Breakdown or Breakthrough?

By Mark E. Smith

Is your life a train or a boat? It’s an important question because the answer makes a huge difference. A train takes you exactly where you wish to go – it’s on rails, it’s smooth, it’s steady, it’s totally predictable. A boat, on the other hand, heads out on a meandering course, where its voyage is uncertain – it can get off of its bearing, it can encounter rough water, it can be unpredictable. I’ll ask again, is your life a train or a boat?

Of course, it’s a trick question, as no one’s life is an ever-steady course on rails. At points in our lives – it happens to all of us! – we can feel genuinely dissatisfied with the direction of our lives, where all hasn’t headed where we wish. Maybe our dream job didn’t prove as rewarding as we thought, or hasn’t materialized at all. Maybe the all-fulfilling relationship that we wanted never panned out. Or, maybe our financial goals were never achieved. The list goes on and on, but it all leads to a universal truth: When our lives haven’t met our expectations, we find ourselves discontent and dissatisfied at best, and depressed and feeling hopeless at worst.

Yet, when we find ourselves at such discouraging crossroads in life, all is not lost. Rather, we have three distinct ways to address discouraging periods, and the tact that we chose makes the difference between merely surviving and truly thriving, between feeling adrift and being on course. Therefore, when we feel like our life’s not going in the directions we wish, what approaches can we take, and what are their typical results?

I’ve been fascinated with this subject since I was 17. It’s a time I’ve spoken a lot about, where my family was a mess; a girl whom I adored went as my date to the prom, then refused to dance with me based on my disability (how could I ever find a woman to love me if one wouldn’t even dance with me?); my grades in school were mediocre at best; and, I was still in the throes of learning to physically care for myself, where every day was physically draining. With everything around me seeming so bleak – that is, life not living up to my expectations – I fell into a deep depression that summer, just thinking, If this is life, is it really worth living?

It was a heavy question for a 17-year-old, just as it is for adults who struggle with questioning the direction of their life at any age. However, as I pondered the question for days, weeks, then months, I had a realization that ultimately changed my life, a simple question that popped into my head: What could I do about any of it?

Although I couldn’t have verbally articulated it so well at 17, I realized that I had three distinct solutions to my dissatisfaction with my life:

Firstly, I could do nothing. It was that simple – do nothing, stay unsatisfied, depressed, distraught, whatever, and nothing would change. How’s that for an easy out? Do nothing, and just keep feeling as bad as you’re feeling! The problem with this approach – or, lack thereof – is that we’re merely allowing ourselves to drift in the sea of life, where without our fight or struggle, the next wave has every ability to push us under. Complacency is emotionally the most risky way to live, usually escalating dissatisfaction with our lives in the long run to destructive levels.

The second choice I had was to lower my expectations. If we feel life isn’t meeting our expectations, we can always lower them, and rationalize ourselves into a more comfortable place (clinically tying into the dreaded D-word, “denial”). I could just accept that I was a loser destined to lose, and be OK with all of the dysfunction in my life, lucky to just be alive, as my mother often told me. We see people take this approach all of the time – that is, if life’s not meeting their expectations, they simply lower their expectations. I’m not finding reward in my career, but at least I have a job. My relationship isn’t totally fulfilling, but at least I found companionship on some level. And, this approach of addressing life’s dissatisfaction by lowering expectations – as in finding ways to justify accepting less than you truly wish! – actually works. After all, if we lower our expectations, even bad aspects of our lives seem justifiably acceptable at some point. He’s a good man when he’s not drinking (how many times have we heard that one, where we just want to scream, No, you’re married to an abusive alcoholic – cut the denial!). However, here’s the problem: When we lower our expectations, we not only accept less than we deserve, but we compromise our core values within ourselves, we give away parts of who we really are and who we’re capable of being. And, of course, this lesser sense of self is hard to live with, usually catching up with us, crushing our spirit.

But, then, I realized that I had a third option to address life not meeting my expectations: I could change my life by taking responsibility for it. If no one cared about me, I at least had to care about myself. It didn’t matter what my parents did or didn’t do. It didn’t matter whether a girl would ever accept me. It didn’t matter that I had cerebral palsy. The only aspect that mattered was that I took full control over whatever I could control, and if that only made my life 50% better in the immediate, that would be a huge improvement in my life.

A few months later, I was called into the Principal’s office the first quarter of my senior year. He explained that in going through the honor roll, he saw that I was on it for the first time in my high school years, that he was wondering how I went from Cs to As over one summer? I wasn’t sure how to articulate what to say, and was intimidated by the situation, preferring to keep my challenges to myself, and simply replied, “It’s a long story….”

I had the good fortune of figuring out the life lesson at 17 that if we don’t like the direction of our life, change it. But, it’s not rocket science, and successful people practice it every day, where if you’re dissatisfied with your life, don’t just keep going down that road, or lower your expectations and accept it – but actually pursue paths to improve it. Is it easy? No. Is it scary at times? Yes. Does it take time and dedication? Sure. But, does it work every time? Absolutely.

See, life is a convoluted synergy of factors that drive our lives, but we’re ultimately the ones behind the steering wheel. There’s a lot that we can’t change, especially our pasts. But, there’s a lot that we can change, and most of it is based on decisions that we make today. Don’t settle or lower your expectations based on dissatisfaction; rather, raise the bar in pursuit of a satisfying, purpose-filled life.

Playing With Itzhak

By Mark E. Smith

My entire life, I’ve been in awe of violinist, Itzhak Pearlman, never having known music without him. My late mother was a childhood prodigy violinist, including having been among the youngest members of the San Francisco Symphony. What made her story even more remarkable was that her father was in prison, and her mother was a heroin addict and prostitute. My mother told me how when she came home from school on days when her mom was shooting up, she’d go in her room and practice the violin for hours, making any pain from her home life float away with each note.

