Living with disability – Page 9

The Walmart Effect

By Mark E. Smith

According to a new survey by Yahoo Travel, 31% of travelers think New York City is the unfriendliest city in the world.

As I read the articles on this, I was initially puzzled by how anyone could declare New York City the least friendly city in the world? After all, in recent years, I’ve spent a remarkable amount of time there, not so much as a tourist, but as one who’s immersed myself in the neighborhood culture, where Brooklyn, in particular, has become a sort of weekend getaway.

Now, if NYC was the least friendly city in the world, you’d think that I – as a power chair user, with severe cerebral palsy, with all of the social stigmas around it – should be invisible, if not shunned, in NYC, especially in local neighborhoods where people tend to know each other. Yet, to the contrary. From Brooklyn to the Upper East Side, it’s tough passing someone on the sidewalk who doesn’t say hello; people treating me so kindly, from opening doors to pulling out access ramps at local restaurants; and, people talk to me without reservation, as if they know me.

So, how is it possible that as a man with a severe disability, I find NYC among the friendliest places on Earth, while 31% of travelers find it the unfriendliest city in the world?

The answer is, those 31% are the most miserable people on Earth! If there’s one truth I know, it’s that the world is a mirror, and what we project is what we get back. New York City isn’t unfriendly; rather, 31% of travelers are. If you move through NYC with a scowl and a miserable attitude, people are going to scowl and give you a miserable attitude back. However, if you smile and treat everyone with gratitude and graciousness, they open up in the same way. It doesn’t matter what city or situation you’re in – your own behavior and persona dictates how others react to you.

I call all of this the Walmart Effect. I grocery shop at Walmart because I’m a no-nonsense kind-of-guy – I want all that I need in one store. What I’ve observed over the years is that every stereotype you’ve heard about Walmart is true – it’s a lower socio-economic demographic, where everyone from the customers to the cashiers can be from rude to crude. Yet, my experience doesn’t fit that stereotype at all.

I took my sister with me shopping at Walmart one eve, and half-way through, she stopped in an aisle and asked, “How come everyone is so nice to you here? I get treated like crap.”

Again, there’s no secret. I simply present myself in a welcoming way, where the world’s a reflection of my behavior. I smile, I acknowledge people, I excuse myself when moving among crowds. Graciousness goes a long way, and even at Walmart, if you smile and make eye contact, people smile and greet you back. People are good and kind, and when you treat them as such, they react equally.

Recently, I flew alone to Nashville, and I needed to get my airline seat upgraded because coach seats don’t suit my unconventional posture well. As a waited in line, the gentleman in front of me was screaming at the agent, leaving furious. I don’t know why he was so angry – a 31% club member, obviously! – but his behavior was totally inappropriate. I rolled up to the counter and explained that while I didn’t know the gentleman or his situation, his behavior was unacceptable and I offered my apologies for him to the agent. It was just a natural reaction for me, but she seemed genuinely touched that I acknowledged her not just as an airline agent, but as a person. What touched me was that when I explained that a bulkhead seat makes flying easier on me, she punched some buttons on her computer and said, “Mr. Smith, I’m putting you in the first row of First Class, where I’m sure you’ll be the most comfortable.” Indeed, kindness begets kindness.

The world is a mirror, reflecting what we project. If we want to live in a world that’s full of friendly, gracious, kind people, it begins with a smile on our own face, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness toward others. If we simply present ourselves with genuine positivity toward others, not only does New York City become the friendliest place on Earth, but so does everywhere we go.

Redefining Tragedy

By Mark E. Smith

My daughter had a scholarship interview on “the challenges she’s faced.” When she asked for my advice, I suggested describing the challenges, but mainly emphasizing how she’s overcome them, what we all can learn from them. After all, a tragic story is just… well… tragic. However, when we turn tragedy into triumph, that becomes an inspiring lesson for all.

It’s really the way life, too, works, isn’t it? For example, we know that dysfunction is generational, and when we see someone – hopefully not ourselves – repeating the cycle of generational dysfunction, it’s just tragic. Imagine a Ted Talk where the thesis was, “My parents were abusive alcoholics and now so am I….” The jaw-dropped audience would leave saddened and stunned. However, if the thesis was, “My parents were abusive alcoholics and here’s how I broke the cycle,” then there’s a riveting story all can learn and grow from.

