self-acceptance – Page 7 – PowerchairDiaries

Garages

By Mark E. Smith

When I was seven, my mom moved my brother and me into a friend’s garage. It was no mirage. For those few days, I felt homeless and helpless, useless and restless. It’s what happens when the rent’s not paid.

It was scary. Scars that I buried. And, now the chicks wonder why I focus on career and my daughter? Priorities straight, bills never late, and as for a date, they come and go like an occasional snow – storms in the night. It works, but is it right?

In business, I’m bustling. As a writer, I’m hustling. And, as a father I just try to do what’s right. I get done what needs to get done by day, but forever toss and turn at night. See, when we think all heals, again spin the wheels, reminding us of our original plight. Have you known such inner fight?

Work may seem an addiction, but paranoia is the affliction, getting as far from that garage as I can.

But, now I own my own, attached to a house. Dinner on the table, life turned into a fable, and my daughter sleeps soundly at night. I’ve penned books that tell stories, take stages in the glory, and look forward more than back. That’s right.

With a garage as home in your past, it’s always going to linger and always last. But, at some point I realize my past is so far. And, a garage is a garage, just some place for my daughter to park – her car.

Not to Worry, It Gets Worse

By Mark E. Smith

With my new book launching at this writing, I’m already thinking of my next book. I’m envisioning a children’s book titled, Psst, Really, Really Bad Things are Going to Happen to You…. It’s inspired by my six-year-old nephew who, like virtually every adult I know, is continually shocked when bad things happen to him. Therefore, I figure why not warm up kids for the fact that beyond a skinned knee or a lost Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle doll, life is going to get really, really bad the older they get. It’s a way of curbing denial and self-victimization. It says, Kids, your life will be filled with misery and pain and disappointment, so toughen up and get used to it! It’s an inspiring life lesson through an illustrated book that truly cognizant parents can share with their children to increase their emotional quotient (E.Q.) at an impressionable developmental stage.

My main character will be little Joey, a cute, optimistic tyke who’s in for an avalanche of problems. Daddy drinks a lot since he lost his job, and Mommy has a new “friend” that she visits when she’s supposed to be at Grandma’s house. Soon, Daddy finds text messages from Mommy’s friend, and it all leads to a nasty divorce. But, moving into public housing has its perks – a playground!

As Joey gets older, he’s occasionally bullied in school, struggles with math, but gets his first girlfriend. She smokes menthols at 16, and he’ll forever connect eroticism and cigarettes, the taste of his first kiss. But, she’s unstable – the cuts on her arms letting some of it out – and she holds his heart on puppet strings, music lyrics resonating with him:

And Baby,
Its amazing Im in this maze with you.
I just cant crack your code.
One day you screaming you love me loud,
The next day you’re so cold.
One day you here, one day you there, one day you care.
You’re so unfair. Sipping from the cup,
Till it runneth over. Holy Grail.

Alas, she dumps him after a few months, and he falls into a deep, dark depression, where the taste of menthol on her lips lingers on his as the song’s lyrics play over and over in his head, sipping from the cup of despair till it runneth over.

Yet, Joey gets a $500 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Diesel and is happy – that is, till it gets stolen, and he’s back to taking the bus to work at McDonald’s, where he hates his job and hates his boss, but has a work ethic that pulls him through each evening after school, returning home, smelling like grease.

And, Joey picks up his high school grades, gets into college, meets an amazing woman, gets a job in I.T., and has two kids and a house in the suburbs. But, since having kids, his wife has lost all interest in physical intimacy, and has taken to compulsive shopping, putting the family over $100,000 in debt. And, the lyrics come back: One day you screaming you love me loud. The next day you’re so cold.

Then there’s the divorce and custody battle, the lost job. But, hey, Joey, look at the bright side: at least you’re not living in an empty, dive apartment by the railroad tracks, windows rattling as trains go by at night as you’re plagued by anxiety-induced insomnia. Oh, wait, Joey is living in an empty, dive apartment by the railroad tracks, windows rattling as trains go by at night as he’s plagued by anxiety-induced insomnia.

