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By Scott Reddoch When I was a kid I had a neighbor named Mr. Sonny. I don’t remember ever seeing anyone visit him. He was a single man who smoked cigars. He was a Navy veteran and had a crude tattoo of an anchor on his forearm. It seemed like Mr. Sonny was always sitting on his front porch. He lived in an old double shotgun house painted white with green shutters. He kept things pretty neat but the paint was cracked and chalky. Mr. Sonny was always trying to share his wisdom with the other kids and me. We didn’t understand what he said. We were too young and blew most of it off. I do remember a few things that he said. I wish it was more. One summer morning he asked me “if you had 10 years left to live what would you do?” I didn’t answer him. The next morning he asked me “if you had 10 months left to live what would you do?” Again I didn’t answer and was just concerned with playing with my friends. The next morning he saw me again and asked “if you had 10 weeks left to live what would you do?” This time I responded. “Ice cream. I would eat a lot of ice cream.” He just smiled and nodded while I trekked off to find my friends. I didn’t notice at the time that Mr. Sonny was a treasure. He had seen a lot. I wish he was still around now that I understand what he was saying. I remembered his questions in my mid-20s and thought it was great advice. But I still wasn’t living life that way. It wasn’t until I nearly died that I looked at that for what it was. The average human lives about 4,000 weeks. Our time here feels shorter when you put it that way. I was given some low odds to live 16 more weeks. I have lasted 208 and I hope that I will for many more. February 28th marked four years since I had two strokes. It’s a special day for me considering nobody expected me to make it. The day is like a second birthday to me. But my celebration is not dictated by the calendar. I live each day with presence and intention. Life is often taken for granted. I try to squeeze everything I can get from the moments I have left. On week 208, I audited what I was doing with my time. I love deeply, much deeper than I thought possible. If I were asked the same questions today, ice cream is still part of the answer. The other part is doing exactly what I am doing. Thank you Mr. Sonny. Happy people have the same answer for all three. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch Recently I was severely disrespected by a longtime friend. When it happened, I immediately shared my opinion. My friend refused to apologize. We were at an impasse. I didn’t want to forgive him. Have you ever had a person in your life that made you question why you keep them around? I was having a moment like that. We talk about forgiveness being the thing to do. But talking about it is a whole lot easier than actually doing it. I am ashamedly good at holding grudges. Part of being human is making mistakes. I’ve made many, but we shouldn’t keep score. Relationships are important to me, even the ones that make me wonder if I should keep them alive. I still don’t want to forgive him. When I am struggling with this, I think of a story I read when I was young about two monks. They had both been soldiers and were taken prisoner during a war. Their teacher asked about the experience. One monk said he had been starved and tortured and is happy every day that he is free. The other monk said he would never forgive them for what they had done while he was their prisoner. The teacher said, “I see you still are.” Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch People are full of surprises. Never in a million years did I expect some of my close friends to run from my wheelchair. But the universe has a way of balancing things. Several old friends stepped up and breathed life back into withered relationships. The close friends I lost weren’t trying to trick me. It’s just that I was needed more than wanted. In other words, no use, why bother? In their defense, that probably went both ways. The relationships were hollow. Not to be confused with shallow or superficial. The latter implies there is more there. Hollow means nothing is there. For instance, one person I felt close to simply quit contacting me. We went to lots of dinners together, some concerts, a few basketball games. I was the emergency contact at his kid’s school. He always said if the going got tough that he and his family would come live with me. He sent a few messages at first and then quit replying in a few weeks. My rule is no response three times in a row and I stop reaching out. I didn’t think breaking contact would happen as quickly as it did. I wasn’t rude or insulting to anyone. I think people kept me around because I am friendly and humorous. I’m also 6’2″ so I get to move heavy things a lot. I have both residential and commercial builder licenses, so I was always being asked to look at home problems. Being paralyzed and non-verbal, I only communicate through email or DMs on social media. I’m not able to use a phone. Bad news travels fast and far. People I hadn’t heard from in years contacted me and gave their support. A few contacted my mother to find out how to get in touch with me. What else can you say? “I’m so sorry, I heard what happened.” I still keep in weekly touch with most of them. The ones who stayed were the relationships where I had been the real me. I had been vulnerable and imperfect. That’s the difference between real and hollow. Deep connections withstood the test. Showing the real me was just being an imperfect person with fears and desires and frustration when my plans don’t work. I guess the shock of the whole thing is the reality that a lot of the lost relationships are mirrors or products of what was put in them. I was using the friendship for what it did for me. I didn’t look for hollow friendships. It’s been said that what you allow continues. That is much clearer when something is harmful, but I find it difficult to spot hollow. What I do to avoid it is create deep relationships. Ones that are authentic and vulnerable. Those are the ones that last. When I saw a lot of my friendships fall away, I realized they were hollow because I hadn’t done anything to make them any different. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

By Scott Reddoch I do therapy every single day. My body doesn’t change. I’m still quadriplegic. I’m still paralyzed. By any reasonable measure, I should quit.  But you have to be a little unreasonable to achieve anything worth having. I must seem unreasonable, showing up day after day with no physical progress. But the change isn’t happening in my body. It’s happening in my mind. I didn’t expect that. Showing up has strengthened my thinking and made me a better person than I thought was possible. Reasonable people quit when they don’t see results. Unreasonable people show up anyway. Some days the only progress is that I showed up. That’s enough. Share via: Facebook X-twitter Pinterest Envelope

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