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By Tim Hague Sr.
It doesn’t seem possible that ten years has passed since I first heard the words ‘You have Parkinson’s’. In some ways it feels as though little time has passed that it was a mere few months ago. In other ways it feels as though several lifetimes have passed. A lot has happened in ten years: The Amazing Race Canada / the writing and publication of Perseverance / I have traveled the world telling my story / I founded a Wellness Centre for Parkinson’s / children have become adults / grand babies(!) / and I have learned a lot about living in general and with Parkinson’s specifically. A few of those lessons are as follows: This is way harder / easier than I had feared. It is such a long journey. It’s been a long time already and it’s likely never to end. I have often said that this is the most difficult aspect of PD for me – it’s tenacious, it never ends. It never gives up. Day after day it returns to harass my life. It is the first thing I say hello to in the morning, the last thing I say goodnight to and it’s my near constant companion throughout each day. Rarely am I free from the conscious knowledge of PD in my life. But then it’s been way easier than I had feared. In many ways I remain incredibly healthy compared to some, if not most. After all, I just bought a new pair of running shoes…nuff said! I hate PD…still. Yet it remains my Best Friend – Whom I Hate (see my book Perseverance). While I hate that PD never leaves me alone I have learned that I too must never leave it alone. I need to hold it close, learn its ways, and diligently fight back against it. I have come to believe that there’s no reason that we can’t “fix” this thing but I don’t listen too closely to those who say they’ll cure me. The multiple vaccines that have been developed for Covid proves to us that the scientific community can be far more productive than previously believed. If the world felt our urgency in finding treatments I have no doubt that in short order many of us would be back to more normal lives, free of many of the ravages of PD. However, until we can produce this urgency in our government bodies, pharmaceuticals and science in general I fear we will continue to walk with our best friend – whom we hate. The #1 lesson I’ve learned over the past 10 years is this – It’s All About Me. Contrary to what Mom taught us I believe this conversation is all about me. Now let me clarify a bit for you that when I say ‘me’ what I really mean is ‘we’. When I say, ‘we’, I really mean ‘us’, and when I say ‘us’ I really mean ‘you’. Me, We, Us, You, the people living with Parkinson’s are the centre of this conversation, the centre of the Parkinson’s universe. It is not about the next cure – it’s about me. It’s not about the next breakthrough – it’s about me. It’s not about the next great scientific marvel – it’s about me. And…when I say me I really mean we and when I say we I really mean us and when I say us I really mean you. I have come to the conclusion that we will likely do little in my lifetime to end Parkinson’s, thus, the work I do to this end is for those coming after me. This conclusion then begs the question ‘what about me?’. What about those alive who may never see effective new treatments? What is being done to care for those living with the disease today? I believe there is a critical question that each of us needs to ask each time we are presented with some new “thing” and that is “what’s in it for me?”. As self centred a question as it sounds it really is the essential question. If there’s nothing in it for you then why is it so important? If it’s not giving you what you need today to survive with Parkinson’s, to live better with Parkinson’s, if not cure Parkinson’s, then what’s the point? Caring for ourselves, looking after our personal wellbeing, as a first priority, is central to our collective success and ultimate defeat of PD. I have come to believe that the adage, ‘if you don’t have your health you have nothing at all’ is key to our efforts. Ten years in and a lifetime to go I’ve come to see that it really is all about me, we, us…You! Live Your Best! Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success!
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By Tim Hague Sr.