However, Joey is now only 46, so there’s still time – for life to get much worse. And, it will.

…Isn’t it amazing the denial and self-victimization that our culture perpetuates. It’s instilled in us from childhood, in a uniquely American mythology, that if we do everything right, we’ll end up healthy, wealthy, and happy. But, by nature, that can’t happen. Beyond our own behavior, there’s not much we can control, so why are we shocked when bad, uncontrollable things happen? From the weather to the economy to other people, so much of it’s beyond our control, so why are we surprised when it doesn’t go our way? And, in a larger question, if the only aspect of our lives that we can control is our own behavior, why do we label ourselves victims in so many cases?

The key to addressing adversity is by accepting adversity. Bad things don’t just happen to Joey, but to all of us. Drop the self-victimization, and simply recognize that adversity is part of life. It’s not a question of fair or unfair, just or unjust; rather, it’s life. Some parts of life are good, some parts are bad, but if we accept it all, that’s where we toss away bitterness and resentment, and just value what we have at any moment. For Joey, after a life of lessons, he knows that he can handle any adversity, where empty apartments aren’t ends, but beginnings.

Why Painters Paint

By Mark E. Smith

At 42, I sit here with my office door shut. I’m staring at a shiny prototype power chair drive wheel that’s balanced upright on my eloquent black desk. The light reflects off of the angles machined into the polished rim like a diamond. No one knows I have it. Sure, eventually I’ll return it to my company’s R&D design group. But, for now, like stealing a great painting from the Musee du Louvre simply to possess greatness, I stare at it, awestruck by its form.

When I was eight, I loved the liberation of my power chair, but hated its wheels. They were hospital-gray mags, the first power chair drive wheel incarnation that wasn’t just a beefed-up spoke wheel. But, they were ugly, bulky, and gray – on a hospital-chrome frame, no less. I lay in bed at night, staring at that power chair, emotionally struggling between loving and loathing it. Yes, it empowered my life, propelling me through public school at a motor-growling three miles per hour. Yet, there was nothing cool about it – not the gray and chrome power chair, not the other kids staring at me as I growled by. It was ugly. All of it was ugly.

So, I scrounged up a few bucks, went and bought two cans of black spray paint, and wasn’t going to live with the ugliness anymore. Sometimes beauty does come from the outside, in.

With no one home, I slid out of my power chair onto the back yard grass – no way of getting back into my chair – and I opened a can of paint the best I could. I shook the can, just wanting to paint the rims, just wanting to get rid of the ugliness, from the outside, in. And, as I tried to spray, paint went every where until, with tenacity and patience, all was black – the wheels, the tires, the frame, my face, the dog – it was an explosion of black. And, it was the coolest thing I’d accomplished to date. The greats weren’t great because they could paint, but because they dared to paint.

My mom came home, finding me sprawled on the grass, surrounded by blackness, and simply said, “You know, you have to live with that chair that way.”

And, I thought, “That’s right. Just the way I want it, beautiful from the outside, in.”

Rings we Wear

By Mark E. Smith

There’s so much to be said for self-acceptance and just presenting ourselves to the world as who we are. No masks. No Facades. Just be thankful for who we are, and whether others accept us as… well …just us, doesn’t really matter. And, in that spirit, here’s my spoken word piece, Rings we Wear.

Something About Mary

By Mark E. Smith

When Mary and I talked in the Biltmore hotel’s bar in Los Angeles three years ago, there was an unusual familiarity. We both have always been around wheelchairs — and the close-knit community that innovated them since the 1970s — but somehow never knew each other, personally. We both knew of each other, and certainly knew everyone else, but oddly just never crossed each other’s path. Yet, both knowing everyone else in the bar, as well as traveling in the same circles for 30-something years, we had an instant known-you-forever connection.

