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By Scott Reddoch I used to think purpose was some big thing. Something on a list. The top 40 achievers under 40. I would compare where I was to “them.” I didn’t think what I was doing was fulfilling any purpose. It was. I got a nail in my tire and went to this place in Mid City on the edge of a neighborhood where I was working. I don’t remember the name exactly. Something like R&O Tire. It was a pretty grungy place, but they were fixing flats not selling filet mignon. The guy that helped me was named Boris. He was a lanky guy from Bulgaria with greasy shoulder-length black hair. He wore a dark blue work uniform with a patch that had his name on it. He’d only been in the US for five years and spoke broken English. At first we had the typical tire business conversation. He didn’t seem very interested in me or anything else. Then I asked if he had any kids. His face lit up. He pulled out pictures. School portraits. His daughter Sasha had just turned 16. His son Alex was 13. Then he showed me a family photo from Christmas. Them sitting in front of a tree wearing matching red sweaters. His wife Tori is very pretty. I wasn’t expecting such a normal-looking family. Boris told me not many people speak to him and don’t ask about anything other than themselves. When he lit up, it felt really nice that I was connecting with another human. I came in a complete stranger. I left as a friend. This may sound silly, but I miss being able to make someone feel important. Since I’m non-verbal now, I don’t get many opportunities. I used to do this often. I’m not the sunshiny personality type, but I would try to make people feel special. Some are narcissists. Some haven’t felt special in a long time. It needs to be authentic or it backfires. It’s a small thing. It’s not hard to do. It does require you to be conscious and in your moments. That takes time but the quality is worth it. I wasn’t dancing through life showering everyone with praise. I focused on who I interact with. Not even all of them. Just the ones I clicked with. Not being able to speak, I can still connect through email. But I can’t read a person through email. Facial expressions are a big part of communication. You don’t get it there. People say I don’t complain. It’s not that I don’t get uncomfortable or want other things. I’ve just never seen the use for it. So that’s how I help now. I shut up and keep things to myself. You see these lists all the time. “The top blank under blank.” They make me look at what I haven’t accomplished. People pay to get into those anyway. They’re just big highlight reels. I have to be careful with them. The comparisons I make can be hurtful. I won’t develop a life-saving cure or make some earth-shattering discovery. Most don’t. It isn’t fair to compare yourself to those who do. Boris didn’t need me to make the list. He just needed someone to ask about his kids. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch My buddy posted something about wait staff “throwing hands” at Waffle House. It was a tribute to everything going sideways fast and someone ends up on the floor. I live with my parents. They’re older and like to take their time with things. I need help with almost everything. My mom was getting something for me in the kitchen and moving slower than I wanted. I had typed out earlier on my eye-gaze computer: “Hurry up or somebody gonna catch these hands.” It took me a while to type, which would’ve killed the timing. So I made it a hot key phrase. One button. Perfect timing. My mom laughed. It was unexpected. Besides, I can’t move. Even if I could, I wouldn’t hit my mom. I’ve had a good sense of humor as far back as I can remember. I like situational stuff. Spontaneous things are funniest to me. After the strokes, my humor got darker. I think it’s hilarious when someone falls or when their plans don’t work. I saw this news story where someone threw a bucket of gas on a guy. He chased them outside and they set him on fire. That’s not supposed to be funny, but I think it is. There are some things I find humorous that most people don’t. Things that end in death or serious injury might be funny to me, but you’ll never know it. I keep those to myself. Both my dad and grandfather were intense. I watched ordinary tasks get blown into crises my whole life. If you laugh at it, the fog lifts. I don’t have the same relationship with anxiety that most people do. Maybe I should. I’m paralyzed, so I have to be hoisted around. It’s a slow process. But there are faster techniques that use human power instead of machines. A few years ago, a physical therapist tried to wrestle me into position during a session. She was transferring me from my wheelchair to an exercise mat. I’m a pretty big guy, and she had a real fight on her hands. There was this look of determination mixed with fear on her face. I could’ve been dropped on the floor. I thought the whole thing was funny. Most people appreciate my humor. Sometimes someone doesn’t. I usually drop it until the killjoy is gone. I don’t apologize for it. I go through a lot and can still smile. If you can’t, that’s your problem. Emily gets my humor most. After we watched a video of falls and funny accidents, she told my mom and sister, “Don’t fall in front of him.” The first four months after my strokes were the hardest. I didn’t see humanity toward me. I don’t remember anything humorous then. It wasn’t until I was seen as a person again that I started being myself. That happened at Touro.  