By Randy L. Thurman

January 4, 2021.

That’s the day a neurologist confirmed what I’d been suspecting: I had Parkinson’s disease. I was 62, running a wealth management firm and planning projects that would extend for years to come.

I thought I was pretty sharp and knew what mattered in life. I had spent four decades helping people plan for retirement, with the degrees, credentials, and experience. I understood portfolios, probability, and preparation for uncertainty.

Turns out, I had a lot to learn.

Parkinson’s became an unwelcome but honest teacher. These lessons aren’t mine alone—they’re for anyone walking this path, whether you’re five days into your diagnosis or five years, like me.

Lesson One: Transparency Builds Trust (Not Perfection)

I’ll never forget the first time I visibly trembled during a client meeting.

A year into my diagnosis, my hand started shaking as I reached for a document. I saw their eyes flick down to my hand, then quickly back up.

I had a choice. Pretend nothing was happening, or just tell them.

“I should probably mention,” I said, “that I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease last year. You might notice a tremor sometimes. It doesn’t affect my thinking—just my hand’s enthusiasm for staying still.”

They both relaxed. Visibly.

What I learned: People appreciate honesty far more than they need perfection.

For years, I’d assumed clients needed me to project competence through perfect control. Steady hands. Unwavering confidence. The image of someone who had it all together.

But here’s what actually builds trust: showing up as a real person dealing with genuine challenges while still doing excellent work.

Since that meeting, I’ve stopped hiding my symptoms. And you know what’s happened? Nothing bad. Relationships have deepened. Trust has grown.

If you’re newly diagnosed and terrified of people finding out, I understand. It’s your call. But hiding takes energy—energy you’ll need for more important things. The tremor is going to show up anyway. You might as well own it.

Lesson Two: Start Now, Not “When You’re Ready”

About two years in, I had a dream: an eight-court, covered outdoor pickleball facility for the Earlywine Park YMCA.

My first thought was: “Maybe I should wait. See how the disease progresses.”

Then I caught myself. Wait for what? For Parkinson’s to give me permission? For some mythical future moment when I’d feel “ready”?

So I started. The courts are now built and being enjoyed by the community. We’re even moving toward making them indoor.

I’ve also been writing—helping my son’s fiancée develop a book for breast cancer survivors (she’s a Certified Medical Micropigmentologist who specializes in 3D areola restoration). Writing content with my son for white belt Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu practitioners. Working on a companion to my book, The All-Weather Retirement Portfolio, and on occasion, articles for the Oklahoma Parkinson’s Alliance.

Most of this writing happens on a keyboard with shaking hands. Especially the outside fingers of my left hand. When you type, it’s those pesky “a” and “s” keys. And let me tell you, double striking those can be embarrassing. But the words are getting written.

That book you want to write. That trip you want to take. That conversation you’ve been postponing. That project you’re waiting to start “when things settle down.”

Parkinson’s is stealing your “someday.”

Whatever matters to you—do it now. Do it imperfectly if necessary. Do it with shaking hands if that’s what you’ve got. But do it.

Lesson Three: Let Others Carry What You Can’t

My son competes at the professional level in Jiu-Jitsu. He’s incredible—disciplined, skilled, relentless.

Parkinson’s has taught me that my role has changed. I used to think being a good father meant being strong and capable. The provider, the problem-solver.

Now? Some days I can barely hold a coffee cup steady.

But I’ve discovered something: Being present (really present) matters more than being capable.

My son doesn’t need me to be physically impressive. He needs me to show up. To watch him compete. To be proud of him and his effort. To be his father, even when my hands shake, and my balance is off.

Your role might be changing. Things you used to do—maybe you can’t do them the same way anymore.

But your presence still matters. You’re still the parent, the spouse, the friend, the colleague who shows up. That’s not nothing, and it might just be everything.

Lesson Four: You’re Building Something Bigger Than Your Body

Parkinson’s makes you acutely aware that your body is temporary. But what can you create? That can outlast your symptoms.

Those pickleball courts? Decades from now, people will still be playing on them. Learning the game. Building friendships.

The words I write with shaking hands might steady someone else who’s just received their diagnosis.

What you create doesn’t depend on your body cooperating forever. Your impact isn’t measured by your symptoms.

Build something. Write something. Teach something. Create something that matters. Your body might be changing, but what you build can last.

What I Know Now

Five years in, I’m still here. Still running my firm. Still building projects. Still learning.

My hands shake. My balance is worse. Some days are harder than others.

But I’m still useful. Still present. Still able to contribute.

And here’s what I didn’t expect: Parkinson’s has clarified what actually matters.

Before my diagnosis, I could fool myself into thinking I had unlimited time. I could postpone important conversations. Put off meaningful projects. Take for granted the people and opportunities in front of me.

I don’t do that anymore.

The gift hidden in this challenge is this: I don’t waste time anymore.

Every day I can work, write, build, or simply be present with people I love—that’s a win. Not in some inspirational-poster kind of way, but in a real, tangible, I-know-this-won’t-last-forever kind of way.

For anyone newly diagnosed: You’re going to adapt in ways you can’t imagine right now. You’ll find new ways to do things that matter. You’ll discover strengths you didn’t know you had. You’ll learn what truly matters and what you were wasting energy on.

Your mind, your purpose, your ability to love and be loved, your capacity to contribute in ways that matter—Parkinson’s doesn’t get those. Not unless you hand them over.

The Invitation

This disease will progress. Let’s be honest about that.

But here’s what else is true: We get to decide what that means.

To anyone reading this from a doctor’s office, still numb from hearing “Parkinson’s disease,” I want you to know something:

Five years from now, you’ll be amazed at what you’ve learned, what you’ve built, and who you’ve become.

Not because Parkinson’s will be easy. It won’t be.

But because you’ll refuse to let it have the final word about your life.

You’ll have challenging days. Days when the tremor won’t stop, when the fatigue is overwhelming, when you wonder if you can keep going.

But you’ll also have days when you realize you’re still here. Still contributing. Still creating meaning. Still loved and needed and capable of more than you thought.

The road ahead is uncertain—I can’t promise an easy path.

But I can promise you this: You’re not walking it alone.

And the lessons you learn along the way? Those might be exactly what someone else needs to hear five years from now.

So keep going. Keep building. Keep showing up.

Your story isn’t over.

It’s just entering a chapter you didn’t expect—and there’s more meaning ahead than you can see right now.

Five years in, I’m still learning.

And I’m grateful for every day I get to keep going.

—

Randy L. Thurman, CFP®, CPA/PFS, is the CEO of Retirement Investment Advisors, Inc., and has spent nearly four decades helping people plan for their retirement. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease on January 4, 2021. He continues to lead his firm, write, and build projects in his Oklahoma City community.