I believe all of us have the ability to not rewrite our stories, but to finish them in ways that redirect them from the tragic to the triumphant, creating a phenomenally successful narrative – read that, life. The first chapters may be already written, but we can direct new ones, dramatically changing the story at any time.

See, tragedy is rarely a finite end, but almost always a remarkable opportunity for new beginnings, redirection. Yet, it’s rarely obvious. It takes a lot of awareness, introspection, and hard work to redirect our lives from tragedy to triumph. But, when we do, it’s the most important move we ever make, where tragedy stops, and healing and success begin.

Reflection, as I shared with my daughter, is key in this process – it’s where the learning curve is. If we’re unable to reflect on the tragedies in our lives, not only can’t we gain from them, but we’re at extreme risk of continuing living them. Any time that tragedy affects us, we ultimately need to find a space of reflection and introspection to stop the suffering and start the healing, the redirecting from the negative to the positive, the end of chapters and the starting of new ones.

It can be tough to do, I know. And, it’s heartbreaking when we see anyone – from loved ones to strangers – stuck in the wake of tragedy, sometimes a whole lifetime marred by its lingering effects. There are so many situations where it’s impossible to obtain clarity of thought in the situation, where reflection or introspection can’t occur because the scars are seemingly too deep or one’s capacities seem too limited. …Or, can it?

We often hear of people “hitting rock bottom.” I did this years ago in a marriage. The common misconception is that we hit rock bottom when we’ve lost everything, our lives in shambles. However, that’s rarely the case. I define “hitting rock bottom” as a point of uncanny clarity in the wake of tragedy, the point where we can reflect so honestly upon our past and present situations that we say, “Enough! I’m learning and growing out of this situation to live a healthier and more fulfilling life.” What’s wonderful is that we don’t have to be in shambles to do this – at any point, in any aspect of our lives, we can reflect upon that which isn’t working, that which has harmed us, learn from it, and move to new levels of success.

In these ways, tragedy doesn’t have to define us, it doesn’t have to be a life-long scar or pattern, but can be a catalyst for growth and change toward living the life of our dreams. As I shared with my daughter, the ultimate triumph over tragedy isn’t the inspiring messages we convey with others, but the liberation it brings to our own lives.

A Power Chair, a Warehouse, and Me

By Mark E. Smith

How fortunate are we when life hands us an unyielding passion? And, sometimes life-sustaining passions stem from the most unlikely of sources. In fact, they almost always do.

At the age of five or so, with severe cerebral palsy, I was blessed to have an occupational therapist place me in a power chair, and I went from a world of confinement to one of liberation at the touch of a button. And, I haven’t let off of the joystick since.

Thirty nine years later, I remain not just passionate about power chairs, but obsessed. I know the empowerment they bring, and I live it. My career revolves around power chairs; my personal life revolves around power chairs; and my friends revolve around power chairs.

But, my power chairs aside, here’s what’s amazing about having such a passion: no one can take it away from you because it’s your intrinsic life force. Lot’s of people like what they do. However, a passion is what you love to do, what you’re compelled to do – it’s who you are – and nothing can change that.

So, at 44, after 39 years of using a power chair – despite all of my life’s accomplishments – there’s still that one, ultimate thrill for me: when I have an awesome new power chair, as was the case this past week, where I immediately become that five-year-old again (a secret warehouse as my personal race track), where I feel an awe-inspiring sense of liberation and empowerment that wipes away all of the complexities of life – and I’m just living my passion to the core.

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Pursuing Purpose

By Mark E. Smith

After talking with my vice president of human resources about the pros and cons of joining the enormous career social network site, LinkedIn, I built my profile, an online resume of sorts. In a mere two weeks, I accumulated over 450 “connections” with people I know from my career.

However, I’ve noticed an aspect missing from LinkedIn, the same aspect missed by most employers and employees in the hiring and career process. While LinkedIn is great at demonstrating what we do and what we’ve done, it’s not a vehicle that conveys why we do what we do – that is, it doesn’t convey the purpose in our lives.

Now, this isn’t a fault of LinkedIn, but a cultural one, where most career paths are more about literal job roles and salary than an individual’s purpose. And, that is a shame because when we don’t feel we’re living to our purpose – as in, I really want to be a photographer but I work in sales because it pays the bills – we lose a part of ourselves, including passion, in the processes. Yes, all of us need to make a living, but when we don’t feel purpose in our lives, it pulls us down, a sense of longing that we carry.