Shorty after being admitted I met Michelle, a nurse who was friends with my good friends. We hit it off. She was the first person I started joking with again. There are really hard moments that trigger emotion, and sometimes you just have to sit in it. I gag almost every time my teeth are brushed. I hate gagging. That’s just something I do daily now. I haven’t learned to accept the discomfort. I make light of things that would otherwise be too heavy to carry. I absolutely need to find the humor in life to keep going. I wouldn’t have much of an existence without it. Life is too short to be anxious. Anxiety doesn’t find solutions. It just confuses the problem. Humor won’t fix my condition or make the hard moments go away, but it helps you cope. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch I arrived at Touro Hospital in New Orleans late one afternoon after a two-hour ambulance ride. I had spent four months in other hospitals and the last one surely would have killed me. I was happy to be somewhere different. The brief moment I was outdoors told me it must have been spring. I could tell I was back in New Orleans. There’s a damp, humid air there that can’t be replicated, and most people don’t know this, but it has a distinct scent. This was another chapter in my recovery. Doctors had discovered I could communicate, which made me a candidate for rehabilitation. I got there in pretty bad shape. I was completely paralyzed at that point and could only move my eyes. Paralysis robs you of lots of things. Dignity is one of them. For four months, I had lived in a culture of disrespect. Nurses and staff just talked at me. They weren’t concerned with how I felt. I was invisible, or worse, something that had been discarded. They talked about me while I was right there. They talked about their weekend plans. I was a body to manage, not a person. The only people who treated me like I still existed were my family and friends. That all changed the moment I got to Touro. The nurse who admitted me got down on her knee and looked me in the eyes when she spoke to me. Not at my chart. Not at the equipment. Not at my mom. At me. She told me I was in good hands. Before leaving, she asked, “Do you need anything else from me?” I signaled no. Then she asked, “Do you promise?” My mother said that moment flipped a switch in me. I felt an enormous weight lift off my chest. A warmth spread through me and I wanted to give her a great big hug, but I couldn’t move. I hadn’t been seen as me for three months. Nurses didn’t care about me before. Now I had hope for the first time. Her name is Morgan. She was in her twenties and she was the most important person in the world that day. I just remember her asking if I promised I didn’t need anything. I didn’t have any other care like it. Everyone I came in contact with at Touro was friendly and encouraging, but Morgan was the one who got down on her knee first. We’re still in touch. I have her email address and we’re friends on Facebook. I send her a message about once a month. I credit that moment with sparking the fire that still burns inside me today. The kindness Morgan showed me has multiplied again and again. Getting down on her knee didn’t cost her anything. Looking me in the eyes instead of talking over me took no extra time. Asking if I promised I didn’t need anything was just three more words. But those three words told me I was still a person to show kindness to. Most people don’t make you feel invisible on purpose. They’re just busy. Distracted. They talk at you instead of to you. Morgan showed me that the smallest acts of kindness can change everything. She didn’t fix my paralysis. She didn’t give me my voice back. She just got down on her knee and looked me in the eyes like I mattered. And I did. You have people in your life right now who feel invisible. They’re right in front of you but you’re looking past them. Get down on your knee. Look them in the eyes. Ask if they need anything. Then ask if they promise. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch Emily and I have different versions of our first meeting. Neither of us agree with the other story, although mine is probably the most accurate. The version you get depends on who you hear it from. Luckily, you’re getting it from me. It was a Saturday afternoon in 2015, maybe. This really laid-back neighborhood bar in New Orleans. Not a dive, but not fancy either. Nice afternoon, but we were sitting inside. I was talking with my friend and his mom. Emily walked up. She never meets a stranger. She kind of knew my friend, but she didn’t wait for an introduction. She just started talking. I never believed in love at first sight. But that’s what it was. She has the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen. She’s good-looking and has a heart of gold. I just remember being floored that she was interested in talking to me. She was so much fun to talk with. She had a scheduling issue. I told her how adjusting the hours worked on a specific task could solve her problem. That’s when she said it. “Did you just math me?” I laughed and said that I had certainly just “mathed” her. That’s all Emily right there. She mentioned she was in a relationship at the time. I was going on a date later with someone I don’t remember. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything, but I sure liked that girl. We wouldn’t have a date for several months. We’d just run into each other when I was running errands. I would always stop and talk to her. We would talk about the weather or events in the city. The chats would just go from one topic to another. We could have easily burned an entire afternoon talking. We never ran out of things to talk about. Several months later, I asked her to dinner after she’d been single for a few weeks. We went to a sports bar in the neighborhood after. We were pretty much inseparable after that first date. Emily is the first person to love me for me. Relationships I’d had in the past weren’t that way. She doesn’t want to change me. I don’t want to change her. She loves me just the way that I am. We enjoy each other’s company so much. Emily never told me what she was thinking that day we met. She did say she liked my beard. If I had to guess, I’d imagine she was attracted to my handsome ruggedness and sharp wit. Her version of our first meeting has different details. She has the place and the guy right, but that’s about it. Her details are all wrong. Looking back, I would say our meeting was fate. We didn’t know that misfortune was coming or that we would have 100 miles between us. This is the biggest fight of our lives. Distance, paralysis, and being non-verbal are each heavy contenders against a relationship. We’re fighting all three, plus a few more I won’t mention.   Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch I never thought about quitting in Marine Corps boot camp. There’s exhaustion and deprivation. Each day tests your limits more than the last. The drill instructors create an environment of chaos. Turns out, I’m good at it. Marine boot camp is three months long. The training is designed to break you. Anyone who completes it gets broken down and built back up. There is a lot of physical exercise. The exercise I hated most was climbing a really high rope. Once at the top, you slap the lumber it’s hanging from and yell out your platoon number. There’s a technique to rope climbing. I never learned it. I didn’t fall off, but I slipped a few times. We had a few people wash out of our platoon. One guy nearly drowned and had serious lung damage. A few others just “lost it” and we never heard about them again. At graduation, there’s a big ceremony. The commanding officer gave a commencement speech. I’ll never forget it. He closed with, “That will be all Marines. Godspeed and good luck.” That was the first time I was called Marine. All of the pain and sacrifice was for that moment. Many people cannot understand the feeling of extreme accomplishment. It brings a self-confidence you don’t get anywhere else. I spent six years in the Marine Corps. I learned that obstacles are meant to be understood. You don’t have to go through all of them. You just adapt. Years later, I was managing a Hurricane Katrina recovery program in New Orleans. The program was valued at about $40 million with over 300 individual projects. The biggest part was funded by Congress but governed by the state of Louisiana. Apparently, we weren’t supposed to get the contract. The company that was supposed to get it was part of the program and was in bed with the state. The game was to pay everyone but my company and make me seem like the problem. This would be a four-year project. The guy from the state was extremely difficult to deal with. He would change rules on me and outright lie. The state even contacted my employer and tried to get me fired. They pulled every trick in the book. I followed the rules and was very organized. The uglier it got, the more energized I would get. Nobody knew that I thrive in chaos. One of his mistakes was emailing me a change to my invoicing procedure. This was a golden parachute. He requested a meeting with the owners of the company I worked for. My invoices hadn’t been paid in six months and the bosses were about to hear what a problem I was. This would normally have been a disaster, but I had that email. I had kept good records. He met with the owners and bashed me as expected. His plan to get me fired would have worked if I hadn’t kept that email. Instead of being upset, I got sharper and more focused. I had several audits from the Office of the Inspector General. There were some small findings in the beginning, but the final audit found no discrepancies. It said the program was well run and successful. I finished the program. From start to finish, I had people actively trying to make me fail. Eventually, I left and started my own business with a guy I knew. In the early days, I missed at least ten paychecks. I went through all of my savings and had to borrow money from my girlfriend Emily to pay my rent. Small projects trickled in, but the business was slowly dying. After about eighteen months, I landed a big client with a big list of projects. Naval Facilities Command. They were happy with my work. In eighteen months, I went from missing paychecks to looking for more people to hire. Then I had two strokes and my world was shattered. I feel my stroke survivability correlates with