Part 2. Maxims, Axioms, and Paradigms: Comedy of Thinking Errors – Another Door Opens (Arrival)​

Preface:

This is a flashback of sorts. I wasn't able to keep up with the blog once I arrived at the spinal cord program here in New Jersey. This has served as a "journal" for me. Where I transfer the raw and unfiltered thoughts and accompanying emotions that help maintain my balance. My mirror that forces me to examine my motives. This allows me to correct my course before I run aground. This post has been waiting in the wings for weeks. Patiently waiting to be birthed into the world and be consumed. I am tempted to read the post and edit where my feelings have changed. But, I view that as cheating. I'll practice a little self-discipline and "Let It Be". My aim is still to become better in order to be in the best position to inspire. I'll thank myself later...

Introduction:

This week, something shifted—not in a flash of inspiration, but in the slow grind of admitting where my own thinking has been wrong. Awareness that my old narratives were off the mark, and acceptance that I needed to change them, was the first real crack in the armor of ego and hubris. Instead of defending comfortable but wrong positions, I started asking harder questions: What if the limits I’ve accepted aren’t actually true? What if the “self‑evident truths” I’ve been clinging to are just confirmation bias dressed up as wisdom?​

That shift didn’t stay in my head. When my care team kept calling my spinal infection “unspecified,” I dug into the research and found newer molecular‑level tests designed to identify organisms even when traditional cultures stay negative. I summarized that evidence and handed it to the unit PA and nurse manager. They didn’t just nod politely; they read it, sat with me for 45 minutes while I walked them through my history from the first symptoms, and then sent a referral to Infectious Disease to explore those tests for my case. That is what it looks like when you stop arguing for your own limitations and start partnering with people who are willing to rethink the script with you.​

The same thing is happening in rehab. An internal medicine attending told me, in front of a pack of residents, to lower my expectations—that I should plan on needing lifelong help with basic living skills and probably a nursing home. Instead of swallowing that as fate, I walked into physical therapy and took my first steps since surgery. Were they pretty? No. Were they easy? Absolutely not. But every foot of that 150‑foot walk was a protest against the idea that prognosis is destiny. My thoughts, decisions, and stubborn little experiments in movement are quietly rewriting what my “probable” future looks like.​

And then there is hospice coffee. Sitting with Joe, a fellow vet on the hospice unit, I watch a different kind of paradigm shift. Here is a man with no guarantee of tomorrow, telling sea stories and choosing gratitude in a hallway where most people only see loss. He isn’t arguing about theology or pretending death isn’t close. He’s doing something harder: accepting reality without surrendering his honor, humor, or hope. His presence reminds me that spiritual strength isn’t about winning every battle; it’s about the way you show up for the last ones.​

Quote of the Week​:

“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, you’re right.” - Henry Ford​

Lately, that line has stopped feeling like a motivational poster and started sounding more like a diagnostic question: Am I thinking in ways that keep me stuck, or in ways that keep doors open? The more I test my assumptions—about my body, my prognosis, my future—the more I realize how often I was the one slamming the door before life had a chance to answer.​

Poetry Spotlight​:

Fear
By John Rushton

Looking - staring through the stained window of my life,
Numb, oblivious to chaos and strife.

Menacing gray sky, shrieking wind - bleak, dreary;
I cannot break free. I am afraid, too weary.

Outside, the storm swirls; all my failings ceaselessly taunt me.
I cry out for relief - a moment of peace, my dire plea.

Only in my constricting cocoon am I safe, content, and warm,
Even as life collapses around me in an ever-growing swarm.

Restless, I wait, self-made prisoner, hoping the storm will fade
Into darkness of night.
If I stay, it worsens
- I must summon courage and take flight.

In the distance, a faint, glimmering light -
Maybe a reason to break free.
I search for strength,
From a long-forgotten well deep within me.

Through the storm, the light’s brightness beckons—
This is the moment of truth: a time for reckoning.

Can I face the inevitable pain on this journey?
Or do I stay, fearful and alone -
Forever wondering what I’ve missed in unrelenting agony?

I make my choice - finally plain to see:
I will no longer cower in this stifling season.
I choose to risk, to live my life for me -
That, at last, is the reason.

Gradually, confidence and peace bloom as never before.
I draw a deep breath, close my eyes tight,
And take that first, dreaded step through the menacing door.​

Closing Thoughts​:

The past few weeks have shown me that doors do not always open with a grand announcement; sometimes they appear only after you stop worshiping the old, familiar frame. From chasing better diagnostics to walking 150 feet when the forecast said “nursing home,” to sharing coffee with a man who measures his time in days, the pattern is the same: feel the fear, question the script, and take one more step anyway.​

If you’d like to see this movement in real time, the short video “No Obstacles, No Barriers” is this week’s reminder to keep moving forward, even when every part of you wants to stay curled up in the cocoon.