However, as these stories too often unfold, by the time my mother was 19, she was pregnant and living in Germany with my father who was stationed in the army there, right before he headed to fight in Viet Nam. And, through my mother’s subsequent personal demons like alcoholism, she never picked up a violin again.

Still, her entire life, my mother loved the violin, and even in her darkest days decades later, she could shut her eyes, dazed on the couch from a pint of vodka, and astoundingly recall every note of an all-Beethoven program, humming it as though, in her mind, she was 15 again, in a beautiful gown, sitting upright on stage, playing every note on her beloved violin. As I grew up, it was undeniable to me even at a young age that my mother’s destiny as a concert violinist was tragically derailed – partly by uncontrollable circumstance, partly from her own horrendous decisions.

Still, among the greatest gifts that my mother shared with me was violinist, Itzhak Pearlman. For my mother and me, Itzhak represented our two worlds combined – that is, the violin and disability. See, as most know, Itzhak isn’t just among the greatest violinists of our time, but a polio survivor, relying on leg braces, crutches, and a mobility scooter.

I remember being in my manual wheelchair – maybe I was six years old? – meeting Itzhak back stage after a concert, a meeting somehow arranged by my mother. He awkwardly walked up to me in his cage-like leg braces, stopping directly in front of me. He seemed not just larger-than-life in spirit, but in physicality – a giant of a man, as if his head touched the sky-high ceiling of the auditorium.

Itzhak looked down at me, smiling, grasping my chin with his hand. “Handsome boy,” he said with an accent.

Then, Itzhak placed his hand on my forehead, closed his eyes, and said something in a language that I didn’t recognize. Was it a prayer?

I’ll never know what Itzhak said to me that day in a langauge that I didn’t understand, and what’s even more puzzeling to me today was how my mother arranged the meeting – I never thought to ask about that extraordinary event prior to her death. Nonetheless, what I recall most about meeting Itzhak was that his presence was easily defined through my eyes as a child: Greatness. Maybe it was the connection to my mother, or maybe I was at an impressionable age, but no other person has struck me with the true sense of greatness that I recognized in Itzhak – he has charisma beyond what can be explained. And, when witnessed in-person, his spirit is all-consuming.

With Itzhak being an astounding violinist and presence, his celebrity has made him iconic, worthy of his own urban legend. And, while the urban legend is, of course, completely untrue, it’s a worthy tale retold, no less – one that hits home a great life tenet:

On November 8, 1995, an entire audience got to witness Itzhak’s divine spirit first-hand. Like any other concert, Itzhak came onto stage with his crutches, took his seat, put his violin to his chin, and began playing. But, after the first few bars – strokes of his bow – a string broke on his 1714 Soil Stradivarius violin, the pop ricocheting through Lincoln Center’s Fisher Hall. In such a circumstance, a violinist must grab another violin or re-string the instrument, as such complex compositions can’t be played on three strings – or so anyone thought.

However, rather than stopping, Itzhak continued playing – the whole symphony – never missing a note. He re-modulated and recomposed each piece in real-time, in his head, redefining the arcs of his bow to eliminate the need of the fourth string. The mesmerized crowd leaped to ovation at the end.

But, Itzhak, in his humbleness, calmed the audience, and simply noted, “You know, sometimes it’s an artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

Did Itzhak really play an entire symphony concert on three strings? No – again, it’s an urban legend. Yet, there’s absolute truth in the fact that it should be all of our tasks to find out how much we can accomplish with what we have left at any point in life. Maybe we face disability, an ended relationship, a job loss, or a tough business climate – the list goes on and on. During such circumstances, our only question should be, how much can we accomplish with what we have left? The answer, as we can each demonstrate in our daily lives, is: we can accomplish more than most can imagine.

The Elegance of Ties

By Mark E. Smith

The sight of a hospital bed in a living room is as emotionally troubling to me today as when I first saw such a scene many years ago – it jolts me to the core. I mean, I’m as animated and as enthusiastic as ever when I enter one’s home, but it’s impossible to see the hospital bed in the living room and not be emotionally impacted by how unjustly out of place it is. The normality that surrounds the hospital bed often makes it even tougher to bear – couches, a flat-screen TV, children playing, maybe a tail-wagging dog – a home in every sense. But, then, in the middle of the living room is a hospital bed, an unavoidable symbol of all of the emotional, mental, and physical pain that’s been endured, is being endured, and will be endured. And, it’s all touchable – heart-wrenching touchable – right there in the middle of the living room, a hospital bed.

I awoke that Sunday morning with one thing on my mind: I needed to add a black skinny tie to my wardrobe. While I have to dress business casual at work, and wear suits for public occasions, I’ve taken to a refined, retro look in my personal life. Certain ensembles simply never go out of style. And, trousers, a crisp white button-up shirt, and a black skinny tie take masculinity to an all-time classic note. As long as you’ve got a thin build and a tailored fit to your garments, you just can’t go wrong with the look – it’s timeless elegance on the town. But, I didn’t own a black skinny tie, and wanted one for the coming week’s dinner out. So, I didn’t know if I should I go to the mall or shop online – where could I find a 2” -wide black skinny tie on a Sunday morning?

But, then my colleague sent me a text message, saying that he was running a little behind schedule. We had to deliver and fit a new wheelchair around noon that Sunday, and I suspected that it might be an emotionally tough situation. Maybe that was my fixation on the black skinny tie that morning, to keep my mind off of our appointment later that day.