Marine training because I was in a pretty tough spot, but I had been in tough spots before and won. There aren’t many similarities between stroke recovery and boot camp, but you have to have the confidence to win. You can’t really prepare for paralysis. You need to be in it to get better at it. There are some things you just have to get your hands dirty to be good at. Paralysis is one. Look at my obstacle. Paralysis. I’m not going to get through it. I understand that everyday tasks are impossible for me. I can’t flip a light switch or scratch my nose. Early on, I tried to make myself do those things. You probably know how that turned out. Getting through the obstacle is not the way. Understanding it and accepting the obstacle is. Discovery and acceptance come before adaptation. In my case, there’s no physical part I can adapt to change things. What I have adapted are the emotions I feel about paralysis and my thoughts. I’ve adapted my mind to accept the physical limitations while finding other ways I can accomplish things. Looking back, everything I went through gave me a foundation to work from. You have to understand obstacles before you can beat them. Mental toughness comes from having confidence. It’s collecting the facts and making good decisions in the face of adversity. It’s not easy, but I believe a lot more is possible than we think. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch I was lying in a hospital bed in New Orleans, coming out of anesthesia. Two strokes to my brainstem left me paralyzed and unable to speak. I could hear everything. I just couldn’t move or talk. That’s when I heard the doctor tell my mother I had a 10% chance to live four more months. I was terrified. Trapped in my own body, listening to my death sentence. And in that moment, I started thinking about all the time I had wasted. Not any particular moment. Just time I wanted back. Time I threw away on things that didn’t matter. I remembered letting a friendship end over less than ten dollars. We went to dinner. Three of us. One guy ordered appetizers without asking. I didn’t order them. I didn’t eat them. When the bill came, it was split evenly three ways. A portion of my share went to food I never touched. I had a big problem with that. Me and the guy who ordered the appetizers made up after a few weeks, but the friendship was never the same. We let something worth less than $10 damage something that was worth way more. Lying in that hospital bed, unable to move, that ten-dollar argument felt like one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. I spent seven months in the hospital. The first three months were about staying alive while struggling with the fact that I was paralyzed. I hallucinated a lot. The facilities were scary. I would have died there. About four months in, doctors discovered I could communicate. They sent me to a rehabilitation program. A nurse there got down at eye level and spoke directly to me. That hadn’t happened in months. My mother saw it flip a switch in me. That was the moment I knew I could survive. I still keep in touch with that nurse. I always will. When I got out, I started making changes. I began working on being fully present in my moments. It doesn’t cost money. You can start right away. I developed an appreciation for time that I didn’t have before. I see my time now as bonus time. Not many people get another chance like this. I want to get everything I can from the moments I have. I started focusing on what actually matters. Being the best version of myself to everyone around me. Being remembered as kind and fair and selfless. Helping shed light on what’s important. If I could talk to my past self, I’d say this: Be present in your moments. Don’t let small things end a relationship. Be very cautious of mediocrity. Mediocrity is a silent killer. It’s safe and familiar. I’ve seen it destroy hope, relationships, and careers. It’s patient. Any time you reach out of your comfort zone, mediocrity will remind you why you shouldn’t. Getting back to the ten-dollar thing. That was pride whispering in my ear, telling me money was worth more than my friend. Happy isn’t found in money. It’s in relationships.  Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch My eye ached and my neck had become so fatigued that I felt I couldn’t type another letter. I had a presentation in a few days and was only on the third paragraph. I know that eye gaze takes time but this was brutal. A few weeks ago I was doing Q&A with a group of therapists. I was asked what I know now that I wish I knew before about AAC. The questions they asked made me realize that I may have some information that other people might have use for. So here it is. Eye Gaze is Not Easy I have severe vision damage from two strokes a few years ago. Strokes that should have killed me. We are getting better at saving lives, and I am glad that we are. But as a result, I am now non-verbal and quadriplegic. Not only can’t I talk or move, but I don’t see well either. That has made eye gaze challenging, but I didn’t have many options for communication. I felt that it was unfortunate that I have had to use a Tobii/Dynavox for my communication over the last few years. That isn’t a fair statement. The Tobii Dynavox that I use has been an absolute lifeline for me. I can’t imagine what