I’ve been very blessed to have career for which I feel purpose. My company manufactures mobility products, and the difference our products make in the lives of those we serve is profound – they allow individuals with severe disabilities to pursue education, career, family and community. On a daily basis I encounter harrowing stories of injury, illness and injustice, and to contribute solutions to individuals’ situations – as one with a severe disability, myself – it fills my life with purpose and passion.

In fact, I see so much purpose in what I do that I’m inspired to constantly spread that passion in my leadership roles. Every Monday at 4:30, I meet with our company’s new employees of all levels and talk about the purpose in what we do. “All of us need to make a living,” I say. “But, at our company, we’re also able to make a difference – that’s a remarkable opportunity in any career.”

Monthly, I also speak alongside our CEO at what we call our birthday lunch, where employees with birthdays in that month gather for a celebration and a company update. I speak to the vital role each employee serves, regardless of position, toward empowering our customers. After all, what’s more powerful than being reminded how you’ve positively impacted the lives of others – that’s purpose.

What’s intriguing to me, however, is when I read anonymous employee reviews online. I see disgruntled comments by our employees – as a large company, we get those – yet, even within the most disgruntled reviews, there’s almost always a positive mention of helping others. No, I don’t want anyone hating one’s boss or feeling underpaid, but the fact that one acknowledges seeing purpose in one’s job is a powerful sentiment.

At the other end of the spectrum, I also spend my days speaking with those who are unemployed. My peers with disabilities have a 75% unemployment rate based on remaining social barriers toward employment. Nevertheless, when I speak with my peers about their employment goals, it’s never about money or status. Rather, when I speak with my peers about their employment goals, they touch upon simply wishing to make a difference – that is, they want to live with a certain purpose.

Now, although purpose and career are a meaningful match – who doesn’t want to feel purpose in his or her work, right? – purpose extends much farther. I mean, the definition of purpose in our lives is that we feel that we have impact. For some, this may mean parenthood, while for others, it’s creating art or volunteering, and on and on. Purpose is what gives internal meaning to our lives. And, when we don’t feel purpose, we can feel a void and longing. So, how do we move beyond that void, into purpose?

A lot of times, it takes courage. My friend and colleague, Bryan, a triple amputee wounded Iraq veteran, shared with me that he felt so much purpose when on the road speaking, acting and volunteering. But, when he was home in Chicago, he felt a certain void, alone in his condo. However, he realized that much of the roles he loved serving – his purpose – were based in Los Angeles. So, Bryan took a leap of faith, packed up, and moved to L.A. His life and career have never been better, where he’s now able to constantly pursue his passions, right down to appearing in the current blockbuster movie, American Sniper.

As we think about our purpose in life, the question is, what do we feel truly fulfilled doing? Then, we must have the courage to live to that purpose. For me, I believed 14 years ago that my purpose was in serving my peers with mobility needs, so I moved across the country to join a small team to start a division of a parent company that subsequently grew into an industry-leading company in its own right. For Charles Bukowski, he worked at the Los Angeles post office as a filling clerk while going home at night to follow his purpose, poetry, going on to be a 20th-Century great, publishing thousands of poems and over 60 books. All of our purposes are different, but the way we achieve them is the same: in our hearts, we all know what ours is – we just need the courage to live it.

When We’re De-Elevated

Ny Mark E. Smith

It happened in an instant. In fact, as one who doesn’t experience anxiety and is pretty calm in virtually any situation, I began to panic. There’s a horrifyingly surreal quality to suddenly becoming invisible.

My family and I went to see the famed Rockefeller Christmas tree, and it was more crowded than anywhere I’ve ever been. However, because my power wheelchair has an elevating seat that places me at 5’7” tall, I worked my way through the crowd slowly but surely, eye-to-eye with those moving about, where people smiled at me, gingerly moving aside as needed for my 24”-wide power wheelchair to pass.

As we got closer to the tree, the crowd became so dense that I couldn’t see the ground, merely following the heads in front of me. Then, suddenly, my power wheelchair dropped down a medium-height curb leading to the tree. Although the unexpected curb startled me, all was fine and we continued to the tree, shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd, finishing with a classic family photo of the tree behind us.