The back story that I knew for our appointment was of a car wreck where the best friend died, and the twenty-something young man was paralyzed. No matter how professional you are, you’re still a person, and to deliver a wheelchair under such circumstances can be harrowing, no matter how many times you’ve done it. Yes, you’re helping someone with the gift of mobility, but you’re also seeing our humanity in its most vulnerable state – and it’s impossible not to feel helpless, as well, wishing you could do more than merely provide a wheelchair.

When we arrived at the young man’s house, it wasn’t fully-accessible yet, so my colleague and the young man’s father had to help get my own power wheelchair up a step. And, then, as I entered the house, there was the hospital bed – in the front room.

As I rolled past the hospital bed, I encountered the young man using the wheelchair given to him right out of in-patient rehab. I introduced myself, shook his hand, and was struck by his eyes, the clarity in them. I met the mother and father, and all seemed pleased to see my colleague and me. In such situations, a new wheelchair can be seen as both a blessing and a curse by families. On the one hand, a new, custom wheelchair makes life easier and more comfortable because it’s usually a big leap in technology from what’s given to those right out of rehab. Yet, on the other hand, a permanent wheelchair can reflect just that – permanency – so it’s typically an occasion of rightfully mixed emotions.

Nevertheless, the family was glad to see us, and enthusiastic about the new wheelchair, and after it was properly fitted and all of the workings were explained, we just kind of sat in an informal circle in their small family room and talked.

As I learned, prior to the accident, the young man had left college and was working at a restaurant. But, just a few months after the accident, right out of rehab, he was already involved with Vocational Rehabilitation, working on getting enrolled back in college. And, as we talked, it was as if he had a check list titled, “Exactly the Right Moves to Make,” and was nailing every item.

Yet, while every individual, family, and situation is different, I have witnessed that it’s common for family members to initially have far more of an emotional realization than the injured individual, namely because the injured individual is in all-out survival mode, whereas the family is absorbing it in an emotional and mental way. And, with this particular family, I perceived that while the son was learning to live with the physicality of his paralysis, the parents hinted at struggling with the emotions of it all – you could just see it in the tiredness of their eyes.

As we sat talking, the mother in a wing-back chair beside me, I shared with them that they were on a journey, one that was shared, yet would be experienced by each individual in different ways, at different times. And, in this process, over months and years, they’ll have good days and bad, that no mountain ascent is a steady pace, that like a magician pulling countless scarves from a hat, just when they think they’re out of inner-strength, they’ll find more – we all do.

And, then everyone just cried. But, in the air wasn’t despair; rather, for a moment, it was as if someone opened all of the windows, allowing a cleansing breeze to flow in, and there was relief – just tears of relief.

Indeed, so early in recovery, the family is taking it day-by-day, and while the long-term prognosis looks good, they do have a long way to go in the process of healing – physically, emotionally, and mentally. However, with the young man having such clear eyes and a supportive family, there’s no doubt that one day he’ll awake in his own bedroom on a Sunday morning, where the only thought in his mind will be as trivial as, “Where can I buy a black skinny tie?”

No Farther Than Ourselves

By Mark E. Smith

There were many reasons why Kurt Cobain of the band, Nirvana, killed himself on April 5, 1994. Suicide, you see, is often a very complex process, rarely attributed to a sole cause, but most often a culmination of unbearable emotions. However, as fellow musician, Henry Rollins, put it, much of Cobain’s issues leading to his suicide could be traced to “the brutality of the public” – that is, the challenges of being in the public eye, where strangers can be astoundingly cruel, where Cobain, himself, discussed being too sensitive to endure criticism by the public, robbing him of his sense of identity.

When I started WheelchairJunkie.com 15 years ago, two aspects surprised me. Firstly, I was surprised by its success. After all, I created the site simply as a small place for my fellow wheelchair users and me to connect. However, its readership didn’t just grow rapidly in the beginning, but has continued growing ever since, where I’ve been forever amazed that such a personal project could reach so many – and I’ve been blessed that others have allowed me the privilege of being part of such a terrific community for much of my adult life.

Secondly, following the launch of the site, I was surprised by, as Rollins put it, “the brutality of the public,” which grew proportionately as the site’s popularity grew. I don’t recall exactly when my readership grew large enough to tip into the realm of my being somehow recognizable enough to become a target of “the brutality of the public,” but at some point relatively early on, a complete stranger emailed me in hatred of who he thought I was or represented. Now, in my 15th year of running the site, based on the vast readership, not a day passes where I don’t awake to an email or message board post where a total stranger – sometimes several – wants to argue with me, condemn me, or literally wish me dead.

However, rather than being distraught over strangers wishing me ill over my public persona – although my public persona isn’t a persona at all – I’ve been intrigued by the phenomenon as it’s occurred for well over a decade in my life. What’s intriguing is the question of why anyone in the public would hate me to the point of wishing my death, or at the very least stating, “I disagree with Mark on almost everything….” If we look objectively at my “public profile,” it’s about as mundane and noncontroversial as it gets. Read my weekly web and print articles and essays, read my message board posts, follow my Twitter and Facebook, and you’ll see that there’s no controversy (most of it is so feel-good or sincerely striving to be helpful that it borders on boring). Still, you’ll see comments directed at me that are antagonistic at best, shockingly graphic in wishing me dead at worst. But, why?

In a parallel, strangers hating me reminds me of what I know about Jennifer Aniston. Year after year, Jennifer Aniston receives among the most death threats of any celebrity. What has Jennifer Aniston ever publicly done that could possibly upset anyone? So, I suppose that if someone as noncontroversial as Jennifer Aniston is among the most hated celebrities, I, as a guy simply striving to help others in a similar situation to mine as one with a disability, shouldn’t be exempt from unexplainable hate from strangers, as well – after all, there’s no rationale to the brutality of the public, strangers merely inappropriately projecting their angst upon us. If you have a large enough audience, regardless of who you are or what you do, the brutality of the public emerges.

