All posts by eddiemgarcia

At a Crossroads

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Eddie García graciously shared his inspirational journey with our leaders. His relatable stories, wisdom, and experiences resonated with our leadership team and inspired us to continue performing at a high level. ~Rigo Topete, Regional Vice President Sales & Marketing, Comcast Pacific Northwest Region

* * *

I nervously walked into a hotel banquet room full of sales executives and managers in Olympia, Washington. The group was named the top performing sales team in the Pacific Northwest the year before. Company executives expected the team to repeat as the region’s most prolific sales team by exceeding its record-breaking performance from the previous year. The stakes were high. The company invited me to share my story and help inspire sales leaders to meet the moment.

My pregame jitters came from the fact that there were 100 or so seasoned professionals in the room who had “been there and done that.” What could I say that they probably hadn’t already heard? I prepped tirelessly for weeks to make sure I would deliver a unique and meaningful speech. I decided to start my remarks by developing a relationship with those in attendance by telling a story about how their beloved Seattle Seahawks faced similar expectations and challenges the season after winning Super Bowl XLVIII in 2014.

Many in the audience shook their heads at that memory, smiled, and acknowledged my presence on stage. It was calming and gave me the confidence to share my story. I moved along and talked about the challenges of suffering a massive heart attack, living a decade with heart failure, and managing a heart transplant. 

I described how accepting God’s will is the foundation of faith and how rejoicing in my suffering led to hope by giving me the endurance and character needed to survive. Ultimately, it was unselfish love for Sandra and the girls that gave me the courage to fight day in and day out. The moral to my health crisis story, I emphasized, was how the power of faith, hope, and love carried me through that difficult time.

I urged the group to consider using that formula to lead their teams to another award winning year. They should have faith by accepting the fact that expectations were high and other teams were gunning for them. Rejoicing in that challenge would help them persevere through ups and downs, strengthen the team’s character, and turn hope into an action word, instead of an empty desire. I expressed how giving oneself for the sake of others is the very definition of love. By having each other’s backs, rather than infighting, unselfish teamwork would carry them across the finish line. 

When I concluded my remarks about 20 minutes later, the executives and managers rose to their feet in a rousing standing ovation. I was overwhelmed by the reaction and relieved that the mission was accomplished. After 30 minutes or so of taking questions, I headed to a table at the back of the room to sign books. I took time to talk with each and every person who wanted to share a story about family members with heart disease, cancer, and other chronic illnesses. With a story about conquering her own battle with cancer, one woman and I rejoiced together in our blessings.

On the flight back to San Jose, I reflected on the day and the meaningful conversations with amazing leaders. First and foremost, I felt gratitude for being able to touch the lives of others. I love being on stage and sharing my story to inspire people to persevere through life’s challenges. Another thought running through my mind was singularly selfish. Professional speakers make anywhere from $5,000 to $25,000 for doing exactly what I did in Olympia. My compensation for that appearance was nominal by comparison. 

Those thoughts and calculations came and went before landing at San Jose Mineta International Airport. Since that time, ideas about becoming a professional speaker have crossed my mind many times. My reasoning always begins with the opportunity to share my inspirational story with a wide audience and delves into potential financial gain. That’s where any further consideration of the idea slowly slips away.

I know what it takes to be a professional at anything, especially if the goal is to be the best I can be. It involves taking risks, hard work, and full commitment. At my age (60 years old) and because of the harrowing health journey I’ve endured, I’m just not sure I’m prepared to do what it takes to start a successful inspirational speaker business. I go back and forth in my mind analyzing the pros and cons of such an endeavor. So far, the cons are winning the day.

Recently, I became aware of a local organization in the market for an inspirational speaker. The proposed budget was around $7,500. The wheels in my head started turning and my stomach churned with excitement. I could do it, and for much less! I thought a second about offering my services before ultimately deciding not to speak up. I’m not sure why.

After thinking about why I didn’t make the offer, two things came to mind. First, the old imposter syndrome demons began to creep in because I wasn’t even considered. Maybe I’m not worth that amount of money and I’m just a legend in my own mind, the demons whispered into my ear. My previous speaking engagements told a different story. All audiences I’ve addressed react in the same enthusiastic way as the leadership team in Olympia. So maybe it wasn’t those old negative thoughts in action that kept me silent.

The second reason is that perhaps subconsciously I didn’t want to open a can or worms that couldn’t be closed. Could securing that speaking opportunity have been a slippery slope toward risk taking, working hard, and being completely dedicated to the work again? I’ve been down that path and it didn’t go so well for me or for my family. Nevertheless, the conversation put me in a self-imposed crossroads for a few days. 

I spent those days praying and reflecting on what really mattered. Was my ego tugging at my better senses? Yeah it was a little of that. Was it the potential financial gain? Yeah, of course. Who can’t use more money? Was it the fear that my inspirational story will never reach the masses? Yeah, that’s a biggie for sure. In the end, as always, it was faith, hope, and love that carried the day. 

If God wants me to be a professional speaker, He’ll let me know and I’ll do my part. In the meantime, I’ll rejoice in my suffering, fully accepting that I’m a great storyteller who isn’t on a big stage. I’ll persevere by seeking opportunities to speak at small gatherings and local events. Character, confidence, and commitment to the cause of inspiring others will strengthen my resolve and give me hope to keep sharing my story.

Between speaking opportunities, I’ll be home spending time with my family, washing dishes, folding clothes, and making dinner from time to time. I’ll also keep working on community passion projects by coaching emerging Latino and Latina civc leaders, teaching high schoolers about leadership, and advocating for my fellow transplant recipients. I’ll get in some reading and writing too. At the moment, this seems like God’s plan for me. I’m happy to do my part to fulfill His plan as best as I can, and I’m grateful that He guided me through the crossroads.

Roots at Harmon Park

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My parents (Lico and Marie) met on a late summer day in 1949 when Mom went out to the neighborhood park with a cousin to watch some boys play baseball. Mom caught the eye of Dad as he strutted around the diamond with a smile that could be seen across the field. He was calling at my grandmother’s front door the next morning, respectfully asking permission to talk to my mom.

~ Summer in the Waiting Room: Faith • Hope • Love, page 11

* * *

I remember being a  little boy playing by myself with toy cars on the sandy dirt in the hot desert sun. Every few minutes or so, I stopped to marvel at the jumbo jets that roared just above my head and the roof of the small house on the south side of Phoenix, Arizona. After dark, I would go inside and endure the humidity caused by the old swamp cooler that was supposed to refresh those inside from the suffocating heat. Like clockwork, every few minutes or so, an airliner departing Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport shook the little home as its jet engines boomed above.