my world would be like without this technology. How I Got Started In my early days, I didn’t think much of AAC. Augmentive and Alternative Communication, for those who don’t know the acronym. I wanted to talk like I used to. However, that wasn’t happening and I slowly began looking at AAC as a critical part of my everyday life. I didn’t know anything about it, but my nurse knew a little and my speech therapist knew a lot. Before my introduction to high tech AAC, I was using a letterboard. Letterboard communication is a low tech method I was taught when it was discovered that I had the cognitive abilities to communicate with others, just no speaking ability. I was happy to finally let people know what I was thinking. Using the letterboard greatly improved my care and I could tell doctors about what was working. It was great to be communicating again but there had to be a better way. The letterboard is extremely slow and requires a partner to perform. Being able to communicate, and even share my thoughts with others who want to hear them, has been very important. I tried a few different types of camera configurations. I tried this device that uses trace movement, but I didn’t really have any that I could control. I settled on an eye gaze computer that has built in cameras. I should mention here that I was able to try all of this out while I was at Touro Hospital. Not only did I learn about these devices, but my speech language pathologist Maggie Homer knew what could help me. That made all the difference. She understood the importance of me being able to express myself. I didn’t know this, but my SLP was training me with this alternative communication device because it had the best chance of getting me some quality of life. It was so difficult to control that I had thought eye gaze wasn’t for me. But I was determined to make it work. The Reality of Eye Gaze I don’t have a story of instant success or even a story about slow and steady progress. My experience with AAC is that the gains came in anticlimactic spurts, with long periods of no progress and self doubt in between. About 100 words would take an eternity to type. At that time, more than that would give me blurred vision and the most severe eye strain that I had ever experienced. This happened to me several times. This is what building eye strength actually feels like. With eye gaze, you will feel like you are visually running a marathon. The pain and fatigue say quit, but you have to keep pushing. Eye gaze requires a lot of strength, patience, and clarity. Also, most programs on the Internet are not built with access for paralyzed people in mind. In order to get proficient at it, you are going to have to build eye strength and develop a new skill that is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Strength is part of it. But strength alone won’t do it. Like most things, you have to build the skill over time. Nobody is good at first. Running the eye gaze is like threading a needle. Most things seem counterintuitive. You don’t put the cursor on the places you want to select. You have to stare at the spots you want to select and the cursor will come to where you are staring. Eye gaze is very sensitive. It detects the slightest movement, so you must have an intentional, undistracted gaze. What I Learned About Eye Health One of the first things that helped me was taking eye health seriously. This is especially important because eye gaze is so challenging, you need every advantage you can get. I maintained a good relationship with my optometrist. I went through two eyeglass prescriptions looking for the perfect one. As I write this, I am thinking about changing it again. Start treating your vision as the precious ability that it is. Eye-gaze will make you hone your skill like an Olympic athlete. There will be lots of eye strain and it is going to hurt. Back when I was trying to control eye gaze with two eyes, before I wore a patch over my bad eye, I had wrecked my eyes to the point that they were bloodshot for a week and I had to take a break for a while. That was a low point. But it taught me something important about pacing myself and protecting my vision. What Actually Works Through all the frustration and failed attempts, I did find a few

By Scott Reddoch It must have seemed so easy, like taking candy from a baby. The denial letter almost guaranteed my death. It read: “Mr. Reddoch, Our staff doctor has reviewed your request. The items requested have been classified as medically unnecessary and is denied. If you feel this decision is an error, you can appeal it within 30 business days of the date of this letter.” Certainly there had been some mistake, how could a doctor deny me, of all people a wheelchair? Nobody wants a wheelchair, but need one for mobility. I was no exception. My family and my team of medical professionals started assembling the appeal. Everyone agreed that there must be some error, denying a wheelchair was absurd. Building the Appeal We made a “sturdy” appeal that left no doubt that the decision had been reached in error. I included letters from my general practitioner, neurologist, and physical therapist. The vendor that was to get me the chair combed through the request for any coding mistakes. Pictures of me were also part of it. Everyone had a final review of the appeal