Nevertheless, when it comes to enduring the brutality of the public, I have a tool on my side – and you may, too – that most others in the public eye don’t have: Disability experience. See, if you’ve lived with disability for many years or a lifetime like I have, you likely know how brutal the public can be. From time to time, strangers will make assumptions about us based solely on our disabilities, projecting stereotypes and stigmas upon us that are completely irrational. It can be offensive and distressing. Yet, when it occurs, if we’re rational and self-accepting, we’re not offended by someone treating us arbitrarily different based on disability, but we instead recognize that a stranger’s ignorance toward disability is of no ultimate consequence as long as we know who we are. Therefore, there’s a fascinating overlap between disability experience and public experience, where void of rational explanation, strangers make completely inappropriate projections upon us – and it’s our job to not be offended by it, but to just recognize that it goes with the territory of public exposure.

Yet, there’s an even larger picture to all of this, life truths that apply to everyone. If we’re going to find ultimate fulfillment in life, we must be so resolute in our core values – in following our hearts of hearts, our passions of passions – that we’re simply not swayed by outside forces. Praise shouldn’t matter. Criticism shouldn’t matter. Peer acceptance, the support of our families, money, fame, a risk of failure – none of it should matter. If we are to be ourselves to the most true, sincere levels, we can’t be swayed by others – all we can be is who we are, where the brutality of the public is voided by our own unwavering integrity.

Unfortunately, as Kurt Cobain ultimately failed to realize, true singers sing solely for the sake of one’s own soul, not for the praise or criticism of an audience. For, when it comes to seeking acceptance, we should look no farther than ourselves.

What the Weights Teach

By Mark E. Smith

If you’re going to be somebody, you can’t be just anybody. To be an individual is the art of introspection. You must only be yourself, from within, outward – entirely.

I first began working out with weights in middle school. My school didn’t have an adaptive physical education class, so I was sent across the street to the high school, to its adaptive P.E. class every day for an hour. However, its adaptive P.E. class wasn’t for those with disabilities, but injured jocks. So, there I was, a scrawny, spastic kid with cerebral palsy who used a power wheelchair, in a class with a bunch of football players and wrestlers. And, as kind as everyone was, I never felt so out of place.

Mr. Thompson, a 50-something wrestling coach who stood no more than 5’5”, with bulging biceps and a barrel chest, was our teacher. And, he made no exceptions for me in his class based on my disability – that is, regardless of my cerebral palsy, I was to work as hard as everyone else. To me, that meant I was sure to fail. After all, how could I ever compete in the weight room with able-bodied jocks who were three times my size and years older? But, as Mr. Thompson explained to me, he thought differently. My effort wasn’t based on who everyone else was or what they were capable of doing; rather, my effort was to be based solely on who I was and what I was doing. See, whether I bicep-curled three pounds or thirty pounds didn’t matter to Mr. Thompson. He just wanted me pushing my limits as an individual – entirely.

But, it all mattered to me. I wanted to compete with the big boys in the weight room, to live to their standards. So, unbeknownst to Mr. Thompson, I got a dumbbell set and started working out in my bedroom every evening. And, I was quickly humbled – humiliated, really – realizing that when it came to weights, I was a world away from everyone else. I had eight-pound dumbbells that took all of my strength and coordination to manipulate, and as the days, weeks, and school year passed, I never came anywhere near the weight-lifting prowess of the high school guys – I would clearly never be in the same league as the jocks, forever a weakling compared to them.

However, as that school year ended, I didn’t give up on lifting weights. Instead, I dedicated more time to it during the summer, realizing what Mr. Thompson knew all along: I wasn’t competing against anyone; rather, I was competing against myself to live up to my individual potential, whatever that may be.

I kept working out well into my twenties, truly living up to my own physical potentials, when I then let graduate school, career, and having a family all get in the way of my obligation to pursue my physical best, ceasing working out. What I now know is that the only way we fail at working out is to quit working out – and I failed miserably, tossing away over a decade of discipline because I got distracted by the externalities of life, neglecting my core self.

Nevertheless, by my late thirties, realizing a hole in my life – realizing that if quitting working out meant failure years prior, then starting again meant success – I got back into working out, making not a New Year’s resolution, but a life resolution. I vowed that I wasn’t going to get in shape for any reason except to live up to the potential that Mr. Thompson first taught me decades earlier, that I was ready to not just start anew, but to start anew within myself, where accomplishment wasn’t based on vanity – how strong I was, or how big I was – but simply effort.

Upon restarting working out, I initially felt like I was in middle school again, where the weights that I could handle were low and the progress slow, but I knew that it wasn’t an overnight process, that I had to be prepared for years of grueling work. I committed myself to the lifestyle by putting in an accessible home gym that originally far exceeded my fitness level, knowing that it wouldn’t go to waste, that I was going to work my way up the weights, not over weeks or months, but over years, where I would eventually reach the upper numbers on my gym equipment.