Those are the most vivid memories I have of visiting Grandma and Tía Lipa in the early 1970s. My parents grew up in South Phoenix and met there in 1949. I have many first and second cousins in Phoenix. Dad was the youngest in his family and I’m the fifth of six siblings. Due to distance and a huge age gap, I never developed relationships with my Phoenix kin, especially after my parents passed away. More recently, we have been connecting via social media. I hadn’t been there since the late 1970s, until two weeks ago. 

The occasion was my cousin Rojelia’s 80th birthday. The birthday girl’s mom was Dad’s older sister. It was an event many months in the planning. My big sister Barbara organized the Lico and Marie García delegation. As I’ve chronicled on this blog and in my book, the past 14 years have been a roller coaster of emotions for me. Faith, hope, love, and mindfulness have been the bedrocks on my post-transplant journey. Making a pilgrimage to Phoenix, Arizona wasn’t on my radar. Barbara persisted and Sandra insisted. How could I say no?

Sandra and I took an early morning flight out of Mineta San Jose International Airport for the three-day event. Landing at the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport had no special significance. We arrived in time for a big party (Dad’s parents had 42 grandchildren!) at the Veterans of Foreign Wars, Post 41 in South Phoenix on Saturday. Relatives from all over the United States danced the night away to a DJ and a live band after dinner. 

I had a blast catching up with California cousins I hadn’t seen in more than a decade. We were sharing and laughing at the same old stories that made us laugh every time we got together. Seeing others with whom I’ve been connecting with on Facebook was nice. It was the first time I’d seen many of them since the last García family reunion in San Jose 42 years ago. The 1982 reunion weekend gave me a sense of grounding to something bigger than my immediate García family. That had slowly dissipated during the past four decades, until two weeks ago.

On Sunday morning, after breakfast at VFW, Post 41, Barbara and Rojelia led a tour of my parents’ South Phoenix neighborhood. As we slowly drove by the house Mom grew up in on West Pima Street, the first thing I noticed was a jet leaving the airport. Suddenly, the tour stirred something in my soul I couldn’t recognize. Two blocks away, kitty corner to Mom’s house, stood the projects Dad called home throughout his youth. We got off the car and entered the complex as another jumbo jet climbed into the sky.

The pre-WWII buildings looked like army barracks facing an inner courtyard. After some debate about which apartment belonged to our grandmother, we settled on apartment #212. Rojelia recounted how she was born in the one-room living quarters in 1944. She remembers being a mocosa (snot nosed kid) watching Mom and Dad taking wedding photos in the courtyard. “It was all so elegant,” Rojelia reminisced. 

Mom had a collage of that day hanging in our small living room when I was a kid. We were standing and taking pictures of our own on the very spot where Mom and Dad celebrated their wedding day 74 years ago . . . I was transfixed! We whipped our cars around the corner and stopped at Harmon Park. My cousin told us that the baseball field at Harmon Park is where my parents met. 

I wrote the passage on page 11 of Summer in the Waiting Room about my parents meeting at a park from memories and family oral history. I may have been to Harmon Park as a young boy, as I vaguely remember walking to a baseball field during the trips we made to visit Grandma and Tía Lipa. But, two weeks ago was definitely the “first time” I’ve been there. There was a baseball game in progress. I could picture Dad “as he strutted around the diamond with a smile that could be seen across the field,” and I could see Mom demurely smiling from the bleachers. 

Barbara woke me up from my trance when she said, “I didn’t know you loved airplanes so much.” She mentioned that I looked up at every airliner that flew by. I mumbled something about how the sound reminded me of our visits from over 50 years ago. It was another way of saying, “I love those jets flying out of that airport. The boy playing with toy cars in the sandy dirt had come full circle to South Phoenix.

When mom passed away in 2003, eight years after Dad, I felt empty inside like a hot air balloon floating through life without an anchor. I focused on my home base in East San Jose and the home Sandra and I were building with our daughters. That foundation created a strong tree trunk of our little family tree. But there weren’t any Mom and Dad roots. Through the years, we visited California’s central valley where Sandra’s parents started their story. I have friends who have ventured back to their roots in Texas, Mexico, and a Native American reservation in Northern California.

I was quietly envious of the stories they brought back. As a man, I didn’t have the experience of “this is where it all started.” Until two weeks ago. Standing in the park where my parents met some 75 years ago was amazing. I looked to my left and saw Mom crossing West Pima Street on her way to a baseball game. I looked to the right and saw Dad running across 3rd Street to meet his teammates on the diamond. Between those glances, I watched each jetliner fly by above. I felt the roots of the Lico and Marie García family beneath my feet.

We finished the tour at St. Anthony’s Church, where my parents were married in 1950. It’s just two blocks north of Harmon Park. It was cool, but a little anticlimactic after the cathartic experience at the baseball field. The next afternoon, Sandra and I were securely buckled in our seats on American Airlines Flight 1667 when the jet engines roared as the plane screamed down the runway. Less than a minute after lift off, we soared above the little house on West Pima Street, the projects on 3rd Street, and Harmon Park, where my roots are firmly in place.

It was a three-day whirlwind of emotions for the ages. Connecting with family members I hadn’t met and reconnecting with others I hadn’t seen in decades was special, especially since we all descended from a matriarch who lived in a public housing one-room unit. I don’t know if or when I’ll return to South Phoenix, Arizona, but I’ll always cherish this trip. Thank you, Barbara for persisting and thank you, Sandra for insisting. I love you both. And, yes. I love those jets flying out of that airport.

Get Away From It All

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I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor . . .

~ David Henry Thoreau, Walden, 1854

* * *

I’m fascinated with the concept of mindfulness. According to mindfulness guru Jon Kabat-Zinn, mindfulness is “paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, non-judgmentally.” It first came to my attention about 20 years ago as a fellow with the American Leadership Forum, a national leadership organization with a chapter in Silicon Valley. At the time, I was an ambitious corporate climber and aspiring civic leader. I had places to go, people to see, and things to do. My mind swirled with ideas about the future. I didn’t have time to live in the “present moment.”

Too bad for me. According to the National Institute of Health, the benefits of the practice include reducing anxiety, improving sleep, lowering blood pressure, clearing the mind for better decision-making . . . the list goes on and on. Six years after becoming a Senior Fellow with the American Leadership Forum, my mind was cluttered, I was anxious, I didn’t sleep well, and my blood pressure was soaring.

Since a massive heart attack, living a decade with heart failure, and a heart transplant rocked my world, I’ve been fascinated with the concept of mindfulness. An amazing therapist with the Kaiser Santa Clara advanced heart failure team reintroduced the idea of mindfulness to me. Good for me. I no longer had places to go, people to see, and things to do. I read a bunch of books, had great conversations with my therapist, and subscribed to the Calm App to learn more. The more I learn, the more fascinated I’ve become. 