and it was sent via postal service per the instructions. A couple of weeks went by and we heard nothing. Nervous about the situation my mother called to ask if they received it. After the usual maze of transfers, she finally got a human. Frustrated, she calmly explained the purpose of the call. The person informed her that it was not received and given a number to call the legal department. The Fax Machine Fiasco The next day, the legal department was called and that is where this circus gets really good. Luckily we had copies of everything in the appeal, their attorney will handle the appeal moving forward to make sure no document was lost again. That was great news. Then the shoe dropped, my mother tells this attorney that we have copies of the appeal and she can email it right away, then the attorney says “you have to fax it.” What was probably the largest insurance company in the US uses a fax machine for this. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t used a fax machine in 20 years. I wasn’t sure that I knew anyone with a fax machine. But my life depended on getting legal what they needed. One of my mom’s friends had a fax machine at her business. My mother printed all of the appeal, checked that everything was there, and drove off to fax it. This certainly took some work, but she got it all faxed. The next day she calls the attorney to check that the fax was received. The attorney acknowledged receiving the fax, but said that she didn’t need all of the fax and that she would mail us the single page appeal form. After a few days we get this simple form which is filled out and faxed over. It gets better. The Second Denial About two weeks later I get another denial letter. “Mr. Reddoch, We reviewed your appeal and still consider your request to be medically unnecessary and is denied. If you desire, a Judge in your state can make a final ruling. You may incur legal fees and be required to pay court ordered fines.” This was a good time to be non-verbal because I had a lot to say about the letter. I was floored. All of that effort, and all of the people that worked on the appeal was a waste. I thought that there had been a mistake, but quickly learned that this wasn’t about my need, it was about money. This changed me from “Appeal Scott” to “Battle Scott.” Regardless of their statement of risk, I decided that a Judge would need to see this. I don’t know anything about healthcare or legal proceedings, but I know how to fight. This was finally becoming a game I can play. Taking It to Court There was an application filed with the state court. There were instructions to provide any documents that you want the judge to review. It may have been overkill, but I sent the entire appeal. A hearing was scheduled for about 90 days from the application’s filing. The Intimidation Letters Shortly after, I started receiving letters from the insurance company (I got three in total.) “Mr. Reddoch, Currently our legal fees are $5,700.00 you may be required to pay that and additional court fines based on the judgment of your hearing.” This letter struck fear in my parents who take care of me, but it energized me. I remember doing dumb kid stuff and somebody saying “don’t look down” as you climb high in a tree. The second letter was just like the first one, but not the third. Letters one and two were mere appetizers, letter three was the main course. Letter three was the ruler of letters, designed to strike fear into any unfortunate recipient. It read “Mr. Reddoch, This letter is to inform you that we currently have a total of $11,300.00 in legal fees that you may be required to pay as well as any court fines. To ensure that you are aware of all of your options, we propose to waive all legal fees upon cancellation of the hearing. Page two of this letter details the steps for cancellation. Thank you.” Oh boy this was a good one. Lots of people see different things in this letter, I think they are scared. They never close with thank you. I got them right where I want them. Preparing for Battle I don’t think that anyone on my team had any experience with a Judge. Lack of experience and all, we prepared for the hearing. We even had a rehearsal to practice who says what. Everyone studied the appeal and watched some lawyer movies to get ready for the big day. We didn’t have a clue of what lied ahead, but we were a prepared bunch. The

By Scott Reddoch “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!” You know those words. They’ve been stuck in our heads for over 150 years. But here’s something that might surprise you: Lewis Carroll didn’t just create a memorable children’s character when he wrote about the White Rabbit in 1865. He accidentally predicted our entire relationship with time. I know what you’re thinking. A rabbit in a waistcoat created our obsession with being busy? Stay with me on this one. The rabbit wasn’t just a symbol of anxiety, he was born of culture’s focus on deadlines and productivity. When the World Went Mad The year 1865 wasn’t just when Alice tumbled down that rabbit hole. It was the exact moment humanity started racing against time instead of living with it. The American Civil War had just ended. Lincoln was assassinated. The 13th Amendment abolished slavery. But the real change happening was quieter and more permanent. Railroads were