I’ve stayed true to my life resolution – read that, I’ve stayed true to my core self – where hitting the gym didn’t become a passing resolution, but a lasting lifestyle. I both work my schedule around training, as well as work my training around my schedule, and I’ve maintained working out as a life priority for several years now – and it’s become my center, a sort of meditative time, even. What I’ve learned is, if you’re truly dedicated to working out as a life quest – not for vanity or a New Year’s resolution, but for personal growth and introspection – you realize how humbling and grounding it is, where it’s about acknowledging your weaknesses not demonstrating your strengths. Weights don’t lie, and they don’t let you lie to them – and if you try to cheat them, they always win, showing you as a fool. However, if you stick with working out – honestly, introspectively, for years, driven not by living to anyone’s standards, but to simply live up to your own potential – weights truly show you who you are, instilling an unyielding work ethic, teaching goal-achieving patience, building life-inspiring perseverance, and shaping character-based humility. Most importantly, lifting weights teaches you that strength literally comes from knowing weakness and enduring pain – and you can’t maximize the first without embracing the latter. If we wish to grow, we must be prepared to reach deep, where mental, emotional, and physical pain aren’t avoided, but welcomed – in the gym and, more importantly, in life.

I don’t know where any of the jocks from that high school class are today, now in their mid-forties, or whether they have beer bellies or washboard abs. However, as Mr. Thompson taught me, I don’t care where they are today or what shape they’re in. What matters to me is that I know where I’m at: In my gym, door shut, alone, pumping out reps, acknowledging my weaknesses and enduring the pain needed to live up to my sole potentials – entirely.

See, what the weights continue teaching me is not to waste our time trying to be like everybody else, but to truly live up to our own fullest potentials, whatever they may be. And, it’s only in such introspective pursuits that we shift from being anybody to truly being somebody, all within ourselves.

Alien on a Leash

By Mark E. Smith

The dog sits on the stainless-steel examination table.

“Maybe we should muzzle her, so no one gets bit,” the veterinary assistant says.

“She’s deaf, it won’t help,” the vet says.

And, I’m astounded that veterinary medical professionals are acting as if my 22 lb., 4-year-old French Bulldog is a viscous alien – just because she’s deaf.

“She’s totally normal,” my sister chimes in.”You can examine her like a normal dog.”

“I don’t know?” the veterinary assistant says to the vet. “Maybe I can hold her for the exam?”

And, Lola, my little white fluff-ball with a black ring around her eye like the dog from Our Gang, just sits there, looking at the vet staff like they’re all insane. And, she’s right – these medical professionals are acting like idiots, as if they’ve never seen a dog before, as if a deaf dog completely throws out every rule of veterinary medicine, as if my sister and I entered the clinic with an unknown creature on a purple dog leash. It’s a freakin’ dog who hasn’t been eating normally and has been vomiting – this isn’t a paleontological mystery!, I want to scream.

“Just examine her – she’s a normal dog,” I say.

Of course, Lola is a normal dog physically, but being deaf-from-birth, she has developed extraordinary skills. As cliché as it sounds, she runs circles around my English Bulldog when it comes to using her senses (which might not be that impressive since all my English Bulldog wants to do is sleep on the couch or bark at the clothes drier). Lola is astoundingly visual, reading facial expressions, if not lips. We speak commands to her, and as long as she’s looking at us, she responds. And, she has an uncanny sense for vibrations. She knows before the rest of us that a car has pulled in the driveway, and when she’s sleeping on the floor and my wheelchair or footsteps pass by, she awakes. In fact, if you didn’t know Lola was deaf, you’d never have a clue – she’s just an alert, happy, hyper little dog buzzing around the house.

But, the vet knows that Lola is deaf, and it clearly freaks out her and her staff. Lola looks and acts like any other dog at the vet clinic, but the fact that it lists her as deaf on her medical chart changes everything, making her “disability” more perception than reality.

Finally, the vet examines her and notes, “It’s tough to tell what’s really going on because she’s deaf.”

If she wasn’t deaf, would you ask her a litany of questions, expecting a verbal response from her? I wanted to say but refrained. Really, because a dog is deaf, it’s tough to tell why it’s vomiting? What kind of asinine correlation is that? Clearly, a Critical Thinking course isn’t part of the curriculum for veterinary medicine.

With my sister and I advocating for Lola, she’s finally X-rayed, gladly finding no internal blockages – no rubber balls or cotton socks in her digestive tract – and she’s ultimately diagnosed as having a stomach virus, prescribed a diet of boiled hamburger and rice. In short, the dog’s vomiting got it prescribed a personal chef – ingenious!

And, as I pay the $258.14 bill at the check-out counter, with Lola standing beside me, her panting, pug-nosed face pointing toward the door, wanting to go home, I’m again reminded of how shockingly ignorant the medical field can be toward those of us with disabilities – dogs or humans, no matter.

Tennis, Anyone?

By Mark E. Smith

Indeed, the winter holidays are among the most romantic times of the year, lovers snuggled by the fireplace, exchanging precious, heartfelt gifts, a season that will carry their love for decades to come.

Unless, of course, you’re single, curled up in a fetal position on the couch, sobbing to Titanic, wearing a stained T-shirt and sweat pants, longing for that special someone who you know is never going to come along – your dreams slowly sinking like a ship into the abyss that is your life.

While such perspectives surrounding romance around the holidays are exaggerated – for the better and the worst – it can be tough for singles, where parties and celebrations abound with couples, where it can feel isolating to not have someone to kiss when the ball drops on New Year’s Eve. However, the holidays really don’t exemplify single-hood, but merely call attention to it in distinctly seasonal ways.

My single friends have been asking me how I’m handling the holidays as a single guy, a question that I think they ask in hopes that I’ll answer, terribly, as misery loves company. But, instead, I’ve been surprising them with my answer: “I’m still perfecting my individual tennis game,” I say. “I’ve got great coaches, I’m in better shape all of the time, and my serve is getting blistering fast.”