One of the books I read is an American classic, Walden by David Henry Thoreau. It’s a beautiful book about the author’s experience getting away from it all by living in the woods for 2 ½ years by himself. He describes in graceful detail the wonders of the natural world. His observations of a blue jay or sycamore tree take paragraphs to describe. The book is really hard to read unless you’re mindful of every word. Thoreau’s point is clear. There’s more to life than hustle and bustle.

The first sentence captured my attention. He writes, “I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor.” What he describes is in the middle of nowhere. His only connection to civilization was the “sound of a locomotive” far off in the distance arriving in the nearby town of Concord, Massachusetts. Otherwise, the surrounding woods were so quiet he could hear every faint sound nature makes. 

As I was reading the book, I had a hard time believing that he was that secluded. The center of town was 1.6 miles from Walden Pond. That’s not very far. I couldn’t imagine being in the boondocks a mile and a half from my house. While Thoreau’s prose is elegant and vividly descriptive, I couldn’t help but call “bullshit” that he was that close to town, yet completely isolated. 

I know, I know. The stuff that runs through my mind seems silly and inconsequential. BUT . . . come on Mr. Thoreau!

As I pulled into the parking lot at the entrance of Alum Rock Park the other day, I decided to test the accuracy of Thoreau’s description. Alum Rock Park sits in a rugged canyon in the foothills east of San Jose. It has many trails that lead deeper into the canyon and into the hills that surround the canyon floor. I thought it a perfect place to experiment with the idea that one could be isolated less than two miles from “civilization.” 

From the parking lot, I started at the trailhead of the Penitencia Creek Trail that winds its way into the park. My goal for the hike was to pay attention to the nature around me on purpose, in the present moment, and without judgment. Once I was 1.6 miles away from the parking lot, I would survey my surroundings to determine if Thoreau’s representation of his surroundings was convincing.  

Walking along the creek, I immersed myself in the sights and sounds of the trail. The rainy season turned Alum Rock Park into a beautiful canvas of many shades of green. The hillside is cluttered with uprooted trees and stray branches thrown about most likely from storms. Carpet-like grasses and thin tree limbs swayed in the wind while a couple of deer nibbled on leaves in the distance.

I initially thought that nature sounds playing in my airpods would be a cool soundtrack. No music. No podcasts. After a few seconds, I realized that it was a dumb idea of a typical 21st century Silicon Valley man addicted to electronic devices. The more I thought about it, the sillier it sounded. I chuckled at my total disregard for mindfulness. Water running through the creek, small pebble gravel crunching under my hiking boots, and birds chirping were the only sounds I heard as I walked. 

Finally, I stopped at the ruins of mineral springs from a bygone era of the park. From the late 1800s to the 1930s, people flocked to Alum Rock Park because they believed that the mineral water there had healing effects. I was standing 1.6 miles from the trailhead parking lot and the housing development nearby. Looking around, I saw squirrels scurrying about, a couple of quail trotting across the trail, and a vulture gracefully gliding high above the ridge line of the canyon looking for lunch.

I was in the middle of nowhere! 

Birds were singing and chirping, the creek was babbling, the sound of wind blowing through the trees brought an indescribable peace and calm to my being. Like Thoreau’s “sound of a locomotive” in the distance, the only sign of civilization as I stood 1.6 miles from a neighborhood was the faint roar of a jetliner departing San Jose Mineta International Airport flying high above to an unknown destination.

I hiked a little further into the canyon before turning around to head back to the parking lot. The return journey was also filled with wonder. The sounds of singing birds, animals scampering in the brush, and rushing creek water were louder and more distinctive. I was admiring a family of ducks paddling in the creek when I noticed a vulture flying right at me. I smelled myself and checked the heartbeat on my Apple Watch just in case the vulture knew something I didn’t know. To my relief, the large bird landed on a tree branch with a dead bird in its beak. 

What did my little experiment teach me? Thoreau was telling the truth. You could be less than two miles from civilization, yet be totally alive, clear-minded, and isolated from the noise of the world. Maybe, just maybe, the real truth coming from my experiment is that “paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, nonjudgmentally” can put you in the same place even amid the chaos of life.

Hmm . . . I have some more work to do on this mindfulness stuff.

Idaho is 4

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Getting ready to speak at the SJSU Latino Alumni Network Legacy Dinner – April 4, 2024

Good morning, Mr. García, Your new heart just arrived in the hospital. It looks great. We’ll get started soon. ~ Dr. John MacArthur, April 16, 2020

* * *

Sandra, Erica, and I were watching The Voice and spending a nice shelter-in-place evening together. We had just started to enjoy a small scoop of vanilla ice cream when my cell phone began to buzz. It was around 9:30 p.m. The number was that of my cardiologist’s office. The three of us looked at each other, intuitively knowing why the doctor was calling so late.

Our instincts were confirmed. She had called to tell me that Stanford had identified a donor heart that was a “great” match for me. She advised me that I should expect a call within the hour. After forty-five minutes of nervous anticipation, Stanford called with instructions on when and how to report to the hospital.

Once at the hospital, a cardiac nurse started preoperative preparations and gave me some light sedatives to help me relax. Soon, a surgeon walked in and said, “Good morning, Mr. García, Your new heart just arrived in the hospital. It looks great. We’ll get started soon.” The next thing I remember is the same doctor telling me, “Congratulations, Mr. García. You have a new heart! It’s working great. You have a Ferrari in your chest.” I named my new heart “Idaho.”

Just like that, I had a second chance at life. The past 1,460 days have been quite a ride. On my first day at home, I started feeling like the biggest failure in the world. That’s not unusual. About 63% of heart transplant recipients suffer from depression and/or anxiety within the first five years after surgery. I had both. In a big way. I was physically weak and mentally I wasn’t much better. I thought that someone more deserving could make better use of this fresh start.

Sandra and the girls showed their love by encouraging me to soldier on. I responded by reaching out to a physical therapist and a psychologist. One worked on my mind while the other worked on my body. Months of intense therapy gave me a fighting chance to find my way. By my first heartiversary – April 16, 2021 – I was hiking up hills, hitting golf balls, shooting baskets, and didn’t think I was that much of a loser. I’m still working on that last piece. It’s an ongoing process.

I started the second year post-transplant on a high note walking three to four miles every day and meeting with a therapist to work on my psyche once a month. Things looked promising until a special blood test found that my body was rejecting Idaho. Organ rejection is the leading cause of death for transplant recipients. The news was no bueno. The good news is that the blood test detected the rejection before Idaho suffered any major damage. I was back in the game!

