Week of July 10 Update
I am sitting on a porch in Cabbagetown, looking at aerial silks in the backyard. The smells of Jenchan’s and the chatter at Milltown Tavern carry over the fence. The breeze and tree shade are a welcome part of this staycation. From here, I have been contemplating the lessons learned from the now two full months of living with my bike traumas. In addition to the graces of luck and kindness I recounted last week, the previous two months taught me humanity lessons. Life, of course, is a constant exercise in growth, change, and learning. To cruise more effectively on the journey, here are some roadcuts I picked up from this wheelchaired portion of my trip.
Think twice, be nice! Consider the impact of a comment on its recipient.
Words are like the bows of an arrow. Once they have been shot, they cannot be retracted. I have relearned this lesson multiple times from making accidentally thoughtless comments. As I had never had a big accident before, I never considered how to approach another person who lived through something similar. From this, I have learned that the comment “it could be worse” is one of the worst things you can say. I had no idea before; now, I know it very well.
The sheer number of people who have told me that my situation “could be worse” is remarkable. There are a total of zero times that that specific comment has made me feel better. On the other hand, there were several vulnerable times when it was real mental torture. I am not really sure why people say, “it could be worse.” I am happy never to have another reminder about my mortality from a stranger. This immediate instance does not improve after reeling into a mental experiment of how this could have been worse.
Knowing of my many missteps helps soften my heart for those who have never sat in this position. Of course, I am firmly grateful to be alive. Still, remembering the hunger in Africa will not change my appetite here in America. The reminder that I could be paralyzed or dead does not make this situation easier to carry. Avoid putting your metaphorical foot in your mouth by considering the impact of your comment.
2. Imagine the impossible. We can adapt
On Thursday this week, my right hand was released from brace prison. As I regain a full range of motion with my wrist, I have noticed how much I have learned to do with my left hand. On Wednesday, I used chopsticks with my left hand to pick up a slippery fish egg at a Japanese izakaya. I can tie knots and my hair now with my non-dominant hand. My left hand has also improved in throwing precision. I can now count on tossed trash to land in the right place.
We are so infinitely adaptable. The left hand is just the start. I love challenging my own ideas of boundaries. Transitions from my wheelchair to another surface can be unnerving. For example, going from a steady chair to a rocking hammock requires faith. I found ways to use my elbows, knees, and momentum to pick up where I needed help.
We have to keep doing that which excites and moves our spirit. Part of this is that our minds create solutions when we are with our backs against the wall. In a recent internet rabbit hole, I learned that people with permanent disabilities have dancing socials. Learning this inspired me. We do not know when our music will end, so we must make ways to adapt and dance.
We rise to the vision we see. We can be as ambidextrous, fluid, or flowy as we can imagine. Do not accept anyone’s limitations as your given.
3. Ask less, watch more. Use context clues
In Japan, I noticed that many people worked together for years with many layers of privacy. It is uncommon to ask about someone’s personal life. Thus, some teachers I worked with were an enigma. Co-workers do not share private information like marital status, kids in the household, or economic situation. That circle of privacy can be nice. Context clues are used to pick up details. I sometimes appreciate the capacity to operate on only a `need-to-know basis.`
When a friend was helping me pack for an overnight visit, they asked why I only needed one of my shoes and not the pair. I graciously answered. But his comment set off an inner dialogue. I created silly memes in my head about why you only want one shoe. Then, I would insert a photo of my built-in foot boot.
Learn to hold a question in your mind before emitting it. Be inquisitive, yet inquire after some of your due diligence. Or perhaps, ask yourself: “What is it to you, eh?”
4. Say YES. Drop the doubts
My experiences with death and mortality were first transformed at age 24. My father died in August 2008, and then my maternal grandmother, the only grandparent I knew, passed on Valentine’s Day, 2009. I dealt with the loss of my two closest family members in the span of six months. I will forever remember how precious our lives are. That time of my life reinforced my idea about saying an enthusiastic YES to the world.
Thanks to those many “It could have been worse” comments, I have recently wondered what if I had really died? Post-accident, it is natural to think about your mortality. Beyond that, though, the more pressing question has become:
What OTHER experiences do you want from the world? I have lived most of my life with the spirit of saying “Yes!” to novelty. Still, I see the onus is on me to choose adventure and exploration in the balance between patience and opportunity. I am happy to push even more boundaries and eager to explore without regret.
As I climb down the set of stairs to the backyard for a bit of aerial physical therapy, I have this country song in my head. In Live Like You Are Dying, Tim McGraw sings about going after those scary experiences. I hope to build into my recovery a space for more expansion in my heart. I look forward to trying things that are beyond my own self-imposed limitations. When I die, I hope there is an enormous parade and party to celebrate my life. I wish to be remembered for living with vigor. After some jazz numbers, I hope someone plays Frank Sinatra’s My Way.