My friends look at me like I’m insane. But, what they are slow to catch onto is that a romantic partnership at its highest level – soul mates – has a lot in common with tennis. See, a successful doubles tennis team isn’t made up of two inexperienced, below-average tennis players who pair together. Rather, a successful double tennis team is comprised of two remarkable individual players, and when two such distinct individuals are paired, they surely form a winning team. Put simply, a team doesn’t create winning players; rather, winning players create a winning team – and it’s my obligation to evolve in the present toward creating the healthiest personal foundations possible for me to be in a life-inspiring relationship in the future.

But, too many people skip the “singles” step. You might say, rather than becoming an excellent individual tennis player, then partnering with someone of the same high skills, they think that simply partnering with anyone will make a winning team. And, it never works – not in tennis, and certainly not in love. As individuals, we must have established our own healthy identities in order for a partnership to work in the long term. I know, we like to think that “love conquers all” and “opposites attract,” but this rarely proves true over time. Instead, mutual respect and common understanding – where core values align, and we inspire each other, not overshadow each other – is where genuine compatibility occurs.

In real world practice, working on ourselves when single – or even when in a relationship! – is the surest way to lasting love, to truly connecting with a soul mate. If I strive to be the best individual that I can be – focused on evolving my emotional health, my skills as a parent, my career, my roles as friend, my place in the community, my spirituality – it sets me up to not just be a better person, but to be a great partner, a soul mate. Again, professional tennis players aren’t looking to partner with amateurs, so if we want to find true success in partnerships, we must first develop ourselves.

Interestingly, few people take this approach to finding love – that is, evolving as an individual before entering a serious relationship. I see it all the time with friends who aren’t focused on their own characters, but who just want “love” – a desperation as haphazard as grabbing a stranger’s hand and running onto the court at Wimbledon, and thinking that the fact that they’re “partnered” means success. Yet, it never does. Sure, they’ll fumble around for a while trying to make it work, but eventually they fail – and just like watching two people who can’t play tennis struggle and fail, it’s equally as obvious when watching two people “in love” struggle and fail. Sure, you can meet someone in a bar or other superficial means and try to make it work, but the odds of finding your true soul mate under such shallow pretense – such a lack of life-inspiring connection – is about as likely as finding a literal professional doubles tennis partner at your local honky-tonk joint.

So, here’s the real question: How do we grow in ways when single that will not only improve our lives and strengthen our characters, but attract those truly suitable to date, ideally finding not just love, but a soul mate?

The answer is, we live the life we wish, ideally to the highest standard. If we live the life we wish, we’re more than half-way on the road to finding a true soul mate. If we’re living to the standards we wish, that’s who we’re going to attract – and, even if we never meet that someone special, we’re more importantly living a truly fulfilling life. I love attending my daughter’s drama events; I love boating; I love traveling; I love Broadway shows; I love reading and writing; and I love charity events. Rather than sit home pining about how I wish I had someone with whom to share all of these interests, I’m out pursuing these interests by myself – and thereby increasing my odds of meeting someone with my same interests because we’re at the same places enjoying the same activities. If you want to meet someone who plays tennis, go to a tennis court! But, again, even if I never meet my soul mate – though, trusting that I might is an important part of the process – I’m still living a content, rewarding life. Living life to the fullest as an individual is the goal, and if love is found with another in the process, then it’s a double blessing.

In these ways, the single life fosters remarkable potential for us in both the present and future. It’s the chance to better ourselves through personal growth, allowing every opportunity to pursue the life we’ve dreamed, where we’re not hinging our ultimate self-fulfillment on a “relationship,” but on living life to the fullest of our individual capacities. And, what’s fascinating is that focusing on ourselves as individuals actually makes us better future partners, placing us in the amazing position to not fall into a relationship that we’ve “settled for,” but to actually discover the one that we’re “meant for.” See, when we’re emotionally healthy and embracing all that life has to offer, love doesn’t stop when we’re single – it begins.

Sometimes Wheelchairs Should Just Be

By Mark E. Smith

It’s a beautiful fall, Saturday morning in Midtown Manhattan, among the few times of the year when the city slows down on tourism, after the summer and before the holidays. Theatre tickets and restaurant reservations are easy to come by, and the winter weather has yet to set in. And, my daughter and I are glad to be here, our weekend getaway.

In fact, I’m hustling to write this because wheelchairs aren’t of much concern to me this morning. I’m thankful that my power wheelchair liberates my life and will escort me around the city with ease today, as it has liberated my life every day for the past 34 years, starting when I began using one around the age of six. But, there are a million other interests on my mind this morning – namely enjoying a day in the Theatre District with my daughter. Indeed, wheelchairs are blessings – and the liberation they bring is astounding – but my use of a wheelchair certainly can’t steal the spotlight from being in Manhattan with my daughter this day – nor can my wheelchair distract me from the countless other joys in my life on a day-to-day basis.

Working in the mobility industry and delving deep in disability culture as a writer and advocate – and merely as a guy who uses a wheelchair – it always disheartens me when I see people so hyper-focused on their wheelchairs as an object that it takes a destructive toll on their lives, removing them from the many potentials around them – a mindset not based in disability, but more so based in traumatic emotions.

Interestingly, a few weeks ago at Medtrade – the mobility industry’s trade show – a salesperson asked me a fascinating question that ultimately ties into where wheelchairs, when over-emphasized, destructively fit in the lives of some: “We’re in this convention center full of fantastic technology and truly caring people, and yet some consumers who we serve seem to despise every product and all of us,” she noted. “Why is that?”

“They don’t truly hate the products or us,” I replied. “Rather, they dread what we and everything in this convention hall represents – their frustration toward disability overall.”