However, as I’ve learned in the subsequent three years, Mary’s graciousness had nothing to do with our common experience and friends. Rather, the instant comfort and connection I found with icon, Mary Wilson Boegel, one of the original Quadra wheelchair crew members, was simply who she is — open, embracing, encouraging, love-filled — regardless of who you are. I’ve since seen her light up every room we’ve entered when we’ve been on the road at various expos and events. And, whenever anyone needs anything, Mary and her husband, Bruce, are always there to help. She even is so gracious toward my daughter, always acknowledging her accomplishments via Facebook. There’s just something about Mary, a true soul mother to many.

And, so it was no surprise to me that on the recent 40th anniversary of the injury that caused her spinal cord injury, she shared with us who know, adore, and love her one of the most amazing pieces of writing I’ve seen on the subject, a piece that doesn’t just address her disability experience, but so beautifully captures many of our experiences who’ve used wheelchairs for decades now. And, the lesson that she ultimately shares is… well… breathtaking.

It’s with great privilege that I share with you this amazing piece of writing by such an amazing woman, where may you be blessed by having a bit of Mary’s spirit in you.

There’s Something About 40
By Mary Wilson Boegel

Today is the 40th anniversary of the day I broke my back and began living with a spinal cord injury. I have certainly acknowledged this day in my heart each year, but there’s something about 40 that steps up one’s self-awareness – reflection, which then turns to gratitude. And, of course, love… the greatest gift of all.

So much has happened in these 40 years. Huge challenges, which continue to help me nurture strength, creativity, perseverance, compassion, vulnerability, humility and, then, solutions wrapped in gratitude. And, all the amazing people I am blessed to know and have in my life… love is the best anyone can hope for… giving and receiving… I am truly blessed.

In the spirit of “you’ve come a long way, baby,” here’re just a few:

The doctors gave me a lifespan of 15 years maximum in 1973. There was no ADA. Nobody wanted to hire me. Nobody wanted to rent me an apartment because they were afraid it would offend the other tenants. Nobody wanted their kids to hang out with me, God forbid, date me. Many would cross the street when they saw me coming, so they wouldn’t get too close to me. Many store clerks would not speak to me, but rather address a companion I was with. No curb cuts, so I pushed in the street or found a driveway if lucky. Limited restaurant and “social activity” access… sat in the slanted aisle of the movie theater if fortunate enough to go (cite the little things we take for granted). No public restroom access or water fountains or payphones (yes, kids, before cell phones!). No ramps, no easy-swing doors, no public access in general. Most private homes had stairs to just get to the front door. And flying… hahaha… Crawling 101 was the rule unless someone was willing to carry you – that is, assuming the airline let you fly to begin with. Discrimination was alive and unwell. Myths and misconceptions running rampant. Cripple was a common reference. And no lightweight – never mind, ultralight – wheelchairs.

But, love made it all ok. Starting with the love of life, waking up each morning and being grateful for that day. Loving (ok, sometimes fueled by anger) the challenge of trying to improve perceptions, access, mobility. Loving the opportunity to try to make a difference. And, by far, most importantly, loving and being loved by the incredible people in my life. Breaking my back was a slap upside the head to be a better, caring, loving person, and apparently its true: when you put something out to the universe, the universe in turn brings it back to you. I am surrounded by so much love… my dear husband, family and friends… your love! So grateful am I for my wonderful life!

A Dog’s Life

By Mark E. Smith

I’m sitting on my deck, roasting marshmallows this summer’s eve, my English bulldog, Rosie, sleeping on the honey-colored wood. Years ago, she would have ran off into the woods chasing critters, but now she’s eight, and would likely rather be laying on the couch in the air-conditioned house. However, this eve, it’s just her and me, so we stick together, relaxing on the deck.

“Rosie, you’ve gotten old and lazy,” I tell her, and she opens one eye, not moving a muscle, jowls flopped on the deck. “You’re no good for conversation anymore when all you do is sleep.”

