Acceptance vs. Resistance

Mitch Arnold • May 28, 2025

I bought my first and only motorcycle in 1993. It probably wasn’t a good idea then, and it’s a much worse idea now, but that didn’t stop me from recently considering doing it again.


I was only 23 years old and still in my invincible era, when I strapped on my helmet and rode off on my own two wheels for the first time. Understandably, a few naysayers shook their heads and voiced their opinions about me endangering a body that was already fraught with challenges; however, like I did often back then, I ignored their concerns, and was able to ride with no problems.


To me, the motorcycle represented freedom. I loved being able to enjoy the open road. I even rode it on a thousand-plus mile round-trip journey to Sturgis for the annual motorcycle rally. Getting kind of smug, I began to envision myself as a life-long biker, but two years later, life intervened. I was moving half-way across the country and getting married, so the motorcycle had to go. In fact, I sold it to pay for an engagement ring, promising myself that I would buy another one when I was established and had the finances to do so.


Things didn’t work out the way that I had planned. Fatherhood and home ownership ate up my finances and time, and a second motorcycle kept getting pushed down the line of priorities. Meanwhile, despite my best efforts, my body aged more quickly than I had hoped it would.


For most of my life, my resistance to my physical limitations has enabled me to get the most out of imperfect body. Tell me that I couldn’t do something, and you could bet that I was going to try, if only to prove to myself that I could. That resistance allowed me to overcome significant challenges and to succeed when success didn’t seem likely. Lately though, as my limitations have grown and my sense of self-preservation has become stronger, I’ve been trending toward acceptance.


Both acceptance and resistance are natural responses to change, and change happens to all of us, especially as we age. While resistance can challenge the status quo, sparking innovation and resilience, acceptance often opens the door to growth, fostering a sense of peace and adaptability. That’s where I’m at now, at least most of the time.


Still, when my uncle told me that he was selling his motorcycle, those thoughts of acceptance were elbowed aside by thoughts of resistance. I began to rationalize motorcycle ownership and to imagine myself in the seat again, handlebars in my grip. I could now afford the bike of my dreams, and even had a spot in the garage to park it. I didn’t plan to ride it to Sturgis again, but I thought it would be fun to ride it to the gym and on quiet Sunday mornings, like I used to do.


When I researched parking a motorcycle in a handicapped space, I should have realized the insanity of the idea, but resistance tamped down logic. My wife, to her credit, let me play those scenarios out in my head and gave me room to dream, knowing that logic would eventually prevail. And, it did. One slip-up on a bike, and I would suddenly and dramatically limit what I could do with the rest of my life. Accepting that reality was important, and I’m happy that I was able to do it.


Being able to accept who I am – all of it, even the limitations – has given me peace and perspective. It’s not always easy to accept limitations and new realities, but it’s crucial if we want to live a life without regret, and I’m finally there.

People Think We Shouldn’t Be Friends

By Mitch Arnold • February 15, 2026
Most of my closest friendships go back decades, and they are with people who are a lot like me. Because we grew up in similar environments and share similar backgrounds, my friends and I also share fairly consistent perspectives on the world and current issues. If we differ, it’s usually only slightly. Vernon was a notable exception. Vernon came from a much different background than I, and that made his perspective unique and valuable to me. Despite our differences, we learned over the decades that we had more in common than we could have imagined. I met Vernon in the late 1990s, when I was working in public relations at a historically black university (HBCU), North Carolina A&T State University. He was 15 years older than me, and a consummate professional, not to mention, a snappy dresser. He was always in a suit, and took his work in research administration very seriously. Initially, he intimidated me and I amused him. Not many people on campus looked like me. Fewer came from a background like mine. As a white guy who grew up in the rural Midwest and whose previous job was teaching at a Catholic school in Nebraska, I was very much a minority. Additionally, I was a Republican, and there weren’t many of those around either. I thought of Vernon during the noise surrounding this year’s Super Bowl halftime show. If we still worked down the hallway from each other, one of us surely would have stopped by the other’s office to share perspectives and try to make sense of the controversy. That conversation would have ended, like they all did, with some good-natured humor and a laugh. Decades have passed since Vernon and I worked together. In that time, I moved back to Nebraska and Vernon eventually retired. Still, we kept in touch with phone calls at least once per year. “It’s your white Republican friend from Nebraska” is how those calls usually started. He would follow by asking me again where Nebraska is, and what I thought of the current political landscape. Though clearly incongruent politically, never did we argue or take up sides against each offer. Mostly what we learned from each other is that we weren’t all that different and that often what we assumed wasn’t always the case. Vernon was very much a capitalist and more socially conservative than most Republicans, including me. Jokingly, I once accused him of being a Republican, because a lot of what he said didn’t fit my narrative of a Democrat. Likewise, he was surprised when I told him that I wasn’t a fervent supporter of President Trump. “You’re a unique man,” he said. I told him that I really wasn’t. Like most people on both sides, I valued many of the things he did, like strong family values and a strong economy. We just differed on the role that government should play on those issues. In one particularly poignant exchange, Vernon said, “People would look at us and think that we shouldn’t be friends.” Initially, his comment made me sad; however, I stepped back and thought about it further. In a world that seems intent on separating and categorizing people, it’s important that we remain friends and prioritize our similarities over our differences. I would have enjoyed a conversation with Vernon about the Super Bowl Halftime Show controversy, and imagine that he would have told me that he didn’t watch either show, but I didn’t get that opportunity. Vernon passed away in his sleep last spring. Even though he’s gone, his voice will never leave me. When I see efforts to divide our great nation into sides, I’ll always think of Vernon and strive to have friendships like the one I had with him, even when people think that we shouldn’t be friends. 

