“It always seems impossible until it’s done.” ―Nelson Mandela

Some people take this week off from writing Wednesday Weblogs, but not this guy. I am continually grateful for your readership and comments. Thanks, keep those digital cards and letters coming in.

One of the reasons there is no week off for me is that I believe the hardest part of the pandemic is maintaining purposeful efforts. It is so-o-o easy to get discouraged. It is so-o-o easy to be frustrated. It is so-o-o easy to say screw it.

Purpose helps us hop over those barriers in our mind, in my experience. When we have purpose, even if it is as simple as sending our a Wednesday Weblog, it helps strengthen our frame of mind, even for an hour, and that is good.

One of the best ways to have purposeful effort, probably second to taking care of those close to you, is volunteering or supporting a non-profit. You might have guessed that non-profits have been hit almost as hard as restaurants, and since I've spent the bulk of my professional career in one or the other, I have a pretty good understanding of how hard the punch has been.

This week, even if you have take out from a restaurant, consider leaving someone a huge tip, a purposeful effort, or donating to a non-profit that really needs help.

When you do, believe it or not, you will be helping YOUR frame of mind, as well as others. It is guaranteed if you do act this way, it will be appreciated, because the days of being ungrateful, even for the smallest gesture, have passed.

It just is. For most people, it is either in their blood or it isn't. Growing up in Boston when Bobby Orr's Big Bad Bruins went on a tear, it was hard not to be engaged. With the professional hockey season about to start, I am reminded about the time I honked my horn uncontrollably on an interstate almost ten years ago.

But first, a story.

Because after all, telling stories is what I do. My family shared season tickets in the old Garden with my uncles and once in a while, I was invited along. Before I was of drinking age, when the PA Announcer said "One Minute to Play in the Period. One Minute" it was my job to run down the stairs, through the portal in Section 41, go up to the wall where the rail to put your beer was located, and stand there with my arms spread wide to save the wall space for my dad and his brothers when they grabbed their between periods beers. Both periods.

I was expected to perform the same function with one addition: I had to buy the beers and line them up. Both periods.

Between watching games and playing on the pond or in high school, hockey was in my blood. So when the Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup in 2011, the sport's equivalent of the Super Bowl, after almost 30 years of frustration, it was a roller coaster for those with hockey in their blood. The Bruins faced elimination and almost impossible odds late in a game against the Toronto Maple Leafs. 'Leafs', not 'Leaves'. Look it up. Must be a Canadian thing?

It was the seventh game of an early playoff round, in a best of seven series. A ‘win or go home’ game. If the Bruins lost, their season would be over. Toronto led the Bruins 4-1 with just over ten minutes left in the game. Overcoming a three goal deficit in a hockey game meets the legal definition of ‘huge,’ and ten minutes can go by very fast in a hockey game.

Even the most die-hard Bruins fans were starting to lose hope. I wasn’t at the game, but some fans probably were in the parking garage trying to beat the traffic.  I wasn’t there, and wasn't watching on TV because I was working an event that night. Yes, it killed me to miss it. After the event, I was driving on Interstate 290, listening to the game on the radio. 

What happened next was one of those ‘I always remember where I was’ moments, and I did: like I told you, I was on I-290. In the next ten minutes, the Bruins reeled off three straight goals, two with the goalie intentionally pulled from their net to give them an extra attacker. It was 4-2, then 4-3, then 4-4.

It seemed like I was honking the horn, screaming and pounding the steering wheel for ten miles. The game went into overtime and Patrice Bergeron scored at the 6:05 mark to cap a miraculous 5-4 recovery, It was a series win for a Bruins team that seemed to be on life support, but a team that, in less than a month, would win the Stanley Cup in Vancouver. "They had us on the ropes," said a relieved Boston coach Claude Julien. "We're not going to sit here and lie." 

It’s never over until it’s over. There is no record of who is winning after the seventh inning, or at half-time or ten minutes left in a game. I'm sure you could look it up, but it isn't an official record.

Just as there is no record of that, there is no record of who's behind or who's dropped the ball, or who has messed up, on your project, or team or goal, or effort until the final results are in.

One of my favorite poems of all time is entitled "Don't Quit" by Forrest Whitaker. If you know it, it is one of your favorites too, and if you don't, print this page and cut it out. You'll be surprised at the number of times seeing it helps you.

Especially in the seventh inning or at halftime or with ten minutes left with your attempt to succeed.

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