Two months after my second heartiversary, I published Summer in the Waiting Room: Faith • Hope • Love. That was a big day! It was also symbolic. The publication date – June 7, 2022 – was exactly twelve years after the massive heart attack that started this health mess I got myself into. I had my first book signing on World Heart Day – September 29, 2022 – at a health center in East San Jose, not far from where I grew up. Even though mostly family and friends were there, I was nervous about speaking in front of people again. It had been more than three years.

I wore traditional gray flannel pants, navy blue blazer, and light blue dress shirt with polished brown dress shoes just like I would have during my career as an executive and school board president. It turned out to be a great evening. For the first time in more than a decade, it felt like I was “back.” Long gone were the days and nights right after the transplant where I found myself in bed in a fetal position with a sore body and broken soul.

It was around this time that Sandra and other loved ones encouraged me to “enjoy life” and do “what makes you happy.” After everything I had been through, I deserved that, they said. To borrow a phrase from my party days, I thought to myself, “don’t threaten me with a good time.” In those days, enjoying life and doing what makes me happy always included unhealthy but great tasting food, plenty of alcohol, and laughing until my cheeks hurt. 

Since two of those three components are no longer at my disposal, I needed to find another way. The successful book signing event reminded me that I have a passion for telling stories and speaking in public. Could I do speaking engagements more often now that I kinda got my speaking mojo back? Or was that a one-time deal with the safety net of mostly family and friends? One thing was clear. I definitely enjoyed myself that evening and had fun. 

Shortly after that, God’s plan revealed itself. Opportunities started coming my way. By my third heartiversay, I was back to doing leadership training with the Latino Leadership Alliance and high school students. I was in front of small groups of professionals and teenagers telling stories and helping people. What followed were speaking opportunities in Washington, D.C., Seattle, and Fresno, four national podcasts, and several webinars. I was enjoying life and having fun! 

So what did Idaho and I do for our fourth birthday together? 

In the morning, we went to my high school alma mater to talk with students on Career Day. Later that afternoon, we met with the ASB student council at Luis Valdez Leadership Academy to brainstorm about a civic engagement project. We spent the evening with my family, the best part of the day. We had a decadent dinner at Olive Garden, and capped the evening binge watching Law and Order: SUV, drinking coffee and eating a strawberry cream pie from McDonald’s. Okay, I slipped a little. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. 

Idaho and I were enjoying life to the fullest and we were doing what made us happy!

We started a new year together the next day with a five-mile hike along Coyote Creek. At the halfway point at Hellyer Lake, I sat on a bench watching the cattails sway in the breeze. I could feel the gentle wind on my face as if God’s hands were caressing my cheeks. He was surely telling me, “that’s how you enjoy life and do what makes you happy.”  At that moment, it all made sense.

Hellyer Lake – April 17, 2024

I thought about another one of my party day mantras from back in the day, courtesy of George Strait. “I ain’t here for a long time, I’m here for a good time.” Now I have a new formula to enjoy life and do what makes me happy. Hanging out with my family, telling stories to whomever will listen, and public speaking. Sounds like a plan. Hopefully, I can also get in a few laughs until my cheeks hurt.

The Arena

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Walking the Uch! – 2024

This is the fifth installment of ESEReport.com’s Second Chances blog series.

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It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. ~ Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States

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It was a beautiful spring evening in San Jose, California on March 30, 2010. The temperature was in the low 60s on that cloudless day. A Republican multi-millionaire tech executive running for governor named Steve Poizner scheduled a campaign event at Mt. Pleasant High School to announce the publication of his book about his experience teaching one class for one semester at the school. It was a vehicle to launch his education reform campaign.

As president of the East Side Union High School District board, I sent a letter to Poizner prohibiting him from visiting Mt. Pleasant for campaign purposes, citing California law. The book was filled with negative stereotypes about Latino kids and students in general from the east side. The community was in an uproar and planned to protest the candidate’s scheduled book signing later in the evening.

There was a mix of tension and anticipation outside of Barnes & Noble bookstore in Eastridge Mall. About 100 students, staff, and community members gathered there to take a stand against the book and its author. As Poizner approached the side entrance to the store, I asked him to justify his critical portrayal of our students. Unimpressed by his meaningless campaign talking points, I listened intently anyway, unaware of  news reporters that crowded around us. 

Eye to eye with Steve Poizner – March 30, 2010

The media covered our brief exchange. Every local newspaper and television news crew covered the story. The episode made statewide and national news including stories in the Los Angeles Times and on National Public Radio. Poizner never recovered from that day. His campaign was dead on arrival. It was scary to take on a tech multi-millionaire, but it was exhilarating too! If a heart attack hadn’t stopped my career in its tracks, I would have had a powerful political enemy for life.  

I miss being in the arena.

Little League Champs – 1976
James Lick High School – 1980

I’ve loved being in the arena since I was a kid. There was the time I was the winning pitcher in a Little League championship game. The coach ran onto the field toward the pitcher’s mound and lifted me into the air with a big bear hug. My teammates were excitedly jumping up and down around us. A few years later, I stood on the free throw line in a packed gym at James Lick High School. If I made the shot, we would have won the game and been tied for first place. I missed it. It hurt so badly that it felt like my dog died as I walked off the floor.

Some 20-plus years later, I was standing tall in the middle of my campaign office with two-year old Erica in my arms. I had just beat two opponents and won a spot in the 2000 general election for San Jose City Council. The crowd around us cheered as I rallied supporters to get ready for a spirited campaign in the fall. Five months later, a smaller group of just family was gloomy as we sat watching the election returns on TV at a local restaurant. I lost the race in a big way. The crushing defeat took a toll on me.

Win, lose, or draw, I miss being in the arena.

Over the past two months, I’ve been writing on this blog about second chances. I’ve written about how my spiritual and mental health journeys have given me a new perspective on life. Trusting God and living right here, right now have been the guiding lights on this journey. I hope I’ve inspired readers to give faith and living in the moment a try.

Of course everything isn’t hunky dory now that my relationship with God is stronger and mindfulness meditation is part of my daily routine. Far from it. I often wonder if these concepts are really helping me or I’m just trying to convince myself that they do. Some readers are probably wondering about that as well. I know this much to be true. I believe that faith and living in the present moment are the paths to inner peace and happiness. 

Staying with it everyday is the hard part. For every time I put myself fully in God’s hands or experience a Zen moment, there are just as many moments of  uncertainty and doubt. The journey reminds me of that old country song, One Step Forward (Two Steps Back) by the Desert Rose Band. Determination and perseverance are in my DNA. I’ll keep working through it  no matter how many times I take two steps back.

