictionary, not a Japanese-English dictionary. My English teacher suggested switching to an English-only dictionary so it would force me to think like an English speaker. It was hard. Sometimes, I even had to look up the definitions of words in my dictionary. We didn’t use Google Translate or our smartphone to look up either. I may have given up if I wasn’t so desperate for books.
I was getting very frustrated at this point. No matter how many books I “read,” my English reading skills never improved. I am wasting my time.
If A Book Reading Is Too Difficult, Pick an Easier One
There was a turning point in my life with books. It was more like luck.
During a trip to Prince Edward Island, I picked up “Anne of Green Gables,” a book I had enjoyed many times in grade school. To my surprise, I scanned it without any difficulties. Encouraged, I bought the second and third books in the series and read them just as smoothly. This experience made me realize I had been attempting books that were too advanced for my current reading level, so I decided to return to the basics.
I began with books for elementary schoolers, such as Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and the early Harry Potter books aimed at younger readers. Having previously read these stories in Japanese was a huge help.
A friend lent me several books by V.C. Andrews, which were also relatively easy to understand. Reading multiple books by the same author was beneficial because authors usually use a consistent vocabulary, reducing my need for a dictionary.
Reader’s DigestWas My Other Alternative
Reader’s Digest was another helpful resource for improving my English reading skills. The magazine featured short excerpts from various books, perfect for people too busy to read full-length novels. These brief passages were ideal for quick reading sessions between classes on busy school days.
Since Reader’s Digest was for adults, I am still determining how much I enjoyed reading it. All I knew was that each was a shorter version of a book. There are a few stories I would like to read all the books for, but the library near my apartment doesn’t have them since our area is predominantly French-speaking.
Suddenly, I Was Enjoying A Book
I noticed that I was gaining vocabulary. Over time, I found myself reaching for the dictionary less frequently. The first book I fully grasped on my first attempt was Dean Koontz’s “Watchers.” The thrill of understanding it completely was so exhilarating that I read through the night despite feeling guilty about losing sleep. The sense of satisfaction was unforgettable.
At the time, I was remembering my childhood in Japan. My parents scolded me for reading books at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. I was excited. This was a serious turning point for me when reading English books. I started reading much more books. Importantly, I enjoyed reading them immensely. I improved my reading skills a lot faster after this point.
Being a student with a limited budget, I could only afford to buy a few books, so I often visited the local library. It wasn’t an extensive library but a welcoming place that brought me joy. I stumbled upon a series called “The Cat Who…” by Lilian Jackson Braun. I got hooked on Asimov’s science fiction.
It took me about two years to reach this level of reading proficiency after moving to North America.
Some Classic Books Were Still Difficult
Since I could read books for adults, I wanted to read some classic books. So, I tried to read James Joyce’s Ulysses. How wrong I was! It was all over again. I was “reading” but not understanding the story. I also tried to read Illiad, and I had the same problem.
This time, I start reading classics that are easier to understand or something I’ve already read in the past. Despite the significant roadblock in reading some classic books, I could still read classics used in high school. I read “A Tale of Two Cities” by Dickens, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I think there’s a reason schools encourage students to read these books—they may be conceptually difficult, but they’re more approachable.
Conclusion
Here’s what I’ve learned from my journey to improve my reading skills: if you need help understanding a book, try something less complex. Just as skiing down an advanced slope is risky for beginners, and playing Chopin’s Etudes is challenging for new piano students, reading requires progressively building your skills.
Starting with books whose stories you already know can be beneficial. Since you’re familiar with the plot, you can focus more on language and structure.
Be patient with your learning curve. Everyone progresses at their own pace. Instead of measuring your progress week by week, consider looking at it over more extended periods, like six months.
Despite my passion for books, I have also struggled to develop my reading skills. If you are having the same problems as I am, I want you to reflect on some of the things I’ve learned. I know it requires effort. Eventually, my efforts made me get what I wanted: to read English books. I hope my story inspires others facing similar challenges.
I’ve grown increasingly adept at molding myself closer to the ideal version of who I envision myself to be. While I’m not going as far as Wayne from Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn series—whose complete transformation into different personas is on another level—I do take inspiration from certain traits of characters I admire and integrate them into my own personality.
The process starts with identifying a persona that resonates with me, someone whose qualities spark a sense of aspiration within. From there, I customize and adapt these traits to fit my own personal goals and the context of my life. This approach allows me to consciously evolve aspects of my character in a more directed and meaningful way.
Characters from books and movies often inspire me, especially those who are quick-witted, clever, and delightfully mischievous. While these traits are engaging and can be fun to emulate, there’s a fine line between being charmingly cheeky and coming off as tiresome or inappropriate. For instance, Wayne from the Mistborn series is a character I particularly enjoy.
I admire his mischievousness and wit. Still, his quirky habit of trading items like a half-eaten hot dog for something of someone else’s doesn’t translate well into real-life interactions. Copying him 100 % would not endear me to others. I doubt my wife would appreciate it if there was a half-eaten hotdog for a thing I took from her. Therefore, I pick and choose aspects of his demeanor that can be adapted to suit my personality without overstepping social norms.
