How to Cross a Threshold

If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.–Marcus Aurelius

I saw my neurologist today.

After reviewing a recent MRI of my brain, he informed me that the deterioration that plagued my cerebellum appears to have stopped.

“That can happen?”

“Yes. In some cases, brain atrophy can stop.”

“Well, I guess that’s good news.”

He flashed a smile, leaned back in his chair and said, “That’s great news. Four years later…your brain is showing signs of stability.”

Like every previous visit, my neurologist put me thorough a series of tests.

Follow his finger with my eyes. Touch my nose, touch his finger. Open my mouth, stick out my tongue, cluck my tongue. Snap my fingers. Clack my heels on the floor. Stand up, sit down.

He opened the examination room door, turned, “you know the drill,” and I stood up and followed him out into the hallway.

I walked to the end of the hall, arms by my side, made a controlled turn–as if vying for my driver’s permit– and walked back to him.

“Your gait looks good. You’re walking more confidently then you have in years.”

“Thanks.”

We moved back into his office and sat down. He picked up a microphone that was corded to his computer and began dictating the results of my tests. Despite extensive cerebellum damage, the patient’s gait has shown improvement… . 

I commented how when I first meet him, four years ago, he had to scribble down test results and appointment notes by hand.

He smiled, “Yes, this will definitely stave off carpal tunnel for a few more years. But to be honest, I miss the old-fashion thrill of physical note-taking.  But…things change. Do you have any other questions?”

“I do. This may sound weird…I get a little uneasy around thresholds and doorways. You know, like I’m afraid to transition or something.  Is it normal for people with cerebellar damage to have trouble crossing thresholds?”

He leaned back into his seat and crossed his legs, “The brain is wonderful mystery. Even a healthy brain can find thresholds problematic. It’s something primitive. Like the fear the primitive man must have felt while standing barefoot on some rocky ledge, looking for someplace to go.  Crossing from room to room, from one plane to next has always troubled people. Evolution has ingrained it in our psyche. We’re simply afraid of transitions.”

Of course it wasn’t intentional, but he just conducted an unauthorized, in-office autopsy on my life.

“Do you have any advice on how to cross a threshold?”

“Crossing a threshold is often mental. The initial fear of just transitioning from one place to the next often prevents us from progression. But when you find the nerve to finally cross, you realize there was nothing to fear at all. ”

I stood up, shook his hand, said I was looking forward to seeing him in six months. He smiled, spun away, opened the door and disappeared.

I slipped on my coat and strode through the threshold, from the examination room into the hall and back into life.

A life born of thresholds, waiting patiently for us to simply brave up and cross.

Be well,

Jay

How To Get Men To Talk About Their Chronic Illness

The following post is part of the The January Project: Chronic Illness. A month long project where I research and write about chronic illness.  The information presented in this project is intended for educational purposes only.

I am not a doctor. I am a teacher and writer who, while being afflicted with two chronic illnesses, is trying to learn how to live a productive and peaceful life. 

With this project I hope to increase awareness, offer comfort to those living with chronic illness and offer clarification to anyone who knows a person living with chronic illness.


When my wife comes home from work she vents.

If she doesn’t vent to me, she calls her best friend to vent. And when my wife’s best friend has had a rough day, she calls my wife to vent.

After a day of work my wife needs to talk about it. She needs to share her frustrations (and accomplishments) with me or her best friend. And after she vents she often says, “Sorry, I just had to vent.”

For my wife, sharing her emotions seems almost natural.

And I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous.

Three weeks into my research project on chronic illness and I’m hearing a lack of male voices on the subject. There are tons of blogs, articles and podcasts about living with chronic illness on the internet but most are voiced by women and geared toward women.

Even the articles I found about how men typically deal with chronic illnesses were written by women. Not to devalue those articles, it’s just strikingly clear that there’s a lack of male voices in the chronic illness discussion.

But why?

Men are just as susceptible to chronic illness, and in fact, chronic illnesses are more fatal for men than women.

According to the Harvard Medical Journal, Men die younger than women, and they are more burdened by illness during life. They fall ill at a younger age and have more chronic illnesses than women.