Unlike my realization that my wheelchair is but a liberating tool to pursue the entirety of life, for some, the fact is, disability-related products like wheelchairs aren’t about technology, but psychology, where they transcend mechanical parts and become manifestations of negative emotions. After all, there’s little tangible about disability – you can’t literally see or touch genes, cells, or nerves in everyday life – but a wheelchair is unmistakably touchable, there’s gravity to it. And, many resent the reality that a material object like a wheelchair seemingly represents: Disability.

We sometimes see a denial of disability directly linked to the literal denial of using a wheelchair. Parents of children with disabilities will sometimes put off getting their children wheelchairs past the age of when they’re ready, opting to keep them in “mainstream” strollers till the age of four or five, and sometimes even longer. For these parents, a wheelchair is so representative of disability that they can’t bring themselves to physically place their children in wheelchairs because they’re not ready to fully accept that their children have disabilities. We rationally know that a child is no more or less physically disabled whether seated in a stroller or a wheelchair (and most children could, arguably, gain greater independence by using a wheelchair instead of a stroller); yet, in the minds of some parents, the tangible nature of seeing their child in a wheelchair declares disability once-and-for-all – a declaration that they don’t wish to face.

Similarly, some adults with progressive disabilities will avoid mobility products as a way to psychologically avoid fully acknowledging disability. Despite a lower quality of life due to a lack of mobility or a risk of falls, some adults simply refuse to use a wheelchair, thinking that it defines disability, rather than realizing that their actual medical conditions define disability (and, again, the fact that they overlook is that a wheelchair would make them more mobile, not more disabled).

Then, seemingly to the contrary, but of the same troubling emotions, there are those who hyper focus on their wheelchairs, dwelling on every little nuance, day in, day out, where it consumes their thoughts. Using a wheelchair is so emotionally wrenching that their feelings are transposed onto the wheelchair – and they’re not letting any of it go. Their wheelchairs become the central focal points of their existence, where a sense of loss of control over their bodies becomes a compulsion to control their wheelchairs. Their whole lives revolve around thinking about their wheelchairs, where room for other interests and interactions diminish.

Of course, some take an unhealthy over-personalization of using a wheelchair and project it onto others. If a therapist recommends a wheelchair for a child, parents can sometimes see the therapist as an enemy. How dare you try to make my child more disabled! And, there are adults who will tell you that everyone in the mobility industry is evil. Again, it’s reflective of some taking all of their emotions surrounding disability, and projecting them upon anyone or anything associated with a wheelchair. In their eyes – subconsciously or otherwise – a wheelchair is disability, and anyone associated with it is the enemy. And, some individuals simply can’t get past such self-destructive thinking surrounding disability – that is, they need a scapegoat, and the wheelchair is there.

Unfortunately, none of these outlooks are healthy, and all are trauma-based behaviors – that is, from denial to obsessive compulsions, these are unhealthy reactions toward disability. A wheelchair should physically liberate us, but not emotionally restrict us. A wheelchair may relate to disability, but it shouldn’t represent disability. And, a wheelchair may enhance our lives, but it shouldn’t consume our lives. It’s such negative projections upon a wheelchair – which is merely an inanimate object – that can dramatically debilitate the lives of some, whether avoiding a wheelchair or obsessing over its every nuance.

The fact is, a wheelchair is ultimately a small part in the grand scheme of a healthy life. Yes, it’s a vital tool that we can’t live without, and let us feel blessed by its liberating roles. But, when a wheelchair is at its best, it’s not in the forefront of our lives, but in the background – the vehicle that gets us to the far more meaningful aspects of life like education, employment, family, friends, and community service.

Let your wheelchair quietly be in the shadows while the entirety of your life shines in the spotlight. Sometimes we all have to remind ourselves that a wheelchair is just a wheelchair, and living our lives unencumbered by it – physically, emotionally, and mentally – is where true liberation is found.

Step Back From That Ledge, My Friend

By Mark E. Smith

In 1995, I opened a book preface with the line, “There’s no challenge more or less significant than another; merely different.” And, in the many years since, that line has remained with me, with my understanding that empathy and compassion are two of the most sincere traits that we can possess. See, what I’ve learned through my own challenges and struggles is that while no two people or struggles are the same, challenges and struggles effect most individuals at some point in life – often at several points in life – and although the origins of challenges and struggles vary greatly, their impact is universal, requiring all of us in moments of desperation to find an inner-strength to step back from the ledges we find ourselves on. And, when we’ve stood on the ledges of life – on the verge of slipping off, falling off, jumping off – we know how tough it is for others in those situations, where we naturally reach out to them in their moments of harrowing need. Through our own vying, we recognize first-hand that no one should have to climb the mountains of life alone, but that everyone deserves a patient guide to support them along the way, to reassuringly say, Step back from that ledge, my friend – you’ll get through this.

When you live successfully with disability – and, dare I say, honestly, where you don’t portray life as perfect, but as simply survivable, regardless of challenge or struggle – it is inevitably clear to others that you’ve been to the ledge and back, gaining wisdom along to way. After all, if one is struggling, one can relate with someone who’s obviously struggled, too – and there’s a sort of reassurance in seeing that another has somehow made it through the tougher times in life, mountains climbed, scars earned, wisdom gained, and ledges safely passed.

When you put these perspectives together – those who are facing life’s challenges and struggles, with those who have struggled and survived – an amazing bond can occur, where it’s two people communicating and sharing on the most genuine levels, climbing the mountains of life together. And, such shared emotional ascents are among life’s most magical interpersonal experiences, the best of friendships.