I built this place twelve years ago, loving the property – close to work and town, yet rural and serene. In fact, the deck is designed so that when sitting on it, it overlooks lawn and woods and a creek, no other homes seen or traffic heard – just the nature of the Pocono region that stays lush and green throughout the summer – the grass, the trees, the native ferns.

Oddly, although I’ve always maintained my property and deck – often mowing twice per week, spraying surrounding weeds, and keeping the deck stained – I’ve never really enjoyed any of it till this year. I bought some cheap patio furniture and a not-so-cheap gas fire pit, and it’s all turned out well, soothing décor that gives me a front-row seat to nature without leaving home.

“Rosie, you’re snoring,” I pipe at the dog, wondering if I’m getting old like her, too?

Some eves I sit out here with my daughter. Some eves I sit out here and read. Some eves I sit out here and write. And, some eves I just sit here – with Rosie, the fire flickering, the lush grass, dense woods, and evening breeze surrounding me. And, I’m content. Maybe I am getting older, wiser, more relaxed?

“Rosie, in people years, you’d be fifty eight,” I tell her, and she opens her one eye again, slightly. “If you were a person, you couldn’t get away with your laziness. But, because you’re a mush-faced bulldog, it’s charming. And, maybe you’re just smarter than most – no one bothers you, and you don’t bother anyone.”

Those close to me say they’ve noticed changes in me, too. My sister said she’s observed that I only tell funny stories about our parents these days – I guess I’m letting the bad ones go. I was just down in Washington D.C., having lunch with my life-long best friend, and I think he sensed a more laid-back me. My daughter, work, the house, the dog – it’s all good, and I just don’t worry about much else. Like Rosie, I try not to bother anyone, and I don’t want anyone bothering me.

I toss Rosie a raw marshmallow, it landing directly in front of her face. She sniffs it, then scarves it down, looking to me for another.

“You’ve got it all figured out, Rosie,” I say. “Why waste time chasing the futile when, with faith and patience, life will eventually bless us with its best – and sometimes a marshmallow.”

Upward Mobility

By Mark E. Smith

Anyone who tells you that “all men are created equal” is simply stating rhetorical idealism. The fact is, we know we’re not all born equal – some are born into lives of privilege, while others are born into far more grave circumstances.

If you weren’t born into a life of privilege – albeit, wealth, a stable home, good health, and so on – you’ve probably seen your hopes and dreams thwarted at some point. When an upper-class kid, with good-looks, athleticism, and not a stress in the world goes to college on his or parent’s dime, a lot is a given, success is almost a birth right. However, if you’re like some of us who weren’t so fortunate, you don’t stare at silver platters, but you encounter a lot of roadblocks and mountains to climb. And, that’s OK – be happy for the privileged ones, but also see the extraordinary potential in yourself and others like you, those who have to work harder, those who face greater adversity, those for whom it takes more time, but get there, no less.

See, you can’t worry about what those of privilege have, or that you got the proverbial short end of the straw. So what if she has Daddy’s money, or he got a promotion by being at the right place at the right time. Life isn’t just about luck of the draw; it’s a marathon about tenacity. You have what you have, no matter how little, and it’s your job to make the most of it, building upon it over the long term – with laser-like focus, unwavering drive, and, yes, do-or-die tenacity. You have no safety net, and that in itself will make you a better tight rope walker in the end – you won’t fall because you can’t risk falling.

And, none of it is easy – climbing mountains never is. But, it’s totally possible. At times, you may have to make extreme sacrifices – maybe you live in a hole-in-the-wall place, with no television, subsisting on Top Ramen because the little money you have covers the books for your community college courses. Or, maybe you go to work despite health issues because you wish to excel in your career regardless of any adversities. The fact is, as long as you have unyielding tenacity and focus – where you have the guts to make sacrifices that others run from – you will succeed, period. Life isn’t for the privileged; life is for the strong.