So why the silence?

I think it’s simple—men don’t feel comfortable talking about their weaknesses.

It’s not that we don’t want to talk about our illness, we do. I have had a lot of deep, personal conversations with male friends and male students about deeply serious things, including chronic illness.

The problem is we just don’t know how to voice our fears, frustrations and without looking weak.

We fear that having a real talk will be mistaken for venting. And venting is something that women do.

I wrote in A Vulnerable Man that when I was 15 years old I was called a fag by another boy because I wrote a story that impressed my 9th grade English teacher.

22 years later, as I tell you this, I can see my teacher smile and hear her say that I have a “strong writing voice” and that I should “keep writing.”

For the teenage, heterosexual male being seen as “gay” in the eyes of your male peers is the ultimate fear.

And if I’m being completely honest, at 37, it’s still a serious fear.

In this NSFW clip, comedian Bill Burr accurately ( and hilariously) describes why men are so foolishly terrified to look weak in front of other men and how a man’s emotional repression ultimately kills them.

 “What are you a fag” is the reason why guys dropped at 55 out of fucking nowhere.–Bill Burr

Young age men are trained by society and by other men to suppress their feelings. And for the man struggling with chronic illness this “training” becomes increasingly dangerous.

My plan when I began the January Project was to research the origin of chronic illness, the different types, possible preventions and latest research.

But something happened.

When I dove into the project I was shocked to find a lack of males voices talking about chronic illness.

So the focus of the January Project shifted from general research to writing about ways men with a chronic illness can accept vulnerability, overcome shame and find their voice again.

Like women, men need to share their struggles, their stories. Because repression leads stress and stress leads to physical and emotional weakness.

5 Constructive Things Men Can Do

Each of the things listed below helped me to accept and openly talk about my chronic illnesses. These strategies will not cure your illness, but they will help you take the first, crucial steps in achieving a less-stressful, more fulfilling life.

There was a time throughout my struggles with chronic illness that I thought each of these strategies were dumb–even writing.

At first they were uncomfortable and seemed futile. But the more I practiced them, the more I was able to accept my chronic illness, release stress and gain emotional strength. Training your emotional muscles is like training your physical muscles– if you want results, you must consistently go to the gym and lift weights.

Finding your voice is a life long process. It’s work. But if we never verbalize our emotions we will always be fragile and walk a tightrope of self-destruction.

1.Write

I don’t know where I would be without writing. Writing has been both a release and a source of strength for me. Writing has made my thoughts and feelings more tangible, more clear and easier for me to understand.

The purpose of writing is to not pen a novel. The quality of your writing doesn’t matter. It’s to have a dialogue with yourself–a private venting session to constructively release your emotions.

2. Make one small change

A chronic illness can leave you powerless. And when you’re powerless, sometimes you think you have to change everything to regain your masculine power. One way to regain your power is to make one small positive change. Committing to one small change will provide confidence to make bigger, future changes.

For example, a few weeks after I committed to taking daily all-natural vitamin supplements, I decided to change my carnivorous diet to a total plant-based diet. After weeks on a plant-based diet my body felt so good I was able to completely stop taking steroids, which I had taken for four years to alleviate my chronic pain.

3. Listen to motivational speeches

Because I was so afraid to talk about my illness, no one knew how much I was suffering. I wanted to talk but, maybe it was a lack of courage or maturity, I just couldn’t.

I found that listening to motivational speeches everyday helped me to build strength and courage that one day inspired me to talk.  My favorite speakers are Tony Robbins, Brene’ Brown and Les Brown.

4. Learn something new

Learning new things is cardio for your brain. Watching a documentary, reading a book or learning a new skill are simple ways to gain strength and confidence.

In fact, living with a chronic illness requires you to have a growth mindset, which basically means to increase your intelligence by dedicating yourself to learning about new ideas and perspectives. Intellectually growing makes you feel strong and helps you manicure a resolve to overcome future setbacks.