We worked our way back through the crowd, and I watched carefully for the curb, knowing that while I couldn’t climb it while elevated, I could lower my seat to standard wheelchair height and safely drive up it. As I reached the curb, the crowd continued flowing around me – that is, until I lowered my seat. Suddenly, at typical wheelchair height, my world changed. It was literally darker, more confined and, most shocking to me, I became invisible. While the crowd was moments earlier around me at standing height, now people were slamming into me, falling on me, oblivious to the fact that I was “down there.” I’d gone from a person in the crowd to suddenly invisible and of no stature simply by lowering my seat.

I yelled to my fiancee for some sort of help and in a panic, I charged the curb, clipping people along the way. For me, in among the rarest moments I’ve experienced, it felt like it was life or death – I was both fighting and fleeing.

Once up the curb, I quickly elevated my seat, and as people immediately began safely flowing back around me, I took a deep breath, composed myself, and realized a universal truth: Being invisible to society is terrifying.

For me, that was an experience I’ve culturally known in other ways as a man with a disability. Beyond the change in physical stature I described with my elevating seat, I’ve more readily been de-elevated in social stature at times. However, the de-elevation of who we are – where we become invisible in an instant based on ignorance, stereotyping and discrimination – is a disturbingly universal one.

Imagine how it feels as an African-American trying to hail a cab in a big city, and empty cabs pass you by. Imagine being gay at a dinner party where rhetoric arises, condemning homosexuality. Imagine being a woman shopping for a car, and the salesman only speaks to your husband. Imagine walking into a clothing store as one of a plus size, and the sales people ignore you. Imagine being in bed with your spouse, and he or she turns his or her back to you as you’re trying to communicate. Or, imagine being homeless on a Los Angeles sidewalk, and no one even looks at you as they pass. So many of us can relate with being de-elevated to invisible.

Yes, I was fortunate amidst the crowd at Rockefeller Center that eve because, at the touch of a button, I elevated back to being seen. However, life for many – including me as one with a disability – often isn’t so easily resolved. When we’re dismissed by others and made to feel invisible, there is no button to push. Rather, the experience of being made invisible based not on our character, but based on the ignorance, stereotyping and discrimination of others… well… just hurts.

Barbershop

By Mark E. Smith

No, I wasn’t surprised, but it hasn’t happened to me in so long. Over my 44 years, I’ve seen so much progress toward social acceptance of all, that I simply don’t encounter such situations often anymore.

However, while society at large has changed – where diversity on all levels continues becoming the norm to the point that even using the word is becoming less relevant – some individuals don’t change. And, where I see this lack of change the most is as a generation gap.

So, when the 70-ish woman at the salon refused to cut my hair this past week due to my wheelchair and cerebral palsy, I wasn’t surprised. After all, she was raised in a time when those with disabilities were “cripples,” African-Americans were “negros,” and being openly gay didn’t exist. Yes, we hope that most evolve with the times, but we also know that limited life experiences can keep us from growing, it can keep prejudices ingrained in us. And, for this woman, I understood that disability – not me as an individual – was too much for her to process. In fact, I felt for her because she was beyond flustered while I was fine with the situation. I just wanted a haircut, not to judge her beliefs.

Of course, the salon manager, Andy, jumped in, cutting my hair – because that’s how we accept each other in society today, open, embracing, with grace and dignity, no matter who you are.

I left the salon with a haircut and a reminder that the beauty of practicing acceptance sometimes means likewise embracing those who don’t accept us at all.

Pitch 15

By Mark E. Smith

Kevin Jorgeson and Tommy Caldwell recently became the first rock climbers to “free climb” Yosemite’s mammoth 3,000-foot granite face, El Capitan. For the climbing community and public, what made the climb a record was the fact that the duo didn’t use any climbing aids – just bare hands griping crevices and climbing shoes pressed on the rock face.

However, the free climb wasn’t what impressed me. Rather, it was a story within the successful climb.

See, on day 8, on Pitch 15, one of the toughest stages, Caldwell zipped right up it. But, Jorgeson failed. In fact, he failed over a dozen more times, adding 7 days to the climb. Imagine the scene. Caldwell perched slightly above the pitch, watching his partner fail over and over, day after day. And, Jorgeson consistently failing to the point where he should have thrown in the towel. It looked to both men and the world watching that it was an impossible feat for Jorgeson.

Yet, despite exhaustion and escalating self doubt, Jorgeson finally conquered Pitch 15 after 7 days of trying. When asked what pulled him through, he replied, “Resolve. I didn’t see any other outcome but to make it….”