Interestingly, political beliefs aside, our most recent three presidents are a great study in privilege versus tenacity – and where the playing field is leveled. President George W. Bush certainly worked hard in his life, but was born into privilege and a family legacy that led him to President, his grandfather a U.S. Senator, and his father, of course, a President. By contrast, President Clinton’s father died three months before his birth, and his later stepfather was a gambler and alcoholic who abused his mother, with President Clinton earning his way through college on scholarships. Similarly, President Obama came from a broken home, mostly raised by his grandparents, putting himself through school. So, we have three presidents of practically speaking the same era, and one was born into privilege, while two came from very humble beginnings. The point is, tenacity can catch up with privilege in the end – but it takes work and vision and guts.

If we truly look at the backgrounds of our 42nd and 44th presidents, there’s tremendous inspiration in that. You don’t need to be of the birth right of the 43rd president – lineage of privilege and power – to be among the most successful people on Earth. Rather, you can come from the so-called bottom, never feel lower than anyone else, and chart a course of personal empowerment. No, you statistically won’t ever be the president, like Clinton or Obama, but think of what you can accomplish in the way of education, career, community, and family – there’s nothing holding you back.

And, you mustn’t let success stop with you. You must have a moral and ethical compass to help others. You don’t want to be smug and selfish, but kind and giving – a leader in action. You see ignorance on the Internet, in line at the grocery store, on cable news shows. You don’t want to be that guy. You want to have the backbone to lead others from despair, not create it. See, the ultimate form of success isn’t in just bettering your life, but bettering others, bettering the world around you as you rise.

Life is simple geography: regardless of where you start, you can go anywhere – just plot an extraordinary course and follow it unrelentingly.

Heavy Sky

Now I’m a grown man, with a child of my own, and I swear I’m not going to let her know all of the pain that I’ve known. -Art Alexakis

By Mark E. Smith

When I was 17, I spent a lot of that summer camping in Yosemite’s White Wolfe region. It was part independence building, part adventure, part escape. I attended forestry seminars that summer, and learned that wild fires can prove good for the environment. Dense forests fill up with debris, and stifle new growth; however, a wild fire clears out the old, and allows new plants and trees to grow. What initially seems like destruction, actually builds a new, stronger habitat.

At that time, I wasn’t in touch with my father. He’d walked out on my brother and me many years earlier. We were little, maybe five and six, or a bit older – it’s hard to date such things, probably because it’s too painful to remember exactly when your father left. But, I remember.

Regardless of dates or circumstances, when your father drives away for the last time, it creates a void in you that many say never goes away – it’s just a heavy sky that’s left over you. And, as the seasons pass, you learn that other people, who you love, leave and don’t come back, either. It’s emotional dominoes set into motion by the man who’s supposed to be a boy’s hero, and you learn to just fall with them, relationship after relationship, where the fear of abandonment becomes the security of being alone.

Yet, you grow strong in ways, where you never distrust because there’s always a chance that someone might stay. You’re forever a seven-year-old starring out of the living room window, with the possibility that Dad might pull up in his pick-up truck, boozed up but playful. And, so you learn to trust in a counter-intuitive way – it’s the dream that’s the only comfort to hold onto.

And, you likewise learn to never leave anyone because you don’t want her or him to know the pain that you’ve known. Yes, everyone’s going to promise to be by you till the end, but who dare live up to it? You will live up to it because you won’t be like him.

And, then there is her, your own child, and as a broken man, there’s something remarkably whole about you in that single role, where your pieces come back together, and you see everyone around you in the sunlight of spring. It’s inexplicable that where only destruction has been, beauty emerges – a single flower among ravaged woods. And, you realize that the injustice of not having a father is corrected by being a father – the better man, you are for it all.

The Humanity of Foot Washing

By Mark E. Smith

There’s been an amazing trend across the country of very financially and socially successful people – from business titans to professional athletes – washing the feet of the homeless.

Now, we know how superficial we in the U.S. can be, where many look down on the homeless, walking around them on city sidewalks like they’re invisible.