5. Tell one person that you’re scared

Bestselling author Lewis Howes explains, “anyone who has experience trauma in the past and hasn’t ever discussed it with anyone will allow the trauma to grow in negative way until you begin to tell your story.”

Even when I was enduring CAT Scans, blood tests, biopsies and MRIs it was still hard to admit to my wife that I was scared.

Men will endure and suffer to avoid admitting that they’re afraid. But admitting fear takes real courage and is an important step in the healing process. Though the stoic, unwavering man is glorified in our society, it’s important to remember that he is nothing but a work of fiction.

Men– living with a chronic illness is hard. It will emasculate you. It will break your spirit. Don’t let it. Hold on. Have patience. And never be afraid to tell your story.

Women– understand that men need you. Though we may not say it, your presence gives us strength. Be frugal with your questions. The last thing a suffering man needs is to be assaulted with questions. Stay patient, refrain from judgments and one day, when we’re ready, we will share our story with you.

Be well,

Jay


Related Original Writings on Chronic Illness:

What You Need To Know About Men Who Have A Chronic Illness And The Shame They Feel (Published on January 5, 2018)

I Celebrated My Worst Day (Published on September 8, 2017)

20 Things My Chronic Illness Has Taught Me (Published on June 16, 2016)

 

 

Accepting Uncertainty: The Most Important Question A Chronic Illness Patient Can Ask

The following post is part of the The January Project: Chronic Illness. A month long project where I research and write about chronic illness.  The information presented in this project is intended for educational purposes only.

I am not a doctor. I am a teacher and writer who, while being afflicted with two chronic illnesses, is trying to learn how to live a productive and peaceful life. 

With this project I hope to increase awareness, offer comfort to those living with chronic illness and offer clarification to anyone who knows a person living with chronic illness.


Why am I sick?

What did I do to deserve this fate?

Like a car accident, a chronic illness often slams you without warning.

One moment you’re cruising along, windows down, radio up and the next– you and your car are cartwheeling out-of-control through an intersection.

My symptoms happened overnight.

Literally.

One day I was coaching and playing soccer and the next day my vision was blurry, my head was spinning and my legs were so weak I could barely climb a flight of stairs.

That was August of 2013.


According to the National Council of Health nearly 50% of Americans have at least 1 chronic illness.

Approximately,  161 million people are currently struggling fears and frustrations of having a chronic illness.


On September 5, 2013 an MRI of my brain revealed that I had cerebellar atrophy–a deterioration of nerve cells in the cerebellum.

In April of 2015 a biopsy of my thigh muscle revealed I had sarcoidosis– a chronic illness that causes muscular and organ inflammation.

And even with those confirmations I was still so confused, so frustrated, so angry.

Why did I get sick?

What could I have done differently to avoid this fate?

If there was a God, why was he doing this to me?

A chronic illness unnerves you.

For years I endured moral freezes. I couldn’t think, decide. I couldn’t, as my old soccer coach would bark, “get my shit together.”

Like a high stakes game of hide-and-go-seek, success in life is often predicated on our curiosity, our desire to seek until we find what we are looking for.

But what happens when you’re sick and short on energy? What happens  after years of blood tests, biopsies, scans and observations experts still shrug and admit they don’t know?

What happens when you simply can’t find what you’re looking for?

Five years ago I did not realize that uncertainty is an opportunity for growth and change.

I was obsessed with questions like:

Why am I sick? What did I do to deserve this fate?

But those question lead me nowhere. Those questions only increased my confusion, frustration and anger.

Five years later I still have those questions but I’m in a much better place.

Why?

Because I edited down all of my questions into the most important question I’ve ever asked:

I’m sick…

..Now what am I going to do about it?

This question forced me to do two things:

  1. Accept the situation.
  2. Assume responsibility and take action.

It’s only natural when you’re suffering with a chronic illness to ask the unfocused, unanswerable questions. I did for years. But those questions are like a hamster wheel. They’re exhausting and repetitive and get you nowhere.

A question like, “why is this happening to me?” gives your illness power and permission to seize control your life.

You can not allow a chronic illness to impose its will on you.

You must go on the offensive, take action and attack for as long as you can.