The world is wonderful and life is beautiful. But let’s face it, they’re also harsh. The world that occupies our minds is even harsher. I’ve been through a lot. There’s no sensible reason for me not to be grateful at all times. I get that. But . . . there’s a little corner of my mind that still aspires to be in the thick of things. On a recent trip to the Seattle area, I spoke to a large group of business executives. The feedback and standing ovation stirred my aspirations to get back into the arena. Adrenaline sparked the small section of my brain to scream, “You belong here!”

Speaking in Olympia, Washington – 2024

But then again, there’s something special and serene about leisurely folding towels, laying back on the couch reading, and walking Erica’s puppy. If I sound confused about what to do with this amazing gift of a second chance, you got that right. My situation isn’t unique. We’re all searching for meaning. Since we can’t soften the harshness of the outside world, finding that sweet spot where we can calm the harshness of our inner world is like finding gold.

There is no right answer. Despite stumbling through my faith and mental health journeys, I’m going to keep going. Maybe, just maybe, God has chosen this part of my journey to be the new arena I’m looking for. To be sure, I’ve missed God’s signs for most of my life. Maybe I ought to give doubling down on faith and mindfulness a chance. To paraphrase President Teddy Roosevelt, if I fail, at least I’ll “fail while daring greatly.” 

Purpose & Passion

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This is the fourth installment of ESEReport.com’s Second Chances blog series.

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For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. It was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished. ~ Henry David Thoreau, 19th Century American Transcendental Philosopher

The Lord is not being slow in carrying out his promises, as some people think he is; rather he is being patient with you. ~ 2 Peter 3:9

***

February 28, 2024 (San Jose, CA) ~ I started the morning like I always do. Sporting blue pajamas with white pinstripes and my trusty brown slippers, I made my way to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. After preparing a couple of cups, I spent the rest of the early morning watching MSNBC, sipping the cup of joe, and talking with Sandra as she got ready for work. 

The morning continued as usual. I read the daily mass, said morning prayers, did 10 minutes of mindfulness practice, and went to the kitchen for breakfast. That too was like any other day. I took morning meds with a 16 ounce glass of water, ate oatmeal with berries and walnuts, and finished off the meal with a hard-boiled egg and another glass of water.

After breakfast, I got ready for a morning walk. The day was unusually springlike. Instead of wearing the usual black Adidas track pants and black NorthFace windbreaker, I put on a pair of khaki shorts and a blue long sleeve dry-fit shirt. After slathering my face with sun block, putting on a wide-brimmed hiking hat, lacing up my black Adidas crossfit shoes, and filling up a Hydro Flask water bottle, I headed out the door.

Since I had been nursing a little cold for a few days, I decided to go on a leisurely mile and a half stroll, rather than the usual fast-paced four mile walk. My podcast selection for the day was The Armchair Expert with Dax Sheppard. It’s a cool podcast with interesting guests. This time the guest was Bradley Cooper. I ended up getting bored pretty fast. For some reason, listening to the exploits of two handsome actors wasn’t moving me. I spent the rest of the walk with the Doobie Brothers.

My daily routine usually comes to an end once I’m out of the shower, dressed for the day, and finished eating lunch. This is the time of day when I work on a few little projects. I teach a high school student leadership class, facilitate the Latino Leadership Alliance (LLA) Academy, and volunteer on the San Jose State University Latino Alumni Network board. I also do occasional speaking engagements for my book and volunteer with a national transplant advocacy organization. When I feel creative, I write for this blog.

I use the word “dressed” loosely because my daily uniform is a pair of sweats, sweatshirt, and the trusty brown slippers. Most of the busy work I do is on my laptop. After the morning routine on February 28th, I settled in to read for a couple of hours. Benjamin Franklin: An American Life, by Walter Isaacson currently occupies my reading time. I spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Erica’s puppy Uchis, watching the news, and scrolling through social media. “My name is Eddie and I am a social media junky.” Step 1 is admitting the problem.

I emerged from my Tik Tok stupor just in time to make dinner, a cool little dish that Sandra taught me to prepare. I began by cutting potatoes, carrots, zucchini, onions, and a couple of chicken breasts. After placing everything into a glass baking dish, I spread Campbell’s cream of chicken soup over the top, sprinkled sweet peas into the pan, and stuck it all into the oven. An hour and a half later, “voila!”. Sandra, Erica, and I shared stories about our day over a nice meal. We rounded out the evening binge watching Griselda on Netflix.

That sounds like a pretty good day for a retired heart transplant recipient. Some might say that I deserve a day like February 28, 2024, and many more.

I started working part time after school when I was 15 years old. There were untold hours burning the midnight oil to make up for my initial college failure. What followed was a relentless climb up the corporate and political ladders. Then there was the horrific daily, sometimes hourly, fight for life during the summer of 2010. The hardest climb was my ten-year battle with heart failure that led to transplant while doing consulting work. 

Despite the thinking that I may have earned a relaxing retirement, I felt uneasy throughout the day. There was a slight churn in my stomach. It was like something was missing or just not right. I ignored the sensation and went on with the day, but the feeling never quite faded away. Even though I still felt a little anxious, I went to bed with an overall feeling that February 28th was a pretty good day and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, my routine started all over again. The worried sensation had disappeared. After the morning ritual and lunch, I opened up the laptop to put finishing touches on the day’s lesson plan for high school students. I meet with them once a week. On the drive to the school, I thought about how to present the concepts in an upbeat and interactive way. The students and I engaged in a great discussion about the importance of emotional intelligence for leaders.

I feel alive, useful, and productive when I’m working with students and LLA leaders, sharing my story with Summer in the Waiting Room readers, advocating for equitable healthcare, writing, and speaking with groups large and small. We live in a society where work, productivity, and industriousness are valued almost above everything else. I grew up in a home where hard work was the answer to nearly any problem. 

That’s why I feel uneasy and anxious when I have a day like February 28th. My subconscious (the Boo Voice) starts asking why I’m not working and making a substantial contribution to the household income. I have a new heart for crying out loud. Why am I wasting time playing fetch with Uchis, sitting back on the couch reading about some old guy who lived 200+ years ago, and scrolling through LinkedIn while everyone else is achieving?

Upon reflecting on that day, I remember that God has given me a great gift – a second chance at this thing we call life. I’m pretty sure He didn’t give me a second chance to toil my life away for material things, recognition, and self-aggrandizement. I say “pretty sure” because the Boo Voice and society are tugging at my ears telling me otherwise. We all struggle with that balance of working our passion for good and seeking worldly success.