And, yet, they’re not invisible. They’re as human as you and me, with a value and depth to their humanity that’s no less than anyone else’s. And, this is where foot washing comes in. See, while “foot washing” is biblical, it’s also very much about humility. It’s about simply connecting with others as-is, caring just to care, loving just to love, where superficial pettiness doesn’t separate us. Rather, our humanity unites us. After all, what’s more socially leveling and caring than washing others’ feet?

I’ve just entered my 42nd year, and if there’s one lesson I’ve learned in my life it’s not to judge others – and not to allow them to judge me. My ultimate role is to love and be loved, as ideally all of our roles should be. I don’t care if you’re worth $2-billion like a gentleman I’m currently interviewing for a writing project, or if you’re flat broke like a homeless gentleman I met in Vegas last summer and shared a poignant moment with. You can smell like cologne or urine. You can live in a mansion or a shack. You can be of any color, of any religion, of any sexual orientation, from any educational background. I don’t care. My only concern is, are you a kind person, and if so, I will be glad to wash your feet, human to human, where I trust you’d do the same for me.

The fact is, in my 42 years, I’ve known the pain and injustice of, as Martin Luther King Jr. put it, being judged not based on the quality of my character, but the color of my skin, so to speak. Strangers and those close to me alike have judged me many of times, obviously based on my physical disability but for other petty reasons, as well. And, it all hurt. However, it’s all taught me to love and accept others at deeper, truer levels. I will love you for you, as-is, period. And, it’s an amazing process where it’s brought amazing people into my life who I wouldn’t have known if I were judging and stereotyping.

For some of us, we see having the opportunity to “wash others’ feet” as a blessing. Yet, imagine how wonderful it is to have one’s own feet washed, to just know that someone cares.

Jumping Off Cliffs

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. -Steve Jobs

Mark E. Smith

At what points do you throw logic and reason and expert opinions and friendly advice into the wind and just believe in yourself? Everyone in the world can tell you that if you jump off of that proverbial cliff you’re going to die. Yet, you know something they don’t: You’ve jumped off of that cliff many times, and haven’t just survived, you’ve soared.

There’s a lot of value to following others’ advice, to not making the mistakes they’ve made. Yet, what about what you know, what about what you’ve learned, what about the power that your spirit has taught you, truths that others — more realistic, more grounded, with less vision — simply don’t know or understand? Maybe you have done the seemingly impossible, maybe you have seen fairy tales come true, maybe you have experienced what others will never understand is possible. Why let the ordinary dictate your life when you can live the extraordinary.

I look back on my own life, and if I had listened to anyone but my own potential, will, and heart, I wouldn’t be here, period. I was supposed to be a vegetable, with no cognitive skills. I was supposed to fail as among the first mainstream students. I was supposed to never have kids or career or live independently. I was never supposed to accomplish virtually everything I’ve accomplished. I’ve always been told that I’ll never succeed at this or that. But, every time I’ve found myself perched on a cliff, where everyone — following the rules of gravity, medicine, psychology, social norms — told me that I was destine for failure, I’ve just looked back, smiled a confident grin, and jumped, never hitting the ground but soaring.

Of course we, ourselves, can be our biggest roadblocks, where past disappointments and fears can keep us from making life-changing leaps of faith. I’m not going to apply for that job because I’ll never get it…. I’m not going to pursue that relationship because it’s just going to end in heartache…. I’m not going to follow my dream because it’s too unrealistic…. No, if we’re ever to achieve what we truly want and deserve, it requires us to make huge leaps of faith at times. We don’t know we can soar till we make the leap.

You’re going to find yourself at crossroads in life, perched on cliffs of decision, where everyone is going to give you advice, telling you it will never work, you’ll never succeed, you’re in denial, you’re destine for failure. Maybe you’ll even doubt yourself. But, if you simply trust that we all can accomplish the seemingly impossible, that fairy tales can come true, then you’re going to look back at the crowd, maybe even look at your own fears, smile a confident grin — because your heart and spirit know best — and you’re not just going to jump, you’re going to soar. All it takes is that one leap of faith to better your life forever.