Because taking action builds strength, confidence and independence.

Three feelings that I had almost forgotten about.


Here’s how I attack chronic inflammation:

Here’s how I attack my cerebellar atrophy:


The uncertainties of my illnesses inspired me to make greater investments into my health.

And five years later I’m finally off the hamster wheel.

I’ve made myself responsible.

Because when you’re grappling with a chronic illness you must push back, you must reclaim your health.

Because it’s your health and only you can do something about it.

Be well,

Jay


Related Original Writings on Chronic Illness:

What You Need To Know About Men Who Have A Chronic Illness And The Shame They Feel (Published on January 5, 2018)

What’s The World’s Greatest Lie (Published on September 14, 2017)

Why I Celebrated My Worst Day (Published on September 8, 2017)

20 Things My Chronic Illness Has Taught Me (Published on June 16, 2016)

So what are your bowel movements like? 13 serious questions I was asked on my first veganish Thanksgiving.

Almost four months ago I adopted a veganish diet hoping that it would relieve my chronic pain and lessen my steroid dependency. So far, it has. 

The workings of my new diet also stirred hearty conversation around the Thanksgiving dinner table when people realized my plate was void of turkey.

So here are 13 questions I was asked about my veganish diet while celebrating my first veganish Thanksgiving.

1. What do you mean by veganish?

Though I no longer eat meat and do my best to stay away from dairy, I occasionally eat foods that contain traces of butter and milk. So I’m a vegetarian and a casual vegan — I’m veganish.

2. Can you explain how your body feels different now that you’re on the diet?

My autoimmune disorder causes inflammation in my joints and muscles. And meat and dairy are proven to cause inflammation. So I believe a meat and dairy were further compounding my inflammation issues.

Pre-diet most mornings were rough. I felt as if the night before I had run a half-marathon wearing a lead track suit and snow boots. My muscles and joints would be tired and sore before I hit the snooze button. However, since the diet, when I wake up I’m not in pain. It’s funny– having endured so many rough mornings I actually forgot what it’s like to wake up and not be in pain.

3.What food do you miss the most?

It varies. For a couple of weeks I really wanted a real all-beef hot dog. So to satisfy my craving I tried a meatless hot dog that looked, smelled and tasted a little like Play-doh. But please know that not all vegan food tastes like a children’s toy. Some stuff is really good. But apparently duplicating the natural deliciousness of a hot dog is really tough.

4. Do you have a favorite vegan meal?

I’m still a novice in the art of vegan cuisine. In the last four months I’ve kept things really simple. I’ve eaten a lot of oatmeal, fruits, vegetables and peanut butter. However, I recently had chicken sliders made by Gardein which were quite tasty and paired nicely with a Sam Adams Octoberfest.

5.What advice would you give if I wanted to try a veganish diet?

Like any form of self-improvement you have to commit to your future-self. To suppress temptation, I’ve found that visualization really helps. I visualize my future-self exercising and playing soccer with my children again. You can find new levels of intrinsic strength when you combine physical practice with visualization. And this visualization is more satisfying then any hot dog could ever be.

6.Since you became veganish have you had a cheat meal where you ate meat?

No.

7.Have you eaten fish?

No.

8.Do you now do other veganish things like hug trees?

Only for this picture.

9.Are you going to try to make your wife and children adopt the diet?

This one is tough. Of course I want them to eat healthier, but adopting a new diet must come willing and naturally. I fear that forcing my new eating habits upon them may stage a rebellion. I hope that by modeling healthy eating habits they will adopt better habits themselves.

10. Do you take any vitamins or supplements?

Yes. Twice a day I take Vertisil for a balance and dizziness issues. At first I was skeptical, however it makes a huge difference. When I miss a dose I feel off-balance and dizzy. You can order Vertisil on Amazon. It’s $40 for 60 pills.

I also take two vitamin packs a day to ensure I’m getting enough vitamins and nutrients. The Peak Performance Total Health Vitamin Pack is a Melaluca product. The packs consists of 12 different supplements that support the major systems of the body. 60 vitamin packets costs $131.89.