There is a local pizza joint that at one time ran television commercials with the tag line, ‘It’s All About the Sauce’. The claim being that they had the corner on how to make a great pizza and the secret was their sauce. I remember the commercial spots primarily for the fact that I disagreed; I did not believe they had the best pizza in town. I liked a competitor considerably more and the commercials bugged me just a bit. Not to mention that ‘the sauce’ has never been my favourite part of a pizza anyway. All of this talk of pizza leads me to a confession: I have not been stretching as I should be. If you follow me with any regularity you will know the emphasis I have always put on this part of my physical exercise. Of recent I have changed some of my routines and gave myself ‘permission’ to let go of the stretching for a time. This has been foolish. Despite the fact that I continue to work out regularly I find that in this environment of Covid-19, my overall activity is down. Yet I have progressed in other ways. The new routines have added a freshness to my workouts that I was needing to keep me motivated. I’ve also noticed the subtle changes though of not stretching, the return of symptoms that I have not struggled with for some time. I find I stumble more when first rising from a seated position, that I’m reaching for the arm of a chair or a wall for balance, my feet drag more, my posture is more hunched and it’s difficult to stand straight. I find my lower back, shoulders, arms and legs hurt more. That is quite the (un)impressive list of ailments. All, for the most part, self-inflicted. When I stretch regularly I typically don’t struggle with these. Not everyone likes pizza or for the sake of our conversation exercise. The amount of sauce on a pie can make or break it for some. But, here is where I am going to tell you my long-held secret to living well with Parkinson’s. Not only is exercise of absolute importance but the secret to exercise is in ‘the sauce’. While the masses await a silver bullet of a cure that will simply take Parkinson’s away there is a critical core who are dedicated to the belief that ‘exercise is medicine’ and who participate in regular, intense exercise. There is an even smaller group of warriors who have discovered the secret of stretching. They experience a nimbleness and fluidity that impacts everything else. I have come to a place where I have very little confidence in a ‘silver bullet’, however, I have found what I believe to be my #secretsauce in living my best with Parkinson’s. My advice to you now is, “Shhhhhh, don’t tell anyone! They’re not going to believe you anyway”. Just do it. Live Your Best! Planning your next event? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to schedule your ideal speaker and make your event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
As a husband and father, a healthcare professional, and a man living with Parkinson’s, take it from me: we all need to ask for help sometimes. And that’s a good thing. Many a Parkinson’s fighter is drawn to isolation, just as many people suffering other hardships are. I find that, more and more, the most comfortable thing for me is to sit in a quiet space with no stressors that cause me to shake. It’s always a temptation. If that sounds unhealthy, it’s because it is. We all need solitude sometimes, but I’m talking about a detrimental pull to aloneness, an isolation that prevents me from ever being challenged in my disease. I know I’m not the only one to feel this pull; I see it in others with Parkinson’s all the time. We want to feel sheltered, safe, and free of any anxiety that will produce symptoms. However, we need to find community. We need the friendship of individuals who get what we’re going through. Who can not only sympathize with our difficulties but also call us out when we’re slipping into unhealthy places. For me, the important community spaces are my church, my Parkinson’s support group, my exercise group, and U-Turn Parkinson’s. Each provides the human contact that helps me see my life more clearly and respond better to both the world at large and my personal circumstances. In short, these are the places that give me the helping hand I sometimes need. And of course, there’s family. During the race, they were always with me—the words of wisdom from my wife, the support of my three younger children (excluding their concerns that I’d embarrass them), and Tim Jr. I could never have done those amazing, adventurous things without his help. Two moments in particular stand out for me. The first came when I admitted needing his help to get up that snow-covered hill. It was one of the more difficult things I’ve ever had to do, since I’d always thought parents were supposed to support their children, not the other way around. But in swallowing my pride and asking my son for a helping hand, we went further, faster. Anytime I’m afraid to ask for help now, I remember that. The second time was less obvious, but no less significant. It’s funny to look back on it now, but at the time it was no joke when I took the wrong door out of the airport terminal and made us dead last. Tim Jr. was upset—and who could blame him—but he understood and he forgave, which helped us both move on. We all need to learn from our mistakes, but dwelling on them doesn’t do any good. Slowing down to help others, and feeling empathy for them, can put you ahead in the end. Both parties, those giving and receiving help, get a leg up. So yes, there are times when I need a hand. Sometimes I need friends to call on just to make it through the day. I’m so grateful for the gift of family, friendship, and a community that does just that: they help me get by. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