It’s wonderful to see a student’s eyes light up when they get a concept or when a LLA cohort shares stories of true servant leadership. Listening to people share stories of their own families’ overcoming heart disease fills my soul with faith, hope, and love. Deep down inside, I know that the things I love to do make a positive impact on people. I need to stay focused on doing them for that reason.

I try to make the best of this second chance by trying to focus on what really matters. I’m starting to accept and understand the value of mindfulness and the Transcendentalist principle of being aware and awake for every moment. Sometimes it works like a charm. On the few days when “nothing memorable is accomplished” and feelings of something is missing haven’t crashed the party, my purpose and passion are crystal clear.

The Boo Voice and societal expectations to be “successful” make that hard to sustain. But, I’ll stay with it. St. Peter reminds me that ‘the Lord is being patient.” Good thing for me. I’ll get there . . . someday. As Mom would say, si Dios quiere (God willing).

Life’s Essential 8™

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The Boys of ’81 – James Lick High School

This post is dedicated to

Rudy Lopez

October 14, 1962 ~ January 20, 2024

James Lick High School, Class of 1981

***

I was at a memorial service on Sunday. Another friend had passed away. Heart attack. He was 61 years old. Moose Lodge #401 in San Jose was packed with family and friends. The Moose is an old building with hardwood floors, no frills, no decorations on the walls, and a bingo board hanging from the rafters. It’s an institution on the east side. I’ve been there for wedding receptions, family gatherings, birthday parties, community meetings, and after school events. It’s a great place to get together and laugh, dance, and have a few beers and well drinks.

I’ve been to the Moose for other funeral receptions too. My Nino (godfather) for confirmation and another friend who succumbed to heart disease a few years back were the last two I attended there. The hall was set up as it always is. Rectangular folding tables were lined up in rows from front to back. A screen to show a video and easels with old pictures lined the foot of the stage. A small group of James Lick High School friends stood in the back of the room to pay respects.

As we waited for the program to start, we shared hugs and old stories that never seem to get old. In high school, our late friend seemed quiet and unassuming to those who didn’t know him. On the football field he was a force of nature. He was built low to the ground like a bulldog keeping tacklers away from the ball. When he played defense, not a soul dared run up the middle without fear of running into a brick wall.

Off the field, he was a straight-talking, honest, and no nonsense kid. As a friend, you knew he always had your back. He wasn’t a bad guy to have around when trouble was brewing. From the testimonials at his memorial, it was clear little had changed. He went to work everyday despite health challenges and did everything with pride. We heard stories about his love of classic cars, football, and his commitment to the Raider Nation. He was a man of integrity to the end. 

It was a nice service. 

The most inspirational part of the day was when his nephew referred to the high school football star as his real dad after the young man’s biological father had left the family. What struck me most about the afternoon was the emphasis on family. While the families in attendance ate a traditional Mexican lunch at the rows of tables, the old James Lick guys in the back of the room shared stories with each other about kids and grandkids. 

This is what is so sad about chronic heart failure. Friends and families are left in the wake of this nasty disease. It’s the #1 killer in the world. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “one person dies every 33 seconds in the United States from cardiovascular disease.”  In 2021 alone, about 695,000 Americans passed away from a heart related illness. I learned on Sunday that yet another classmate lost his life to cardiovascular disease that very year.

I’m one of the lucky ones. With God’s grace, an amazing family, and an outstanding Kaiser Santa Clara Medical Center healthcare team, I’ve survived a heart attack, a decade of heart failure, and a heart transplant. That’s why I’m so passionate about doing my little part in sharing with others that slowing down the rate of heart disease is possible. There is hope.

As a volunteer for the American Heart Association, I learned about Life’s Essential 8™. Following these eight guidelines helps lower the risk for heart disease, stroke and other major health problems:

  1. Eat Better
  2. Be More Active
  3. Quit Tobacco
  4. Get Healthy Sleep
  5. Manage Weight
  6. Control Cholesterol
  7. Manage Blood Sugar
  8. Manage Blood Pressure

To borrow a phrase from my dad (he died of a cardiovascular disease), doing these things consistently is easier said than done. Before my 2010 heart attack, I only did #2 and #3 on a steady basis. I was active, including somewhat regular exercise, and never smoked. Doctors told me that doing these two things probably saved my life, although it certainly didn’t prevent a heart attack in the first place.

As American Heart Month comes to a close, I encourage . . . I urge . . . everyone to go to the American Heart Association website and follow Life’s Essential 8™. It could save your life and, just as important, it can give your family more time with you.

RIP Rudy.

Be More Active

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If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving. ~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

***

After returning home from the hospital in 2010, I went to a class to learn how to live a full life with a compromised heart. The topics included information about how the heart works, suggestions for healthy living, exercises that strengthen the heart muscle without adding stress to it, and facts about the different medications necessary to keep the heart functioning.

The material for the six-week program was delivered by nurses, nutritionists, pharmacists, physical therapists, and other content experts in a classroom setting. At 46, I was clearly the youngest of the 30 or so participants in a class of mostly ornery and impatient 70 and 80 year-olds set in their ways and grumbling about aches and pains.

A 75 year old woman named Ruth had been my seat neighbor for the entire program. She was a nice grandmotherly type who loved cooking, hated exercise, and planned little changes to her life. She half-jokingly told me that she never exercised a day in her life and saw no reason to start. Then she said, “Look at you. You were a healthy young man and still had a heart attack like the rest of us.” She had a point . . . kinda.

When I was a kid, I loved to jump fences, climb trees, and ride bikes with neighborhood kids. We played basketball on my driveway, two-hand touch football in the street, and sandlot baseball at the elementary school at the end of the block. Of course, there was Little League baseball until I was 12 years old, and middle school flag football and basketball. In high school, I earned four varsity letters in basketball and baseball.

Yeah, I was that kid.

After high school, I played recreation league basketball and softball. Obligatory beer busts after each game were standard. That didn’t help much, but I stayed active. Marriage, career, and kids left little time for these activities. I played the last rec league basketball game in my late 30s. I came home dejected because the younger men were just too fast and strong for me. 

My nine year old daughter laughed when I “announced” my rec league “retirement” to Sandra and the girls. “It’s not like you’re Michael Jordan retiring from the Bulls daddy,” Marisa quipped. Over the next several years, I occasionally found time to exercise by walking, working out in the gym, and playing golf. I was in the gym on June 7, 2010, when the opening salvo of heart attack symptoms began.

Despite Ruth’s confidence that exercise didn’t prevent my heart attack, staying active certainly saved my life. My cardiologist assured me that I wouldn’t have survived the June 7th heart attack and surgery if I wasn’t in shape. Later that summer, after a medically induced coma caused my muscles to waste away, I completed an 8-week physical rehabilitation program in three weeks. The physical rehab doctor mentioned that my athletic experience helped me learn and execute the exercises faster than usual.