11. Aren’t you always hungry?

No. When I’m hungry I eat. However, since avoiding meat and dairy I simply do not think about or crave food as much as I did before.

12. Do you think quitting meat and diary cold turkey was the best way to change?

Committing to anything is hard, daily work. At first I was afraid to commit. So I lied to myself. I said I would gradually change — cutting out meat and dairy one meal at a time. But I secretly knew if I wanted to change I had to fully commit since gradual commitment often takes more self-discipline then full commitment does. If I wanted to succeed I had to go all in. And I plus, I was motivated. I was tired of feeling like shit.

13. If you don’t mind me asking, what are your bowel movements like?

They’re once a day and they’re spectacular.

Be well,

Jay

The Pilgramage (or why I really went to Atlantic City last week)

“Everything dies, baby that’s a fact
But maybe everything that dies some day comes back.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”

Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City

Last Friday I made the 60 mile pilgrimage from Philadelphia to the Atlantic City, New Jersey to present my writing workshop “Learn to Write like No One is Reading” at New Jersey Educators Convention.

The workshop, a culmination of strategies and experiences I’ve accumulated over the last 15 years of teaching, explores how teachers can use storytelling as an instructional practice to deepen student learning while helping students further embrace the writing process.

The workshop was well received by the audience. They actively participate, smiled, laughed at my jokes and from what I could tell, left with at least one new strategy to use in their classrooms.

For the last few months I’ve been making presentations at various professional learning seminars. And I’ve come to really enjoy talking literacy and helping educators facilitate classrooms that promote writing and storytelling so to inspire their students to become better writers.

But if I’m being purely honest — the real reason I went to Atlantic City last week to present a writing workshop was a purely selfish one.

The Real Reason

In September of 2013 an MRI revealed that I had suffered significant brain damage.

However there was no clear catalyst — a car crash or a fall — to warrant such loss of brain matter so quickly.

In October of 2013, after the Director of Neurology at Jefferson University Hospital examined my MRI he acknowledged majority of my cerebellum had died, suggested I start testing for every known debilitating and fatal disease and then asked if I had long-term disability insurance.

“No.”

“I can’t predict what will happen to your brain,” he paused and looked over at the MRI still displayed on his computer screen, “but if you can somehow acquire long-term disability insurance I think you should.”

The Silver Lining

During its annual Convention, the New Jersey Educators Association has a no-physical-required, no-questions-asked open enrollment period for its long term disability insurance.

The only caveat was you have to enroll in person at the Convention in Atlantic City.

So in November of 2013, as mom drove the 60 some miles to Atlantic City, we outlined my plan —  enroll in long-term disability insurance and brave on long enough for the paper work to process so that when I when inevitability lose the ability to speak or see or lose muscle function and can no longer work, my family would’t be so financially burdened.

When mom dropped me off outside the Convention Center, I told her to circle around the block because I wasn’t going to be long. I guess because when your life is undergoing a massive reconstruction sometimes you have no choice but to work as fast as you can.

I mazed through the Convention floor until I found the Prudential Insurance booth where I asked a few questions, looked at a few charts, enrolled in the long-term disability program, hustled back the way I came, walked out of the Convention Center, into the cold November sunlight and waited for mom to pick me up and take me home.

The purpose of a pilgrimage is about setting aside a long period of time in which the only focus is to be the matters of the soul. Many believe a pilgrimage is about going away but it isn’t; it is about coming home. Those who choose to go on pilgrimage have already ventured away from themselves; and now set out in a longing to journey back to who they are.” 

L.M. Browning, Seasons of Contemplation: A Book of Midnight Meditations

Last Friday I selfishly trekked 60 miles from the Philadelphia suburbans to the Atlantic City Convention Center.

In a way, I found something redemptive in those hard-earned miles. And though skirting pot holes and grinding through traffic can not repair the damage in my brain, it did remind me that somehow I’m still very much alive and that I still have a story to tell.

Be well,

Jay

How I Finally Kicked Prednisone’s Ass

After a three year fight with the infamous steroid Prednisone — I’m proudly standing in the middle of the ring and raising my arms in victory.