Sometimes recognizing gifts in life isn’t easy, which is why it’s so important to pay attention. To this day I still smile when I think of the edge we gained over the other teams on the race; it was as if we had an unseen (and maybe slightly unfair) advantage of a third team member. Of course Sheryl wasn’t there, but the advice she’d given was so profoundly important. Pay attention: that can sometimes be an incredibly difficult task. After all, when we’re under great stress, the mind doesn’t function properly. So many times on the race when Tim Jr. and I were lost and confused, unsure of what to do next, we’d be told to “read your clue.” I was continually amazed at how often we could do that and still not be any the wiser. When they told us to “read your clue,” what they really meant was “understand your clue.” Understanding requires concentration and focus—which is so hard when you’re under stress. Stress forces us to work too fast, which in turn makes us blow past the “clues” in life that we might have otherwise put to good use. So at these times I stop, collect my wits, and take stock of the situation. I look around my life and ask the important questions: Where am I at? Where am I going? Am I going where I want to go or should be going? These are just a few examples of how we can take a careful view of our lives and then become more deliberate about where our next steps take us. And when we learn to pay attention to the details in life, we often come away amazed at how things fall into place. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
We do our best to set reasonable goals, but part of persevering is being ready when an unexpected opportunity turns up. Take the U-Turn. After we used it in the race, many howled that we’d been poor sports. Not true. It’s a fair part of the game, and it helped us significantly. From time to time life will throw us a bone, a bit of good fortune, an out-of-the-blue chance—and we must be prepared to act on it. Now, life is not a game, and I’m not suggesting that we cause anyone harm, but rather that we take advantage of the good fortune that comes our way. It seems obvious, but we don’t always do this. We feel we don’t deserve or haven’t earned something, or that it’s unfair to receive when someone else hasn’t. Here’s my advice: take the gift and be grateful. I’ll never forget the humiliation I heaped upon myself one evening. Not long after Sheryl and I were married, we were helping to raise funds for the organization we worked for and had gone out for dinner with a couple we’d approached about a funding opportunity. The evening went well—until it came time to pay, and the couple offered to treat us. It should have been no big deal, but since we had invited them, I felt that we should pay. So I resisted the offer, to the point of offense. “What,” said the man, “is my money not good enough for you?” That was a tad harsh, but the truth is I thought I had something to prove; I was insecure about not being in the same financial position as this couple; and a part of me felt I didn’t deserve their generosity. Looking back, I physically cringe at how I must have come across. It was a simple gift, a bit of good fortune, and instead of graciously accepting it I made the moment horribly awkward. Here’s a story you may have heard but that nicely exemplifies the idea: A man trapped in his house by a flood begins to pray to God to save him. After he climbs to the roof, the floodwaters rising all around him, an individual in a boat comes by and offers to take him to higher ground. The man declines, saying that he’s prayed and believes that God will save him. In time, he’s swept away by the flood. Later, in heaven, he’s upset with God and asks why he didn’t save him. God’s reply: “I tried.” Most believe they would never be as naive as the character in this story, and maybe they are right. Yet, time and again we were told that we should never have used that U-Turn. I, on the other hand, am so glad that we jumped in that boat and sailed to higher ground. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
Perseverance can sound easy—just don’t quit. Well, not so much. There are times when we do need to quit things, thoughts, or even people who are no longer working for us. We need to push out or just let go of what’s burdening our lives. These aren’t rash, random actions, but rather careful considerations. What can I still do, what do I truly need to do, what must remain in my life, what can be let go? All with the goal of weeding out the unnecessary and bringing a sense of calm to our lives. An important part of achieving such simplicity is the ability to cease striving. As Tim Jr. and I learned in leg three of The Amazing Race Canada, striving is a destructive mindset. It can mean a panicked, irrational response to circumstances, a “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead” approach with no thought of the consequences. That may make for great movies, but in real life it’s seldom a good course. To adopt a “cease striving” attitude doesn’t mean that we no longer set goals or have a burning desire to succeed. It comes down to controlling those things that we can control. It’s focused, deliberate action that takes into account the reality of our personal abilities. Parkinson’s is profoundly adept at pointing out my limits, and I dare say that this can be a good thing: I can assess what I can and can’t do and concentrate on the former. Have you ever wished someone would just tell you which way to turn or what decision to make? How many times have I wished I could still run home to Mom and Dad and have