By Mark E. Smith
One of my favorite quotes is, “The true measure of a person’s true character is the effort that he or she puts forth when no one is looking.”
I often chuckle to myself when people note that they know how busy I am…. In fact, very little of what I do is ever publicly seen or known by even those close to me. No, I’m not bragging that I’m even busier than I appear, but despite what’s seen by others, much of my work is accomplished very quietly, in my solitary offices at work and home, helping individuals directly, behind the scenes. After all, when someone needs our assistance, we shouldn’t call out the trumpets, broadcast on the Internet that we’re helping someone, then run to our bosses for praise. Rather, when someone needs our assistance, we should quietly, immediately help them, understanding that our only reward is in the difference that we hopefully make in that one individual’s life. Whether anyone knows of our efforts is meaningless, and our only concern should be, Did I do everything that I could to help that person, and did I live up to my fullest potential in my servitude to others? The objective, then, isn’t to “look busy” to your boss or others, but to accomplish true achievements.
Much of my work ethic of giving my all when no one’s looking truly stems from my own disability experience. Much like you may have experienced in your own life with disability or other challenges, the foremost hardships of my living with cerebral palsy haven’t been the obvious ones that most people publicly see – that I can’t walk, that I have muscle spasms, and so on – but my far more intimate everyday struggles that no one ever sees, as with my simply struggling to open a beverage in my kitchen at night, or fighting to put on my shoes each morning.
However, what I’ve learned from my own life is that addressing such private struggles – when no one is watching – is where true tenacity and dedication are formed. Put simply, how we react to our disabilities when no one is looking is our true character, our authentic self – and a fundamental toward success in all of life.
I’ve known far too many individuals with disabilities who bask in the limelight, glad to portray a heroic persona in public, thriving off of recognition as “overcomers.” Yet, behind closed doors, their lives are a mess, privately filled with bitterness, defeat, depression, and addictions. Their heads are held high when others are watching, but all crashes when they’re alone. In ways, disability experience is a lot like celebrity, where what’s publicly seen isn’t always what’s privately lived.
Yet, if one’s going to truly succeed with disability, what’s privately lived must be paramount to all other views. Again, our true character is proven when no one is looking. It’s easy to accept disability when someone is telling you that you’re an inspiration. Yet, it’s a far more honest reality – dare I say, brutal reality – when it’s just you, in your kitchen, struggling with all your might for twenty minutes to open a beverage. How do you feel in those circumstances? Are you heroic for yourself, or do you become quickly discouraged and defeated, crumbling into a ball of self-pity?
If you’re playing your disability A-game, you should feel more energized and inspired when facing private struggles than if you were on television with millions of people applauding you for your inspiration. See, when you have the tenacity and dedication to tackle a personal challenge with all of your might when no one’s applauding – because you only want the self-satisfaction of giving life your all – that’s the character that true heroes and champions possess.
In fact, one might compare being a champion at disability like being at champion at sports. Millions of teenagers every year dream of becoming a sports champion and hero. However, the mere handful who have achieved such status over the decades all shared the same trait of having practiced their game on a lonely court or empty field long after everyone else went home, year after year. Basketball Hall of Fame player, Larry Bird’s, ritual as a teenager was shooting 500 baskets before school each morning; then, he shot baskets in-between classes; and, then he shot baskets late into the night. What’s more, Larry’s home life during that time was a disaster, living in poverty, his father an alcoholic who committed suicide. But, when it came to basketball, Larry didn’t need a screaming crowd, encouraging parents, or a sunny day; all he needed was a basketball, a hoop, and his tenacity and dedication. Lots of Larry’s peers had talent on the basketball court, but none had Larry’s dedication when no one was looking – and that solitary dedication ultimately took him all the way to the Hall of Fame.
Succeeding with disability is no different. The public can commend you, your family can encourage you, but if your strength doesn’t come from within, where you’re willing to work to exhaustion emotionally, mentally, and physically to better yourself when no one’s looking, day after day, your success will be limited. You need to out-shoot Larry Bird by practicing morning, noon, and night in your own life to succeed with disability.
I’m not embarrassed to tell you that among my own foremost solitary challenges is the commode. See, I have a very hard time transferring from my wheelchair to the commode, then back again. It’s been a lifelong challenge, one that I’ve battled alone since I was a teenager. Truly, among my foremost goals everyday is a seemingly simple but profound one: to “beat the commode,” successfully transferring on and off of it. And, let’s face it, when one of your foremost challenges is to simply perform a commode transfer, that’s living with true authenticity, a challenge where most reckon you’re better off tackling it alone!
These days, fortunately, I win more than I lose, but that transfer remains harrowing, and gets the best of me from time to time, tossing me onto the floor like an unworthy opponent, leaving me to climb back into my wheelchair in defeat, bumped and bruised. In my mind, though, that transfer is among my greatest ongoing inspirations, reminding me to never be intimidated, to never give up, to apply even more tenacity when times get tough. And, I tell myself, Dude, if you can accomplish that transfer, everything else in life is a piece of cake.
The mobility industry, public speaking, and writing are all challenging and rewarding for me; however, when it’s just me addressing my disability-related challenges alone, that’s where life really demands that I prove myself with authenticity. Indeed, it’s that sense of solitary accomplishment that we get from tackling very personal challenges when no one is looking that builds our true confidence. And, when you strive to tackle them, without any fanfare or overt reward, when no one knows of your vying and victories but you, that’s what builds true character, that’s what forms a true hero, that’s living with authenticity. An old boxing saying goes, champions are made outside of the ring.
When it comes to living with disability, be that champion outside of the ring, be that kid shooting hoops alone in the rain, be the one never defeated by the everyday challenges of disability but motivated by them. Forget about everyone else – you don’t need their recognition to be your best! – and truly live your tenacity, dedication, and authenticity every day, not just surviving with disability but to truly thriving. That is, never stop showing your disability the character that you’re made of, especially when no one’s looking.