We all encounter Pitch 15s in our own lives, those times when we don’t think we can go on, those times where success seems impossible, adversity too looming. I’ve been there regarding living with disability many times. And, what I’ve learned, much like Jorgeson, is this: we can either concede and quit, or we can muster resolve and determination, where ultimate failure isn’t an option. We know the outcome of conceding and quitting – dreams dashed, an important part of our potential never realized. Yet, when we persevere through the seeming impossible, the results are astounding – we succeed.

Jorgeson’s dilemma on Pitch 15 was a unique one in physicality. After all, he’s among the first to free climb El Capitan. However, emotionally and mentally, his plight was universal – keep trying, against all odds, until you make it. Maybe you’re currently struggling in a college class or with sobriety or in a relationship or in your career. Again, you can always just quit tackling any adversity at any time – and if it’s obviously tough, no one will fault you.

Yet, here’s the universal truth when you have the courage not to quit: if you’re brave enough to tackle adversity, you’re brave enough to overcome it and succeed.

From Cerebral Palsy to Quaaludes

By Mark E. Smith

Matt Fraser isn’t afraid to be nude. He also isn’t afraid to appear on stage at venues ranging from off-Broadway plays to movies to television shows, including this season’s smash hit, American Horror Story: Freak Show. And, his fearlessness doesn’t end there. Matt is a Black Belt, a forever-charming ladies man and even a BBC radio show host.

However, here’s the single most important aspect to the success in Matt’s life: Matt Fraser isn’t afraid to be Matt Fraser. He presents himself with authenticity and doesn’t give us any other choice. We either accept Matt for who he is – disability and all – or move on.

How many of us struggle or have struggled with being who we are? Maybe as children we behaved a certain way to please our parents that wasn’t authentic to our identity. Maybe in high school, we caved to peer pressure, not feeling safe to truly express ourselves. Maybe in our careers, we squelch our personalities to fit a corporate norm. And, how many of us have curbed our behaviors, feelings and wishes to please a partner? Indeed, we’ve all been there. Yet, here’s my question for you: Have any of these scenarios worked for you in the long term?

Of course not. It’s never worked for you or me because whenever we’re not 100% authentic, parts of us feel inadequate, denied, undesired, squelched – and that’s painful. However, if you want to avoid such a terrible fate, just be yourself! It will feel risky and scary at first, but soon it will feel liberating, the freest you’ve ever felt. Now, some in your life won’t be able to handle the real you because they’re used to a watered-down, squelched version. But, your world as a whole will feel anew, fresh air filling your lungs as never before.

I remember being in my 20s and very self-aware. I watched carefully what I said to whom, and although I often had zany, witty thoughts pop into my head, I rarely uttered them, fearing I’d sound uncouth. My brother, on the other hand, who shared my wit, said anything to anyone, and I observed how charmed others were by his authenticity. With my brother as an inspiration, I slowly let my authentic voice come out – I’d say exactly what I wished on stage and in witting – and that’s when my career took off in every direction. It was time for me to be… well… me.

Some two decades later, being Mark E. Smith is a blast. I mean, if you’re an adult and ask me, “What happened to you,” I’m not going to give you a politically-correct answer about cerebral palsy as I would have in my 20s. Rather, if you’re an adult ignorant enough to ask me that question at an airport or such, I’m going to be me and you’re getting a one word answer: Quaaludes!

Each of us were born to be who we are, and assuming we’re healthy individuals, we owe it to ourselves and those around us to simply be who we are. Society, partners, and you name it may try to squelch who you are. But, your obligation is to be a Matt Fraser and live your life beautifully, exactly who you are, never compromising your authenticity – and the world will embrace you.

Grinnin’ In Your Face

By Mark E. Smith

When I attended San Francisco State University’s creative writing program, we were allowed to focus on the genre of our choice. My peers mostly focused on poetry, fiction or full-length feature writing. I was the only one in my class, however, who focused almost exclusively on the short-short story, a genre others found too difficult because of its inherent limitations. Whether writing autobiography or fiction, I loved the constraint of having to tell a story – convey a profound message – in 1,000 words or less (that’s no more than two typed pages). The constraints of the short-short form, I found, made me maximize what I had, it made me more creative because I had to learn ways to do more with less.

Of course, looking back, I simply grabbed onto what I knew based on growing up with disability – that is, I was really good at taking limitations and using them to utmost potentials. Constraints, you see, don’t box us in; rather, they challenge us to find innovative solutions to work with what we have. I’ve never found that ease or excess bring out our full potential. However, constraints and limitations do. I know that it sounds counter-intuitive, but if you want to grow, work within limitations.