So what’s the point of all this?

According to the American Heart Association, the second of Life’s Essential 8 for lifelong good heart health is Be More Active. This doesn’t mean that you have to be a formally trained athlete or a gym rat to stay healthy. Life’s Essential 8 recommends that adults should get 2 ½ hours of moderate or 75 minutes of vigorous physical activity per week. 

Walking for 30 minutes a day, five days per week qualifies as moderate activity. The vigorous exercise recommendation can be done by running 15 minutes a day, five days per week. If you don’t like to or can’t walk or run, the American Heart Association Life’s Essential 8 website has lots of ideas on how to be more active throughout the day.

As I mentioned in my  last post, exercise alone isn’t the formula for a healthy lifestyle. As my old friend Ruth so sarcastically reminded me, it sure didn’t prevent me from having a massive heart attack. In conjunction with eating better and the other six of Life’s Essential 8 (I plan to share them on this blog in coming weeks), being more active will lead to a healthier and more fulfilling life.

Be creative and set goals. Get out there and do your thing, even when you don’t feel like it. I know the kids, job, extended family obligations, and a million other things make it hard to keep going, but you just have to do it. As MLK said, “whatever you do you have to keep moving.” Walk 30 minutes a day. Put it in your calendar. Take the stairs instead of the elevator and escalator. Go whack some weeds. Dance with your partner everyday. You never know if a little smooching might happen next!

Since my heart transplant, I walk four or five days per week, four miles per day. I use light weights two or three days per week. And, I mean light weights. Ten pound dumbbells, body resistance exercises like modified push ups, jumping jacks, squats, and crunches do the trick to get the heart rate up. The days of trying to get chiseled chest, arms, and legs are laughable and long gone. 

My goals now are to walk around the mall with Sandra and the girls, run around with our new puppy, play a round of golf from time to time with old friends, and dance to a few of our favorite songs with Sandra. Oh yeah, and stay alive!

I still often think about Ruth and my geriatric classmates from 2010. I sometimes wonder if any of them ate hot dogs. My guess is that many have passed away during the past decade and a half. It would be a blessing if God allows me to live that long. But that’s His call.

In the meantime, I’m going to be more active and keep moving until I can’t. If you have a little time, come join me.

Eat Better!

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April 16, 2023 – Celebrating the 3rd anniversary of my transplant

If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude. ~ Maya Angelou

***

There was a time when my concuños and I played food games. First of all, concuño is a loose Spanish translation to describe my sister-in-laws’ husbands. Since Sandra has three sisters, we are four concuños. In our 20s and well into our 30s, we had friendly eating competitions. Two such contests stand out in my mind: eating donuts and consuming outsized hamburgers.

On any given Sunday, we would be hanging out at our in-laws’ house doing nothing but hanging out. Someone would say, “let’s get donuts,” and the race was on. Knocking out three or four of the tasty mouthfuls of deep fried flour and sugar wouldn’t be unusual for me. Guzzling a tall glass of whole milk was the finishing touch. I forgot to mention that it was usually after an afternoon of eating barbecue pork ribs and drinking beer.

Then there was the time we challenged each other to eat a Monster Burger at Red Robin. This 1,220 calorie behemoth includes a ½ pound of ground beef and exceeds the daily recommendation of fat and sodium. Of course, we washed down the burger with a side of bottomless steak fries and a 24 oz. beer. My stomach was on the verge of bursting as I breathlessly waddled out of the restaurant. 

Yeah, it all sounds pretty gross to me now.

Both of my parents had heart attacks in their 50s and I had been dealing with high cholesterol  since my late 20s. In addition to bad genetics, my childhood diet was high in fat, fried foods, and salt. Fresh veggies were in short supply. So the obvious question about those silly eating contests is: “What the hell was I thinking?” Sadly, the short answer is arrogance and very little understanding of heart disease. 

I thought that exercising regularly would protect me from the fate that fell upon my parents. There were a couple of problems with that thinking. First of all, my exercise regimen wasn’t consistent. I would go through short periods of regular workouts and much longer periods of no exercise at all. More importantly, I completely dismissed the importance of diet. The irony of my 2010 heart attack symptoms starting at the gym is not lost on me. 

Since 2010, I set out to learn as much as possible about heart disease to take care of my damaged organ and encourage others to do the same. On the heels of my 2020 transplant, taking care of my new heart and inspiring people to learn about the disease have become a passion. As a volunteer for the American Heart Association (AHA) last year, I became acquainted with its Life’s Essential 8 checklist. 

According to the AHA, “Life’s Essential 8 are the key measures for improving and maintaining cardiovascular health. Better cardiovascular health helps lower the risk for heart disease, stroke and other major health problems.” As the old saying goes, “if I knew then what I know now . . .” I’m sure you know where I’m going with this. Unfortunately, I didn’t know then what I know now.

Life’s Essential 8 focuses on two major areas: health behaviors and health factors. Health behaviors are things you do that impact health. They include diet, substance use, sleep, and physical activity. Health factors include genetic conditions, education and income levels, and personal medical history. Improving health behaviors can minimize life-threatening health factors.

It turns out that my strategy to exercise my way out of an inevitable heart attack fell way short of what I needed to do to protect myself. In fact, number one on the Life’s Essential 8 checklist is to eat better. The formula is pretty simple. Fresh fruit and vegetables, whole grains, lean meat, legumes and beans, and nuts are good. Alcohol, sugar, salt, trans-fat, processed food, and fried foods aren’t so good. Learning to read nutrition leaves can help manage this.

Sounds easy enough. Hmmmpf! Yeah right. As Dad used to say, “it’s easier said than done.” I’m sure most of us have heard doctors tell us what we need to do to stay healthy. Eat right, exercise, drink plenty of water, limit alcohol, blah, blah, blah. I’ve been there and done that. But, here’s the thing. YOU GOTTA DO THAT TO STAY HEALTHY. Period. End of story. 

Of course, there are rare exceptions like everything else. We all know that one thin person who eats bad food, drinks like a fish, smokes like a train, avoids exercise like the plague, and lives a long time. For some reason, the rest of us think we can do the same and stay away from the hospital and the morgue.

Well . . . think again. I ate bad food, drank a fair amount of alcohol, never smoked, and kinda exercised. The hospital knocked on my door when I was 46 years old and the morgue kept hanging around the entire summer just in case I didn’t make it.

On April 16, 2020, God gave me another shot to do the smart thing. Thanks to the American Heart Association and Life’s Essential 8, I now have a road map to protect the gift of life that came with my new heart. It hasn’t been easy. Watching what I eat and reading nutrition labels are second nature now. I try to think through the consequences of what I put into my mouth before every meal.