them guide me? Well, in a sense that’s exactly what I have with Parkinson’s. I may not always like what I hear, but the instructions are clear. Then I have the freedom to choose how I move forward. There is freedom of choice, there is control; it just doesn’t always look the way I thought it would. I’ve always been a little fascinated by those who seem fixated on youth, who strive not to age—those who maybe receive one facelift too many or one tummy tuck too far. Why don’t they simply accept life for what it is? We all age; we just don’t have to get old! But then I’m reminded of my early response to Parkinson’s: I was adamant that it wouldn’t put limits on my life. No disease was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t do. I was in charge! Well, as they say, good luck with that. It’s not an easy thing for me to do, but it’s ultimately more satisfying to cease striving, accept my reality with Parkinson’s, and live my best. And not only is it more satisfying but I end up accomplishing a lot, too. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
It’s that time of year where my wife gets celebrated and cheated all at the same time. Her birthday is next door to Valentines and despite my best intentions over the years she’s almost always lost out on the latter. In truth, I don’t think she’s ever really minded…all that much! While acknowledging the importance of celebrating milestones, we’ve learned over the years that it’s not the celebration of holidays, or made up holidays, that are ultimately of most importance. Residing now as we do on the north side of 30 years of marriage we’ve come to realize how easy it can be to take one another for granted. To be with one another but not be present, to not really see one another. As with so many things in life Parkinson’s has taught me a new appreciation of what it means “to be seen”. Life hasn’t turned out quite the way we planned. Thirty-four years ago, when we stood at the altar and said “in sickness and in health” neither of us had any idea that would involve a Parkinson’s diagnosis at the age of 46. Yet time and again over the course of these past eight years since diagnosis she has always been present. From the bewilderment of a new diagnosis, to the dark days of depression, early retirement at 51, the long trips away speaking, the days locked away writing, and, whenever I would reappear she would be present. She has been there in the good days and has come for me in the dark days when I have been dragged away by the ravages of this disease. She remains present and sees me. While we have each watched our idea of what life would be like slip away she has never lost sight of me; that person beyond the disease. That person who I am when all the ‘stuff’ of life has been set aside. I’m reminded of the movie Shall We Dance. It was filmed here in Winnipeg and while it’s sappy it has an incredible quote, “We need a witness to our lives. There’s a billion people on the planet, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things, all of it, all of the time, every day. You’re saying ‘Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed because I will be your witness’.” This idea goes beyond just our marriages to all our relationships. My hope this February is that you will be as blessed as I am to have someone who sees you, who chooses to be witness to your life. (Say, ‘thank you’ to them). And in turn that you will be a blessing to those around you who go unseen most every day; your Parkinson’s friend, that someone you interact with regularly but seldom see. It’s about being seen. Take the time to see someone today and in doing so… Live Your Best! Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
Contentment. The word alone can produce a ripple of frustration in my soul: I imagine a quiet peacefulness that’s at odds with what I often feel my life to be. I’ve known people who seem to inhabit that kind of space, and I’ve always wondered what it might be like. I remember being sixteen and sitting on our front step one hot summer day in Kansas, bored out of my mind, wishing I was older and could take on all the amazing things that only adults get to do. I wonder if this doesn’t represent the first seeds of my discontent. A restlessness that only now, many years later, is being tamed by Parkinson’s, of all things. It’s an unrelenting master. You may dance with it, but it will choose the music and the timing. At best, you can only follow along. I’ve come to terms with this fact. That is, the nurse in me understands the clinical reality; I can say the words out loud without flinching. I’ve also taken it that difficult step further: I acknowledge that modern medicine cures very little and that I’ll likely go to my grave with this new best friend whom I hate. Surprisingly, this has brought me a level of peace, of contentment. Sounds insane, I know. Does my acceptance of Parkinson’s equal a lack of courage to move forward? Not at all. Instead it gives me a foundation from which to attack the future. I can’t change the fact that I have Parkinson’s. It doesn’t mean that I can’t live well with the disease and that I can’t work for a cure. But until I accept reality, I’ll never be able to successfully move forward and I’ll never know true contentment. What is contentment? Is it merely “a state of happiness and satisfaction,” as it’s defined? I think it’s more than that. I think it involves a choice—but do you always have one? Yes and no. I can’t choose to not have Parkinson’s, but I can choose how I respond to it. The disease is a hard thing to bear, but is it any more difficult to choose contentment? Parkinson’s has taken my ability to run as well as I did, but