exploding across continents, demanding precise schedules for the first time in human history. The Industrial Revolution was hitting full stride, forcing people to punch time clocks and live by factory whistles. Before 1865, most folks lived by the sun. You woke up when it rose, worked until it set, ate when you were hungry. Time wasn’t this frantic master breathing down your neck. But suddenly, everything had to be precisely timed. Trains couldn’t just “show up eventually.” Workers couldn’t stroll in “sometime around morning.” Telegraph lines were connecting distant cities in real time. The world was becoming a giant, mechanical pocket watch, and everyone had to dance to its ticking. Right in the middle of this chaos, Carroll publishes a story about a rabbit frantically checking his pocket watch, muttering about being late for some mysterious important appointment. That’s not coincidence. That’s prophecy. The Birth of Our Anxiety I spent two decades as a project manager. Trust me, I’ve sat in conference rooms full of White Rabbits wearing three-piece suits instead of waistcoats. Carroll’s rabbit wasn’t just late. He was anxiously late. Constantly stressed. Always rushing toward the next obligation without ever stopping to notice the wonder around him. Think about the White Rabbit’s behavior for a minute. He’s got his schedule, his pocket watch, his very important appointments. He’s serving the Queen of Hearts, living in constant fear of disappointing authority. He’s so focused on being somewhere else that he completely misses the magical world he’s actually living in. The guy literally lives in Wonderland and never stops to appreciate it. If that’s not the perfect description of modern life, I don’t know what is. Being the Rabbit Before my strokes changed everything, I was the poster child for White Rabbit syndrome. I’d check my phone every thirty seconds. My calendar was packed tighter than a sardine can. I measured success by how busy I was, how many projects I juggled, how much money I made. I was always ten minutes ahead of where I actually was. I remember missing conversations with my parents because my mind was already racing to the next deadline. I was sprinting through my own Wonderland, pocket watch in hand, completely blind to what was right in front of me. Here’s the thing about being a White Rabbit: you think you’re important. You think all that rushing means something. You believe the myth that busy equals valuable. But when you’re lying in a hospital bed with a 10% chance of survival, you realize something sobering. Most of those “very important dates” weren’t important at all. The White Rabbit spent the entire story running toward something that was never clearly defined. Carroll did that on purpose. Most of our urgent appointments are just as vague when we really think about them. Modern Rabbits in Digital Waistcoats Fast forward to today, and we’ve turned Carroll’s warning into a lifestyle manual. We carry pocket watches that never stop buzzing. We call them smartphones, but they’re really anxiety machines designed to make us feel perpetually behind. We schedule our children’s lives like military operations. Soccer practice at 4:30, piano lessons at 6:00, homework from 7:00 to 8:30. We’re teaching them to be White Rabbits before they even understand what childhood wonder looks like. Our work emails demand immediate responses. Our social media feeds never stop updating. We’re living in a constant state of digital lateness, always trying to catch up with information that’s moving faster than we are. I watch people now from my wheelchair, and it’s fascinating. Everyone’s rushing somewhere, staring at their phones, looking stressed about time. They’re walking through their own personal Wonderlands and missing all of it because they’re late for something that probably isn’t as important as they think. What the Rabbit Missed The White Rabbit spent the entire story missing the point. He rushed past Alice when she was falling down the rabbit hole. He ignored the Mad Hatter’s tea party. He was too busy to notice the Cheshire Cat’s wisdom or the Queen’s obvious insanity. He lived in a world full of magic and saw none of it because he was too focused on his schedule. Here’s what my condition taught me: the magic isn’t in the destination. It’s in noticing what’s happening right now. Since I’ve had to move away, my girlfriend and I communicate through email. Really talking. Not planning the next thing or worrying about tomorrow’s schedule. Just being present with each other. Those conversations have become more valuable to me than any project deadline I ever hit. I notice things now that I never saw before. The way afternoon light hits the wall. How my parents’ faces change when they laugh. The sound of rain on the roof. These aren’t profound revelations. They’re just life happening at the speed of life instead of at the speed of anxiety. Breaking the Rabbit Cycle You don’t need a medical crisis to stop being the White Rabbit. Start small. Put your phone in another room for an hour. Eat a meal