The fact is, many are too often alone in facing their challenges and struggles – and it is scary, isolating, and debilitating. What’s even worse is when one discusses one’s challenges and struggles with someone who hasn’t “been there,” and ends up being judged, lectured, and ridiculed – harmful feedback that can only make one feel more defeated, pushing one farther out on the ledge. But, when there’s a true mutual understanding between two people – I’ve been through the ringer of life, and know what it’s like, so let me be here for you now in your time of need – real support and solutions occur. We share, we listen, and we build trust – that is, we create the foundations of truly the most meaningful, supportive, healing relationships in our lifetimes.

And, when we’re in need, with such an empathetic, compassionate friend in our midst, the outcomes are life-changing: We can exhale our true feelings, we can open ourselves up in a safe place, we can explore our emotions, we can express true wishes, and we can just be – yes, at last, just be. When it all comes together, it’s not just a friendship that’s life-sustaining, but can actually be life-saving – conversations that allow us to restart living.

Providing such genuine support to another should be a given by any of us who have faced challenges and struggles, knowing how others could – or did – make a difference when we were standing on the ledge, about to slip off, to fall off, to jump off. However, both friends must realize that these times are intensely interpersonal. And, when such friendships are in true effect, there’s a mutual exchange of gratitude, where both individuals truly embrace each other, hands stretched out to each other, clinging. Of course, one of the individuals may obviously be in far more emotional need in the moment than the other – standing on the ledge looking down – but this doesn’t preclude a demonstrated deep appreciation and mutual respect for the supporting member, as well. If someone’s truly there for us – when one extends one’s hand at those moments in life and says, Step back from that ledge, my friend – that’s such an amazing gesture, and let us be faithful enough to directly acknowledge the remarkable value in that type of genuine friendship.

As those who have faced life’s challenges and struggles, we know how tough they can be to overcome, especially alone. Yet, when we overcome them, we have an evolved empathy and compassion for others of such kindred spirits. Let us be there for others – without judgment, as unconditionally as possible. And, if we’re fortunate enough to have someone who’s there for us unconditionally – offering an open hand, drawing us back when we’re standing on a ledge – let us cherish that friendship and reciprocate. See, the goal in the best friendships is to not just top the mountains of life, but to top the mountains of life together, hand-in-hand.

Wino on a Bench

By Mark E. Smith

I know better than to answer a question with a question because it’s a sure sign of guilt to those trained on how to spot a liar. But, I couldn’t stop myself from replying to the cop, “Do I look like I’ve been drinking?” – namely because I really wanted to know if I looked like I’d been drinking?

This predicament started with the Brightree party at Medtrade, the semi-annual trade show for home medical equipment. Friends of mine were going to the big Brightree software company bash, and I’d gotten to know Dave Cormack, Brightree’s CEO, a bit, so I was on the party list. And, I rolled into the party with a splash – the only person using a wheelchair – and I immediately landed on the dance floor with Dave and countless lovely women, dancing the night away to a live band.

By 10:00pm or so, I’d had my fun for the night, and headed back to my hotel via the then-empty streets of downtown Atlanta. Now, Atlanta’s downtown is pretty safe, but sketchy characters pop-up from time to time, so I was on guard – full speed ahead – racing back to my hotel, alone in my power wheelchair. And, I was well on my way, no cars or creeps, when I made it to the main intersection crossing that separates downtown from Centennial Park, me from my hotel.

As I reached the intersection, cruising on the sidewalk with the direction of traffic, I caught the green light, and crossed the street, high-tailing it up, into the park, which allows through-traffic. But, there was no traffic; just me, racing up the dark sidewalk. And, then the flashing lights hit me, followed by an amplified voice on a loud speaker: “Stop where you are!”

You have to be freakin’ kidding me, I thought. I’m being pulled over, on the sidewalk, in my power chair, by a cop? Really?

So, I stopped, and the cop stopped beside me at the curb, and got out of his car – lights still flashing.

“Do you know why I’m stopping you?” he asked, walking up to me.

“No,” I replied, turning my wheelchair toward him.

“You illegally crossed that intersection,” he said, eyeing me up and down.

“No,” I said. “I crossed in the crosswalk, on a green light, with the direction of traffic.”

“But, the pedestrian sign was red,” he said.

“I didn’t see a pedestrian sign, but I clearly followed the light,” I replied.

“Where are you coming from?” he asked, pulling out his note pad.

“The Tabernacle,” I replied. “I’m in town for a sort of wheelchair trade show, and one of the companies had a party tonight.”

He wrote something on his pad, then asked, “Have you been drinking?”

“Do I look like I’ve been drinking?” I asked.

Surely, I now realize that it was the worst possible answer that I could have given the cop. But, it was my sincere thought in the moment, where I really wanted to know if I looked like I’d been drinking? Was my tie crooked? Had I weaved while driving my power wheelchair up the sidewalk? And, with my cerebral palsy, how could the cop, a stranger, know if I’d been drinking, anyway? My speech is always slurred, and I always look… well… drunk. I mean, sure, my wheelchair gives me away as disabled, but take away the wheelchair and set me on a park bench, and my posture, movements, and speech instantly appear every bit of a wino. Drunk? Cerebral palsy? Who’s to know? How could the cop know?

Then, in an instant, my instinctive curiosity turned to rational thought, and the devil on my shoulder said, You basically just told the cop you’re drunk – idiot!

But, I wasn’t drunk, and lucky for me, the cop actually laughed at my reply. Close one – dodged. I crossed on a green light, I rode on the sidewalk, and I wasn’t drunk. Winning!

“Where are you heading?” he asked.

“The Embassy Suites,” I replied. “My hotel.”

“Well, from now on, make sure that you follow the pedestrian signs,” he said.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

The cop walked back to his car, I headed toward my hotel, and he slowly followed me with his lights on for a block – presumably still looking for signs if I had cerebral palsy or was a wino.