The way I learned really quickly how to manage money was by being broke. Again, I know that sounds counter-intuitive – how do you manage money that you don’t have? – but what being broke is really about is expertly managing the money that you do have. It goes right back to disability experience, doesn’t it? I focus on what I have, not what I lack.

I was grocery shopping with my daughter recently and we encountered a sort of mirror image of us at the grocery store – a presumed single father and two daughters. In his hand, he had a grocery list and a calculator, adding up the cost of items as he went. It was a familiar sight because I’ve done that. When you have financial constraints, you find ways to do more with less. In that moment, that gentleman was a financial wizard compared to many with far more money because each of his dollars was wisely watched and allocated. Attentiveness and creativity filled his cart beyond financial limitations. Again, limitations bring out the best in us.

One of the greatest blues songs of all time is the mid 20th-century, “Grinnin’ in Your Face,” by Son House. In conceiving and performing the song, House had the ultimate constraints: no instruments and no formal musical training. How do you make an iconic song with none of that? Yet, by working around those constraints, he created a soul-penetrating song using just his voice and clapping, setting time to what sounded great to him. House found the ultimate instrument within the ultimate limitation: he used his voice and hands. Contemporary musician, Jack White, noted about House’s classic piece, “I didn’t know you could do that, just singing and clapping. It said everything about rock ‘n’ roll, expression, creativity, art – one man against the world.”

If we look at ourselves as writers, single parents, musicians, those with disabilities, and on and on, it’s amazing what we can do within constraints grinnin’ in our face. What’s fascinating is that constraints don’t limit us; rather, they inspire creativity, help us find better ways, and ultimately foster personal growth. However, what living with limitations truly does is empower us to realize that we don’t have limitations after all.

Prize Fighting

Mark E. Smith

As I lie on my bed in the surrounding silence, I should be angry, frustrated, maybe even panicked. I just literally beat the hell out of myself – scraped, bruised, exhausted – in three failed attempts to simply use the commode.

See, as one with cerebral palsy, in order to use the commode, I have to go from my power chair to my bed to my manual chair to the bathroom to the commode, keeping my balance on the commode, then back to my manual chair to my bed to my power chair. On my best days, it takes 20 minutes; on an average day, 40 minutes; and, on this day, after one and a half hours, I’ve not accomplished getting on the commode. I’ve tried three times, my uncooperative body struggling with every transfer, slamming me off of the commode, against walls, on the floor over and over.

Yet, as I lie here on my bed, I’m not angry, frustrated or panicked. While physically I’m uncomfortable, to say the least, I’m genuinely happy, full of gratitude. As poorly-functioning as this body is, it always gets me through. It’s the body of a prize fighter. It can get knocked down, bloodied, counted out by others, but it never quits and always gets back up.

For the moment, like a jaw-stung boxer dizzied on the canvas, I lie here with all things good streaming across my closed eyes. I think about the upcoming Christmas holiday – I’ve done no shopping yet, but I’m excited to give very meaningful gifts from a list I’ve been covertly gathering from those I love. I think about my daughter’s pending college applications to NYU and Cornell and the University of Pittsburgh, pondering if any of those are better choices than her seeded spot at George Mason University in the Washington D.C. area? I think about having my fiancee and soon-to-be step daughter back from their native west coast in about a week, joyed to be spending another holiday season together as a family on the appropriately wintry east coast. And, I think of the myriad of exciting aspects going on with my career. There’s so much gratitude in my life that I’m even thankful for the predicament I’m in – that is, having to simply use the bathroom, but knocking the hell out of myself in the process, seemingly unable to accomplish such an everyday task.

But, prize fighters never stay down long, and I’m about to sit up, struggle to transfer back into my manual chair, make my way to the bathroom and try to make the small but courageous leap from my manual chair to the commode once again. If I make it this time, fantastic. If my body fails to cooperate further, and I crash from wall to wall to the floor, having to start all over again, that’s great, too.

See, here’s the beauty of adversity: it’s not an easy route to success, but it is a proven route to success. Adversity makes us that promise – that is, as long as we’re willing to embrace it and address with gratitude and perseverance toward whatever it throws our way, we will ultimately achieve victory.

In this way, I’ve only gone three rounds – and I’ve got a lot more in me. Ring the bell. I’m ready.