In July of 2014 my rheumatologist prescribed a moderately high daily dosage of 35 milligrams of Prednisone to relieve my chronic inflammation and joint pain caused by the autoimmune disorder — sarcoidosis.

The morning after taking my first dosage I felt awful. Like frat party hung over awful. Nausea, headache, hot flashes, exhaustion.

Then, 48 hours later, while vacationing at the New Jersey shore I felt like Superman. Tossing the football around with my sons, swimming in the ocean, riding waves like I had never been sick.

The Problem

Prednisone will relieve pain and inflammation. But nestled inside those little white pills is a real danger. Long term exposure to Prednisone can lead to a weakened immune system and cause weight gain, depression, diabetes, osteoporosis and a cavalcade of other fine ailments.

Prednisone is not a cure. It’s a mask. A contradiction. It reduces inflammation and it improves the immediate quality of life while silently and slowly destroying bones and organs.

For the last 3 years I have struggled to reduce my dependency on Prednisone. Following my rheumatologist’s instructions I began slowly weening off the drug— 5 milligrams at a time. I worked down to 10 milligrams a day but every time I dropped below 10 the pain and inflammation would return and intensify.

My rheumatologist explained that I should prepare to for a life sentence with Prednisone.

While on Prednisone, I gained about 20 pounds. When I broke a bone in my foot, it took nearly 5 months to heal — tripling the amount of time it should have taken to heal. And though I was never diagnosed with depression, I did endure long bouts helplessness and loneliness which I believe was triggered on my dependency on a drug that was murdering months of my life away.

The Challenge

Over Labor Day weekend, my good friend Casey challenged me to a two-week vegan challenge.

At first I balked.

How could I, a life long carnivore, give up t-bones and hot wings? It wasn’t me. I wasn’t a vegan. I don’t wear sandals. I don’t hug trees.

I sent him a text saying I would think about it.

And I did.

I sent another text explaining that I would try to slowly ween off meat and dairy — one meal at a time.

Then I thought about it more. I thought about my future-self bloated, ripe with diabetes, brittle-boned and blind. I thought about my children. About playing football on the beach again. I thought about how helpless I felt. And I thought about dying young.

So in a flicker of bravery I said fuck it. Two weeks of no dairy, no meat. Cold turkey. Let’s do this.

Why Vegan?

Casey also told me to watch the documentary, “What the Health, an unflinching look at how the meat and dairy industries are sleeping with the government and how meat and dairy foods trigger so many autoimmune and inflammation issues.

So I watched it. At first I was skeptical and even a bit naive. Why would my government, the one I Pledge Allegiance to every morning, lie about the importance of milk? Humans need milk. Milk does a body good. Right?

Understand, I’m not a doctor. I’m just a guy with a blog and autoimmune disorder who’s trying to live his best life. But if you’re struggling with inflammation or an autoimmune illness I would recommend looking at your diet. You may realize the food you’re fueling your body with is actually the stoking the fire of your illness.


In his article , “How Does Meat Cause Inflammation?”, Dr. Michael Greger explains how a single meal of meat, dairy, and eggs triggers an inflammatory reaction inside the body within hours of consumption.


The Victory

After smashing through the two weeks, feasting on only plant based foods, something happened.

I felt good. Like really good. Like how I felt during the first few weeks on Prednisone. I was feeling so good I decided to abstain from Prednisone for one day to see what would happen. I did. And I felt great. Then one day without medication turned into two. Then a week without Prednisone passed. Then another week. And suddenly I was living a Prednisone-free life.

When I decided to forego my medication I did not consult my doctor. I made a simple, conscious decision to improve my own health.