what good would it do me to daily lament that I can no longer manage a seven-minute mile? It seems like a silly notion. The disease has also taken my ability to function as a nurse—and of what value would it be for me to lament this loss? Yes, there is an appropriate mourning to be had, but at some point I need to move on. Here’s the hard part, the part that many people facing life-changing circumstances struggle with: “What can I do to remain productive and useful?” One practice I have is to list the things I can still do and then ask how these might be used to help others. I would encourage you to start your own list, keeping in mind that no ability is too small or insignificant to make the cut. Now, how might you deploy these to put a smile on someone’s face or ease their burden? When we take the time to draw up an inventory of our lives, we find that things may not be as bleak, we may not be as barren in ability, as we thought. We can choose to accept our shortcomings and embrace what we can do. Our lives are finite. We all know we’ve been given a certain number of days; it’s just that we rarely like to think about it. Parkinson’s has driven this reality home. It has encouraged me to make good use of my time, knowing that it could be taken from me. It’s a matter of being courageous enough to acknowledge that truth—and to recognize that our time is also infinite in the sense that every day we can choose innumerable ways in which we might live our best. The options before us are limited only by our imagination and our willingness to dream new dreams. Early this spring, an arborist came by and inspected the magnificent old elm tree that had stood in our yard for as long as we’ve lived here. It was a truly beautiful tree, the largest for blocks, its branches extending into our neighbor’s yard and creating a canopy over the street. We were told that the tree had a major split down the center of its huge, bifurcated trunk and would need to be cut down. It was hard to believe: the tree looked healthy and strong, with no visible sign of disease. Nonetheless, it stood on city property and had to go. We were dreading that day. Now Sheryl was in tears as we witnessed the speed and cold efficiency with which our tree was brought down. Giant branches came thudding to the ground; they were thrown into the chipper and all but vaporized. In short order our mighty elm was reduced to sawdust and chips, our yard left with nothing but little mounds of dust dotting the newly fallen snow. When our daughters arrived home from school they cried. We’ll mourn the loss of this beautiful tree, but in time we’ll move on. It’s inevitable. And it’s necessary, even healthy that we do so. But that doesn’t mean we’ll forget; rather, we’ll plant a new tree where the old one has fallen. This is what it is to Live Your Best—this is contentment in the living. We can’t change the fact that the tree had become unsafe. So in its place we’ll plant anew, begin a new season of growth. And that tree will bloom with a beauty that couldn’t have existed had the old one not come down. Parkinson’s has brought a certain closure to my past life—you could say that it has felled it. But I can plant anew; I too can experience new growth and new beauty. When I accept limits and practice contentment, I can look forward to all that will be as I learn to grow in this new life I’ve been given. It won’t look the way I had imagined, but I’m confident that it will be all that it should be. As a nurse I’ve watched as individuals and families fight hard against illness and even death. I’ve seen the frustration, the anger, the hardness that comes over people when they realize that they won’t have their way over their ailment. I’ve watched them leave this life with sour, bitter souls, angry at the hand they’d been dealt. But I’ve also witnessed what happens with those who are content with the life they’ve been given: rather than feeling resentful about what they didn’t have, they leave this world full of gratitude for all they did. The difference is striking, and it’s compelled me to continually weigh my own life. And when its totality is placed in the balance, there’s no reasonable response other than contentment. That doesn’t come easily to someone who’s often been described as a Type A personality. I like to know where I’m going, to control the pace and the course. I’ve always had the sense that there are more challenges to be taken on and tasks to be accomplished. So learning to simplify my life is a daily struggle that involves all aspects of my being. It helps to learn the boundaries of control—that I can still do many things, but in a more thoughtful manner. For example, because I think better early in the day, mornings are best for higher-level cognitive work. But that’s also when I have more physical energy. And since I can’t go to the gym every morning and get other things done as well, I need to stagger my morning activities over the week. So I do have some measure of control; it just looks different than it used to. And a big part of accepting limits is setting reasonable goals for myself each day. The choice is never easy, but it is simple. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