These days, my quest for a clear role model has become more pronounced. Finding a single person or character who embodies all the qualities I admire would simplify the process of self-improvement. It would provide a clear template to emulate, a solid example of how those traits could be integrated into a well-rounded and respected individual. Until then, I have been somewhat like an artist, selecting different elements from various sources and attempting to create a coherent and attractive whole.
The challenge is to do so without ending up like a patchwork or a clumsily glued pot. It’s about integrating these traits in a way that they form a seamless part of who I am, enhancing my personality rather than overshadowing or contradicting the core of my being.
Hopefully, as I continue on this path, I will discover or develop a role model who perfectly aligns with the vision I have for myself—a person whose traits and demeanor I can strive towards holistically rather than in fragments. This search for a perfect model is not just about imitation but about finding a version of myself that feels authentic and fully realized.
Sometimes, ticking off every item on my to-do list seems like a marathon with no finish line. Some tasks take me longer than anticipated. Often, it’s because I’ve lagged behind on the initial few tasks, setting off a domino effect that delays the rest of my day. Despite these setbacks, I find solace in the small victories. Take yesterday, for instance—I might have moved at a snail’s pace from one task to another, yet I consider the day a triumph. After all, the essence of progress lies not in speed but in direction and completion.
Today marks the beginning of a new week, presenting a clean slate and boundless possibilities. I awoke at my usual time, firmly rooted in the day’s purpose and barely straying from my envisioned path. With several hours to spare before hitting the optimal time for my run—the sole time-sensitive activity on my agenda—I afford myself the luxury of a slower pace. This deliberate choice ensures that, despite a leisurely start, there’s ample time to conquer my list without the rush.
My relationship with Mondays has undergone a remarkable transformation. The mere thought of Mondays used to summon a sense of dread, a harbinger of the end of leisure and the resumption of a week filled with tasks and obligations. Weekdays were synonymous with non-stop activity, leaving weekends as my much-needed oasis of rest and rejuvenation. Consequently, Mondays felt like an unwelcome jolt back to reality—a stark reminder of the endless cycle of routines and responsibilities that awaited.
However, a shift in perspective has led to a newfound appreciation for Mondays. My weekends, once a sanctuary of relaxation, have gradually become cluttered with commitments, making Mondays unexpectedly serene in comparison. This inversion of roles between weekdays and weekends has led me to question the longevity of my aversion to Mondays. It may be time to retire my longstanding grudge against the first day of the week, as it no longer seems justified. After all, Mondays offer a chance to reset, a pause before the rush, making them less about the end of freedom and more about the opportunity to start afresh.
In this light, Mondays have shed their gloomy cloak, revealing themselves as a beacon of new beginnings. They remind us that every week offers a fresh start, an opportunity to approach our goals with renewed vigor and a positive outlook. So, as I embrace this shift in perspective, I find myself looking forward to Mondays with a sense of anticipation rather than apprehension. It’s a subtle yet profound reminder that our attitudes towards time and tasks can transform our experience, turning dreaded moments into opportunities for growth and renewal.
Throughout my life, I often encountered the philosophical musing: if given the chance, would one return to their youth with the wisdom they’ve accumulated? For the longest time, my answer was a resolute no. My younger years were not periods I looked back on fondly, and the prospect of revisiting them, even with the advantage of hindsight, seemed far from appealing. However, fate, through the unexpected event of a stroke, made this decision on my behalf. In a bizarre twist, I was thrust back to a state resembling my youth, where essential habits and skills I took for granted were wiped clean, necessitating a thorough relearning process akin to a child taking their first steps.
The journey was nothing short of frustrating. Imagine, if you will, the sudden and complete loss of control over bodily functions once operated on autopilot. The mere act of walking became a Herculean task that demanded my full attention and effort. It was during this time, amidst the throes of rehabilitation and reacquaintance with my own body, that I decided to shift my perspective. Rather than mourning the loss of my former capabilities, I chose to view this as an opportunity to rebuild myself, but better.
This shift had its challenges. My natural inclination towards perfectionism meant that each failure and stumble was met with harsh self-criticism. Yet, the stroke provided an undeniable excuse for every shortcoming. Dropped a glass? A direct consequence of the stroke. Forgot to refrigerate the leftovers? Another lapse courtesy of my condition. While it was tempting to lean on these excuses, I recognized the danger of allowing my stroke to become a crutch that hindered improvement.
Determined to overcome, I made a pact with myself to persevere. While my stroke was a legitimate barrier to achieving perfection, it wasn’t an impossible one preventing improvement. Embracing kindness towards myself in the face of failure became a transformative practice. This newfound leniency allowed me to approach tasks with a beginner’s mindset, gradually improving without the pressure to achieve mastery from the outset.
Logging and Journaling became vital in this process, providing a tangible record of my progress. Over five years, this practice revealed to me just how far I had come. The path to recovery and self-betterment was slow, often imperceptible from day to day, but the cumulative effect was undeniable.
In retrospect, the stroke inadvertently forced me into the very scenario I had long dismissed. Returning to a state of developing ability with the wisdom of my years became a blessing in disguise. It offered me a second chance at relearning how to live and live better. Through this journey, I discovered resilience, patience, and a more profound kindness towards myself that I might never have found otherwise.