Do I do it perfectly every time? Nope. I still have a burger and a few ribs from time to time. I just don’t overdo it and get right back to staying the course. Family gatherings are still hardest for me. I tend to pick at chips and dip and other unhealthy snacks during those times. And I still have an almost insatiable sweet tooth. I can get like the Cookie Monster really fast if I don’t pay attention. I’ll write more about the evils of sugar in a later post.

I’ve learned that the trick to staying on track with a healthy diet is the same as any other effort needed for success and accomplishment. It requires passion, hard work, and discipline. In other words, you really have to want to be alive and healthy. For me, it’s simple. I want to be alive and healthy to spend an active retirement with Sandra once she hangs it up and to run around with grandkids if and when that happens.

Friends tell me that they’re not sure if they could give up so many things. I get it. I like to party. I like greasy Mexican food. I like jelly donuts from legendary Peter’s Bakery on the east side. As the Zach Brown Band tells it, “I like chicken fried and a cold beer on a Friday night.” But, I love Sandra and the girls more. 

It’s natural for parents to say that they would die for their kids. I’ve turned that saying on its head and decided to live for my kids. Following the diet recommendations in Life’s Essential 8 is a daily struggle for most of us. I don’t necessarily like it. As the great poet Maya Angelou said, “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” I can’t change what happened to me almost 14 years ago, so I’ve changed my views about what I choose to eat.

I encourage everyone to think about giving Life’s Essential 8 diet recommendations a try.  You can do it. Start slowly, little by little. Take care of your heart and give it the best shot at taking care of you. You deserve a long and healthy life and your family deserves that too. I’m living proof that anyone can enjoy life and eat a healthy diet. Don’t wait. Start today!

There’s Always Hope

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This is the third installment of ESEReport.com’s Second Chances blog series.

***

Rejoice in our sufferings, because suffering develops endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope. ~ Romans 5:3-4

***

On a sunny and crisp Thursday morning earlier this month, I sat outside sipping a cup of hot coffee at the Evergreen Coffee Company, a cool mom and pop coffee place near my house in San Jose’s Village Square neighborhood. A recent heart attack survivor and I were sharing war stories about open heart surgery, hospital life, and the emotional challenges of recovering from a major life disruption.

As the conversation turned to the heavy toll a chronic illness takes on mental health, he cut to the chase. “This thing is messing with my mind,” he blurted out. I wasn’t surprised by his frustration. It turns out that managing emotions has been the hardest part of my journey. Suffering a heart attack is life-changing. The more severe the attack and damage to the heart, the more your life changes. Confusion, fear, and anxiety set in before your mind can make any sense of what happened.

After sharing his frustration, he promptly asked, “How did you get through it?” I didn’t reply immediately. The short answer is that I haven’t gotten through it. It’s an ongoing process. I just take it day by day and follow the advice Winston Churchill offered to his country during the darkest days of World War II, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

When I finally responded, I thought of one word . . . hope. 

Of course, after a life-altering medical crisis, many ingredients are needed to develop stable mental health. A supportive family and an exceptional healthcare team are essential. Plenty of faith and a hearty helping of hope tie it all together. St. Paul the Apostle’s encouraging wisdom in Romans 5:3-4 keeps me going when the burden of living with chronic heart disease for nearly 15 years inevitably tries to exploit my anxious mind.

In his Letter to the Romans, St. Paul encouraged us to “rejoice in our sufferings.” I can understand how the thought of “rejoicing in suffering” sounds like a dumb strategy when facing impossible odds. That didn’t make sense to me when I first read it. But as I reflected on my battle with heart failure and subsequent faith journey, I realized that the 10-year road to a successful heart transplant was mapped out by Romans 5:3-4.

When I emerged from a medically induced coma caused by lung failure during the summer of 2010, my body degenerated and became weak. I had to re-learn how to sit, stand, walk, and swallow. Doctors told me that my muscles had “fallen asleep,” so I could regain strength with an intensive 8-week physical rehab program. When I was stable enough, they sent me to the Kaiser Foundation Rehabilitation Center in Vallejo, California (KFRC). 

The KFRC is a state-of-the-art facility. According to the 2023 U.S. News’ Best Hospitals study, the KFRC was selected as a Top 50 rehab program in the nation for the third consecutive year. Like great coaches, the physical and occupational therapists were relentlessly determined, yet empathetic. My competitive nature kicked in. My goal was to finish the program in less than eight weeks. I was pumped! I rejoiced in my suffering. I walked out of the KFRC with the aid of a walker three weeks later.

Even though I was walking again, congestive heart failure hadn’t taken a break. My heart was badly damaged, but I wasn’t a good candidate for a transplant for two major reasons:  (1) my heart was still functioning and (2) my lungs weren’t strong enough to withstand major surgery. I learned as much as possible about my condition to understand what needed to be done to give myself the best shot to get a transplant sometime in the future.

My cardiologist recommended that I eat a heart healthy diet, take meds, and exercise to keep my body healthy. It was going to be a long process with no guarantees. To be successful, I had to weather the storm of heart failure for an unknown amount of time. It could have been months. It could have been years. As my heart grew weaker, my lungs grew stronger. My suffering developed endurance. I lived with congestive heart failure for the next 10 years.

Getting through those 10 years was hard. It required lots of discipline. I had to take five pills, three times a day. Maintaining a low-fat, low-salt diet tested my will power on a daily basis, especially during summer barbecues and the holidays. Walking for just 30 minutes per day got harder as each year passed by. I’d always been able to stay disciplined when it was on my terms. When I made the rules. This time was different. My cardiologist made the rules.

Although this regimen was forced upon me, I gave up control and focused on it like a laser day after day, month after month, and year after year.  I stayed with it even as my heart became sicker. There were many days when the allure of unhealthy food, frustration about staying on a medication schedule, and extreme fatigue dared me to quit. I withstood the temptation. My endurance produced a strong character. My body was strong and ready for heart transplant surgery when I got “the call.”

Life comes at us fast. It could be a job loss, the end of a long relationship, or a sudden life-changing medical crisis. St. Paul the Apostle taught us that there’s always hope. Rejoice in our sufferings, because suffering develops endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.

As we sipped our coffee, I recommended to my new friend that he seek counseling. It was indispensable to my recovery. He mentioned earlier that he’s a man of faith, so I also shared my story of hope based on the wise words in Romans 5:3-4. I’m not sure if it was helpful to him, but reflecting on my journey and the blessings that have come from it energized me. 

I walked home from the Evergreen Coffee Company with a spring in my step, a grateful grin upon my face, and hope in my heart.