Use It While You Still Have It

Mitch Arnold • November 3, 2024

I started taking my cane into the gym with me last month. The decision was really a non-brainer, but it’s not one that I took lightly, because I’ve learned that when you let go of an ability, it’s hard to get it back.


The cane goes with me now, because my legs become more fatigued more quickly than they once did, and when that happens, my back and hips seem to seize up. Twice recently, my legs simply refused to move during my regular exercise routine, and I had to ask one of my gym friends to help me walk to a place where I could sit down and regroup. That was humbling, but it seemed like the less humbling option, when compared to the very real possibility of falling on the floor and injuring myself.


I felt this coming on for the past year, and had even adjusted my routine to limit my steps between stations, but I resisted using the cane. Unlike my slow acceptance of a wheelchair, my resistance to the cane wasn’t driven by foolish pride. It’s not like my cane suddenly alerts those around me that I have a handicap; most are amazed that I’m able to walk at all. No, I left my cane in the truck for the past few years, because I knew that when I started using it routinely, I was going to have a difficult time not relying on it.


Many of us think that we’re going to sail through life doing the things that we want in the ways that we have always done them. Few are so lucky. As we age, most of us will experience a progression of lost ability. The losses usually don’t happen overnight, and are sometimes so gradual that we don’t even realize that they are happening. First, we’ll notice increasing difficulty, which leads to grumbling about getting older. Eventually, we’ll enjoy our favorite activities less frequently, until one day when we unceremoniously stop doing them altogether.


Golf was that way for me. I enjoyed nearly twenty years on the course, starting at age 12 with my grandfather and a set of second-hand clubs. A couple of years later, I found myself on the high school varsity team, competing on various Central Nebraska courses. I wasn’t very good, but I enjoyed competing and being on a team with my friends, something that I didn’t have a lot of opportunity to do.


Years later, in a stroke of luck, my unremarkable high school golf experience earned me the opportunity to coach golf at the high school that hired me to teach right out of college. It was then that I embraced the sport and even dreamed of teaching my own children how to golf. That never happened. Instead, my handicap eventually made it nearly impossible to enjoy time on the course. That frustration culminated with me abandoning (half-way through) the last round I would ever play.


It's now been more than twenty years since that final round of golf, but I remember it like it was yesterday. When I put the clubs away that day, I didn’t know that it was the final time. I figured that I would try again next season, and it would be better. Next season never came.


The memory of that experience was with me during my first week in the gym with my cane. It’s a new reality with which I have gradually grown more comfortable. Instead of obsessing about my fading abilities, I can focus on exercising safely while holding on to what I can still do. Though the cane reminds me that things are different, I’m thankful that I’m still able to exercise.


I share this experience not looking for sympathy, but rather hoping that it will help you appreciate what you can do and that you do it to its fullest while you still can. If you’re fortunate enough to still enjoy participating in a sport, don’t stop until you have to. If it has been a while since you have gone on a walk, don’t wait. You don’t know when going for a walk will no longer be an option. The same with travel. Do it now, while you can still enjoy it. Don’t put off the things that require a healthy body, because that can quickly disappear.


Life is precious, and our bodies will eventually make us realize that. Don’t wait for that moment. Take the initiative now to capitalize on all that you can do while you still can do it.

Attitude Makes All of the Difference

By Mitch Arnold • March 15, 2026
About six months ago, I received a letter from a clinic telling me that my five years were up, and it was time for me to call to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. Because that procedure and the preparation for it are awfully unpleasant, I didn’t respond to the letter until last week. If you’ve ever experienced a colonoscopy, perhaps you can forgive my procrastination. After five minutes on hold, I was ready to give up on the call, maybe take it as a sign to buy more time, but Lynda sat near me, looking at me with eyes that said further procrastination would be most unwelcome. At last, a very pleasant voice greeted me on the other end of the line. I joked with her that she was WAY more enthusiastic about the call than I was. She laughed and assured me that she understood my hesitation, but that she was going to make it as easy as possible. Her job was to field reluctant calls from unenthusiastic patients, and then to ask them questions about their bowel movements. For veterans of the procedure like me, she breezed over the details of the preparation that consists of clearing your system with a barrage of intestinal stimulants, and then ended the call with reassurance that it won’t be that bad, and that having the procedure is the responsible thing to do. When I hung up the phone, I thought about how the appointment maker’s attitude made the experience better for both of us. Had she matched my level of enthusiasm and negativity, we probably still would have accomplished the required task, but we would have done so in a way that didn’t reflect our humanity. Then, I thought about how that call was a reminder of how warmth and empathy bring peace to those lucky enough to be around them. The receptionist’s job was to have conversations with people who didn’t want to talk to her and to ask them awkward questions about something as off-putting as their digestive tendencies. That’s certainly a lot to overcome, but she did it like a professional. By the time I hung up the phone, I could feel stress and tension leaving my body. We have many opportunities to do the same thing – not to ask people uncomfortable questions about bodily functions, but to lighten our tone and use empathy to make others more comfortable and bring peace to the world around us. When we encounter people obviously having a rough day, we should be sensitive to their fragility and treat them as we would want to be treated. Even when the bad day isn’t obvious, a little extra warmth and empathy is worth the effort and usually improves our days too. I know this, because I’m often blessed to be on the receiving end of these transactions. Because of my obvious disability, most people soften when meeting me. Even those who I see frequently, like people at the gym, go out of their way to be kind and helpful to me. Of course, I reciprocate, and after a while, it’s just the way that we interact with each other.  That’s a good way to live, and the colonoscopy scheduler reminded me of that. Though I had never met her, I could tell that she cared enough about me as a patient to extend the extra effort of humanity. Think about a world where we all do that every time we interact with each other.

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.