I’m learning that the most unsatisfying thing is to be a spectator to your own life.

~~~

I’ve been vegan for 8 weeks. I’ve been Prednisone-free for almost 6 weeks. I wish I could tell you that it’s been a hard lifestyle change but it really hasn’t. Sure I miss bacon and cheeseburgers and bacon cheeseburgers but don’t miss the pain. I don’t miss the dependency. I don’t miss being a spectator.

I’ve lost 10 pounds in 6 weeks. My inflammation and joint pain have completely disappeared. And most importantly I no longer feel helpless. I have gained control over my health. I’m now in the ring, proactive in my fight, which is the most crucial step for anyone living with a chronic illness.

I’m not symptom free. Sarcoidosis caused irreversible brain damage that effect my balance and vision but since converting to veganism I’ve found a fighting spirit I thought I had lost.

I just think if you can find a reason to fight — and there’s always reason to fight — if you can make changes, if you can find the courage to roll up your sleeves and trade punches with your illness you’ll learn you’re a hell of a lot tougher then you ever thought you were.

And you may realize that you were the champion your life so desperately needed all along.

Be well (Eat well),

Jay

I want to thank my friend Casey for challenging me. I owe you brother. I guess some times we all need a push to find our better selves.

The Scary Work of Redefining Yourself

It was this week, last year that I published The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump ( or learning to fly). It was one of the greatest leaps I ever took.

Here’s why.

Any writer who tells you they’re not worried about how their work will be perceived is lying.

Look dear reader, I want you to like my work. Scratch that — I want you to love my work.

I want you to read each post twice and share it three times.

I want you to think about me as you’re buttering your morning bagel or waiting for the elevator doors to open.

I want to make you laugh and cry. Give you chills and rock your soul and make you turn over the wonder and magic and mystery of your own life.

But in order to accomplish those Herculean things I need to be honest, authentic and share my story. I need to tell you things I’ve yet to tell my wife. That’s our agreement. And that’s why, sometimes, writing is incredibly hard.

In the quiet hours of life, I often think about my twelve weeks at the St. Lawrence Rehabilitation Center. About the new truths I learned. About how I learned I could no longer jump. About how quickly years of the personal definitions of me being a man strong and athletic crumbled to the cold linoleum floor on a gray December afternoon when an unassuming physical therapist asked me to jump.

What I tried to capture in The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump was the raw embarrassment and shame and sadness I felt in those rehab sessions.

What I didn’t tell you in that story was how scared I was.

The fall and winter of 2013 was the most terrifying stretch in my life. It wasn’t the thought of dying, which did hang heavy in those days, it was a fear of redefining myself. My brain was damaged and the doctors didn’t know why. But the scariest part was digesting the news that parts of me could only now be found in photo albums and in flickering reels of memory.

Take your parents or grandparents. Great people I’m sure. But they’re set in their ways. They detest change. They’ve got their favorite chair, their eternal pair of slippers. They’ve been buying the same toothpaste for 30 years. They’re comfortable. They resist to change. And it drives you crazy but they’re too advanced to redefine themselves. So you smile and accept it.

I knew that my season of physical rehabilitation was crucial. I knew I had to let go of who I was — an athlete, coach and begin the painful and confusing task of redefining myself as a writer — before it was too late.

Redefining yourself is not easy. It’s scary. You’re not a kid but you fear judgement and criticism the way you did in high school. And sometimes redefining yourself becomes dangerous work. Drugs, alcohol and other destructive habits become your new definitions.

But I’ve learned that if you redefine yourself positively and purposefully you can tap new potentials.

When you write your new definitions you find new ways to in be strong and empowered and your life is suddenly swirling with exciting possibilities. You discover new energies. New angles. You begin to realize your potential.

Aside from William Faulker, any writer will claim that editing while writing is a literary sin. You write and write and write then edit. They are separate adventures. But this is life. You can’t write, enjoy a cup of coffee, take a breath then edit your past. We must write and edit at the same time. You must redefine yourself as you go. And it’s unnatural. It’s hard. It’s really fucking hard.

But dear reader, it might just be the most important thing you ever do.

Be well,

Jay

The Day I Learned I Could No Longer Jump ( or learning to fly)

Six months after being diagnosed with cerebellar degeneration, six months after a neurologist examined an MRI of my brain, leveled his eyes, cleared his throat and said to me, “you should be dead or in a hospital bed” I’m staring at my physical therapist, Denise, and she’s daring me to jump...