You just might get lucky—and that’s not being trite. During my race on Amazing Race Canada, Lady Luck showed up a number of times on our behalf. As I’ve said before, it’s those who stay in the race who so often seem to get lucky. I can guarantee you this: give up and you’ll never see luck. The truth is that none of us know the end of our stories. There are those times when we’re convinced that there can be no positive outcome and we just want to quit. If that’s not the time to persevere, I don’t know when is. When you’ve gone as far as you can go, you gut it out and hold on. You persevere until you’re thrown off the race, but you never leave of your own accord. I was “lucky” enough to be in the ten percent of individuals with Parkinson’s who are diagnosed before the age of fifty. I was also “lucky” enough to be chosen out of ten thousand applicants to be among the nine teams to run The Amazing Race Canada. And how in the world were we “lucky” enough to win the race? I certainly don’t believe that life is merely a bunch of random lucky moments. But whether you call it luck or divine intervention, there are many times in life when we’re left baffled, scratching our heads, wondering how in the world something came about. Everyone experiences that. Then there are times when something extraordinary happens, and we’re so grateful that we hadn’t given up. Those moments come only to those who choose to stay in their race and persevere. During the final task, it was such sweet success to stand in front of that giant map and know I had the information I needed. Watching it later on television was actually even better. As the race unfolded on TV, some on social media continually derided us as being merely lucky. It was often said that we didn’t deserve to still be in the race, either because we’d hit the non-elimination legs or, for some, because we’d used the U-Turn. The flags-and-flowers challenge was our vindication. Sure, we were lucky, but not with the flags and flowers. You either knew them or you didn’t, and we knew them. Sheryl had reminded us to pay attention, and we had. And therein lies an incredible life lesson. It reminds me of that old saying, “The harder I work, the luckier I get.” We were lucky in the race, and it sure helps when we get lucky in life. However, we also worked hard. We’d made the decision to do our best. In the end, that was good enough. Not only is doing your best all you need to do; it’s all you can do. Sure, there are times when we need to stretch ourselves, to press more fully into a given task, but really, we’re only ever trying to do our best. The race taught me to ask the honest question—What will my best really look like today?—and then work toward living that reality. It’s always the right decision to push hard, to work hard, to prepare and then lean into the task at hand. This is what it means to do your best. Included in that thought is the idea of simplicity. I tend to overcomplicate my life, to strive in making things happen. I’ve come away from the race with a greater appreciation of what it means to simplify my existence by understanding that this doesn’t mean working less hard or relinquishing great aspirations. Rather, it means stripping away the excess in order to focus on what’s most important. In part, this is what it took for us to ultimately win the race. This is the foremost lesson I carry through life, now that I live with Parkinson’s. With all I’ve been given in life, I feel the obligation to find ways to encourage others, and to live with as gracious an attitude as possible. When we get up and do our best, luck often follows. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! By Tim Hague Sr.
What’s the difference between happiness and joy? Happiness is an ice cream on a warm summer day. Joy is infinitely more than being made to feel good by our circumstances. I like this definition by Rick Warren—that joy is “the settled assurance . . . the quiet confidence that ultimately everything is going to be alright.” An ice cream on a warm summer day can never bring about that kind of feeling. Living through hardship and coming out the other side can. Suffering, if we allow it to, can draw us deeply into an ability to persevere. Hardship can teach us how to stay in the race even when all seems lost. It can teach us how to hold on when we feel as if we can go no further. I’ll never forget standing on the mat at the end of leg three, having come in last place in The Amazing Race Canada. Even when we didn’t end up being sent home, part of me just wanted to quit. Sometimes we wish the struggle we’re facing would just go away. Mine was the threat of humiliation and my ongoing battle with Parkinson’s. What is your struggle that you wish would go away? I would encourage you to name it, and to walk hand in hand with it. Discover the means to stay on your journey and win. We’ve been sold a lie: the lie that we should pursue only those things that make us happy. As my daughters have grown up, I’ve often told them not to believe the lie of all those beauty ads that promote a fake, unnatural look and an unrealistic size for most women. I say the same here in our context: don’t believe the lie that our lives should be free of pain and hardship. Life just doesn’t happen that way. Think of the many grueling, difficult tasks that we have to work hard through and that ultimately lead to joy. Those triathletes who daily slog through the intense training of three demanding sports with the hopes of one day becoming an Ironman are a great example of embracing hardship. Are those athletes always happy to swim at five in the morning in a cold pool? To run fifteen miles in the rain? These things don’t always bring them happiness, but they often produce joy—the sense of having accomplished something meaningful, having overcome something difficult, having done what you didn’t want to get up and do but did anyway. There is no joy without suffering. Do not believe the lie. Looking for your next healthcare speaker? Get in touch with us at the Capitol City Speakers Bureau today to make your healthcare event a success! |
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