Prioritizing Memories

By Mitch Arnold • December 6, 2025
I lost two uncles in twelve days last month, the second passing away hours after we buried his younger brother. Neither death was particularly surprising, as they were 79 and 84, and struggling with their health. Still, even though we sensed that the end was near, the suddenness with which it occurred was jarring. Most of don’t spend much time thinking about the end – not just the end of our lives, but of the lives around us – and that’s probably a good thing. What isn’t good is thinking we have unlimited time, and wasting the days we have with each other. Though we shouldn’t dwell in morbidity, we also shouldn’t squander opportunities to make memories with those who are important to us. Just a few short months ago, Lynda and I made a trip to Ord to see my now deceased uncles . With travel, that effort consumed most of a Saturday, but it was one of the best Saturdays I’ve had in a while. I enjoyed it so much that, as we drove back, I told Lynda that we should plan to do it again next summer. Unfortunately, there won’t be a next trip to see those two. That’s a sad fact, but I’m thankful for the memories we made on that trip, memories that will stick with me for the rest of my life, and I’m thankful that I didn’t put off the trip. Daily life often gets in the way of living life. We fill our days with have-tos and need-tos, often running at a frenzied pace that clouds the beauty around us, but how much of that do we really have to or need to do? How much will matter when we look back on our years? Coincidentally, when I returned from the first funeral, my 24-year-old daughter showed me a plastic bag of my childhood memories that she had uncovered while looking for something else. In the bag were things that I had stashed away because they were important to me at that time in my life. A lot of the memorabilia was related to various family vacations we took in the early 1980s. Back then, if you wanted to capture a memory, you could take a picture with an old camera, hope that you got it right and wait until you got the pictures back from a developer or you could buy a 20-cent postcard and grab some free brochures. I did a lot of the latter, and had loaded that bag with brochures and postcards from places like Reptile Gardens and Wall Drug in South Dakota. Also in the bag were trading cards from movies and television programs like Grease, The Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas, and obscure sports cards with no market value. While I enjoyed a few minutes of flipping through stuff I hadn’t seen in decades, it mostly just obscured more meaningful memories. Among the clutter were autographs I had collected from my sports idols, postcards a friend sent to me with notes from her travels, a letter that another friend wrote to me while undergoing treatment for leukemia and a prayer card from his funeral just a few months later. On the lighter side, I had stashed away a citation awarded to me by a Loup City policeman in recognition of my efforts with an ill-advised fireworks display on the last day of my eighth-grade year! My daughter particularly enjoyed that one. As I browsed through the contents of the bag, I created three piles on my desk: definitely keep, maybe keep and probably throw away. I also thought about how I would feel if I were to go through the bag in my golden years, which are getting closer every year. If the important things were still obscured by the junk, would I just throw the whole thing away without even looking for those treasures? That motivated me to focus on what will always matter – memories tied to people. Sadly, I hadn’t visited Ord for years, but last week, I made my third trip of the year there to celebrate my uncle’s life, like I had just a couple of weeks earlier for his younger brother’s funeral. While the last two trips were for somber occasions, I’m glad that I didn’t skip the first one. I had other things to do that Saturday, but nothing more important than making memories with loved ones. photo above, July 2025: my dad Harold on the left, his oldest brother Roger (middle), and next oldest brother Don (right)