By Scott Reddoch A Rushed Arrival The taxi sped to the unloading zone. They barely came to a complete stop and the cab’s doors opened to a young couple sprinting to the terminal’s entrance. Their carry on only style of travel allowed them to run past the ticketing counter saving them precious time. A surprisingly fast TSA line let them get to the gate for the final boarding call. They just barely made it. Missing the View Once in the air the couple both entertained themselves with endless social media feeds, only stopping when asked for the plane’s descent. After the plane landed they began rushing again, they weren’t late for anything, they just wanted to get to the hotel. The woman had visited this place many times for business but it was the first time for the man. In a taxi again they both checked in on social media and went to their feeds. After a 25 minute cab ride, the driver announced that they were at the end of their fare. Barely looking away from her phone the woman paid him. Unnoticed Details The next day, the couple walked to a nearby cafe for breakfast. Gary stopped mid-stride, his attention caught by an ornate building across the street. The morning light illuminated intricate terra cotta details above the second-story windows, scrollwork and floral patterns that someone had carefully crafted over a century ago. Decorative cornices crowned each corner with geometric precision. “Was this here yesterday, why didn’t you tell me about it?” Gary asked, genuinely amazed. He loved old architecture, the craftsmanship, the attention to detail, the way builders once took pride in even the parts of buildings most people would never look at closely. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen it before.” The woman replied, barely glancing up. “It’s just some old store.” She added as they walked down the street. Gary lingered a moment longer, wondering what other architectural treasures lined the route. Just Another Weekend Once back at the office, Gary’s coworker asked “How was Memphis?” He responded “The hotel was nice,” and that he found a good restaurant there. His long weekend out of town wasn’t much different than any other weekend. The highlight of the trip being a day off of work. Recognizing Myself in Gary How many of us have had a vacation similar to Gary’s? I know that I have. In my case, I let things distract me from my surroundings, not grasping the important parts of my journey. Like Gary, I missed things that would have made my trip much better. I didn’t want to be the person who would only notice the hotel or restaurant in my travels, but I was that guy. The Curiosity I Once Had It wasn’t always like this for me. As a child I noticed a lot about a new place. I would see all of the shops, the terrain, and could even tell you what the air was like. Maybe it was a form of survival, witnessing the world in great detail and having a curiosity about what’s behind every turn. I didn’t have many distractions then. Through my adult years I lost that curiosity about things, I no longer appreciated novelty and instead favored plain, boring, or familiar. The Gradual Loss Looking back, this probably started to develop much earlier than my adulthood. I believe that I started losing curiosity gradually, from my elementary school years. Further education reinforced it and I began gravitating to the familiar, known approaches. Throw in a career, the internet, and smart phones and eventually I killed any trace of curiosity that I had left. The Cost of Constant Connection We are living in a world where technology is advancing at a rapid pace. Never before have we seen such an efficient and informed society. My attention is constantly being competed for every waking moment of my day. Unfortunately, my brain and most human brains are not advancing as quickly. We don’t watch the negative effects, just the positive ones. Making Time Matter This brings me to a bigger question. It has been said that we all get the same amount of time. Everyone has the time to travel from cradle to grave, trips are unique but, they start at the same point. With that in mind, I ask myself what I’m doing with my time. We all die, nature is a very efficient operation, but am I making an impact that matters? I try to but I have traded my curiosity of life for an existence that compares itself to the other existences. Choosing to Live I want to live, not just exist. I began searching for how others have found lives worth living. The Steps Along the Way One of my first discoveries is that I completely missed the whole goal setting class. But I do know that each step toward the goal is a moment to be experienced, and not treated as just a step toward the goal. I believe that we should always have goals, but remember that achievement lies in making the right steps. For me, the journey is more important than the destination. I think about Gary sometimes, standing on that Memphis street corner, finally seeing what had been there all along. He had the architecture he loved right in front of him, but he almost missed it completely. Did that moment change anything for him, or did he go back to his phone on the ride to the airport? I hope he looked up. I hope he saw the buildings, the people, the life happening around him. Because that’s what I’m trying to do now: to see what’s actually in front of me before it becomes just another place I visited but never really experienced. The question is will you see the details in your life or will it simply pass you by? Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope Click here to sign up