Author: youshouldgoanyway

I was waiting impatiently for the elevator today and decided instead of getting upset I was going to let my mind go blank and try to “meditate” to avoid the frustration. Then I thought I should daydream instead. That’s when it occurred to me that when I have an occasion to just sit and “think” I am usually worrying about something and not daydreaming at all.

I know I used to daydream as a kid. I would think about the fun things I was planning on doing after I got home from school or make up some imaginary place to go to while bored in math class. But nowadays my mind will often jump to some immediate worry or irrational concern. Although I am fairly good at managing this, I wonder if this happens because I’ve conditioned myself over time to worry.

In high school I used to worry about logistical things like getting up stairs and up from my desk quite often. Again, it was not all-consuming but it was regularly enough such that it became a habit, and still is to some extent. I don’t really like it.

So maybe now is the time to start daydreaming again, whenever I can. Often I try to clear my mind but maybe I should mix in some daydreaming time as well. After all, if meditation is supposed to help reduce stress and make you feel better I would venture a guess that daydreaming is equally powerful.

So do you daydream or do you worry?

Since a few years ago, I do a mini review on my birthday of the things I did in the previous year including the high points and low points, places I traveled, and even trivial things like what my favorite songs were. This time I did my usual reflection but also went through these 365 questions. One of the questions was, “What is the difference between living and existing?”

Overall I wasn’t feeling like my year from 35 to 36 was that fantastic. In fact, I felt like the highest point was my 35th birthday party, an ice skating party where I zoomed my chair on the ice, pulling my skating friends and relatives around the rink. After that, I had kidney stones & surgery, a period of high anxiety and no client work, and a variety of other uncertainties that came up along the way. So in hindsight it definitely seemed like that party was the high point, and it probably was.

But when thinking about “living” vs. “existing,” I realized that even though my year wasn’t super spectacular, it meant I was still living. I was taking chances, doing things that other people in my situation don’t do. I was still traveling, working, and doing new things. Even the low points taught me lessons that others might never learn. I learned to drink more water and I learned that I need to do a better job of networking and marketing my business. Now I can act on those lessons and hopefully make 36 to 37 a transition upwards.

Despite the stresses and frustrations, I wasn’t just existing. My frustrations came about because I was doing things, living life. These frustrations are so much better than those that come to other people who aren’t doing anything at all. To me, simply existing means waking up and doing the same things over and over and over and over again without wanting to do anything new, or trying to change, or wanting to change but not doing anything about it. I think a lot of people (with and without disabilities) live this way and it’s unfortunate.

So what do you do to make sure you’re not just “existing?”

I used to walk like a really good drunk, even when I’d had nothing to drink. A friend of mine claims I actually walked more normally when I was drinking!

In my early 20s there were several occasions when a stranger would ask me if I was okay to drive. This never bothered me. I looked at it as this person being genuinely concerned. After all, I wasn’t wearing a sign with my medical history on it — so I’d probably assume the same thing.

Combining my awkward & precarious-looking walk with the fact that I needed help getting up from a chair and often had to grab someone’s shoulder for support, how could I blame ANYONE for thinking I was drunk? After all, I wasn’t using a cane or anything at that point.

So instead of getting irritated by it, I would just complete the act and whip out my keys. Not surprisingly this increased the level of anonymous concern from strangers!

A few weeks back I was rolling to my favorite coffee spot and hit a long stretch of sidewalk. Along this stretch I encountered what was essentially the progression of my mobility, all lined up in a row.

The first guy I passed was a slow and funky walker. It looked like each precarious step would be the last before he’d fall on his face. I remember those days.

The next guy I passed was using a cane. Although he looked slightly more nimble than the last guy, the cane seemed to be working really hard.

In front of him several yards was a homeless man pushing himself in a wheelchair, one foot dragging (or helping…I wasn’t sure). He was struggling a bit on this very flat surface. It reminded me of the day or two I spent trying to push myself around in a clunky manual chair.

Once I realized my arms were not strong enough to push my body around in a manual chair I went through a period of having someone push me around. Believe it or not, the next person I passed was an old lady being pushed, it appeared by her daughter, in a manual wheelchair.

As I breezed past all of these people in my power chair, I realized how valuable it is for me to be able to have the mobility I have now. Part of me wishes I had started using electric mobility sooner, but the other part of me knows that without the struggles of the transition, I might not appreciate what I have now.