Recently it became clear to me that what I once saw as a deficit of good pals as a young adult I’ve since seen how i’ve more than made up for it as a, quote “mature adult.” Today, with Sophie my canine icebreaker at my side I’m quite the social butterfly.
All of our friends are safe people, special people who always tell us how happy they are to see us and how they “were just thinking about you two the other day.” Like us, many of them carry the outward signs of having traveled a long and sometimes bumpy road. We have tremors, for instance, or weight problems or paralysis or trouble remembering things. The inward signs, I’m sure are there, too but they don’t matter in the context of our camaraderie.
Arthritis, chronic muscle aches and pains, carpal tunnel issues and more exist. We wear attractive, flesh-toned leg and wrist braces that are worn clean through to the metal or plastic, and often permanently blackened where they constantly touch things. Sometimes we wear orthotic walking shoes specifically designed for those of us with high-mileage or otherwise “crooked” feet.
Vestibular problems are quite present, too. As a tall, one-armed, top-heavy man who’s home is rarely level this one’s a biggie for me. Others among us deal with bladder problems, digestive troubles and maybe even adult diapers, too. Thankfully “new, moisture absorbing technology and low-profile design” helps those of us who need such products maintain all the discretion they need.
I must be headed down that road, too for when someone suddenly makes me laugh a little something may toot out before I can stop it. But it’s always okay; if necessary we just “move the conversation over there” without missing a beat, no harm, no foul.
Everyone among us seems to get this simple truth. We embrace our humanness and, to the extent we must we also respect the slow decay of our infrastructure and our undercarriage and know how to make the best of our time here.
At this point in our lives we tend to look at life from “up here” instead of “back there.” And, like the times when we look ahead, when we look back we usually like what we see. It’s what makes us who we are today. What’s not to like about that? Hell, given the closeness many of us may already have come to buying the farm there’s a pretty good chance at least a few of us probably shouldn’t still even be here anymore. Life is unpredictable, and that’s a fact we all live with no matter who we are-or think we are.
Tall or short, upright or down low, fully mobile or partially paralyzed, standing up on crutches or sitting in a wheelchair we always enjoy each other’s company. For me the distraction is wonderful, especially on high-pain days. Just talking with friends, even if only for a few minutes can wipe my pain away for the next hour.
Some of us can’t speak clearly because our throats or voiceboxes causes our voice to wobble. They usually tell the best jokes because everyone figures out the punchline as they’re still stuttering it out! And we all can laugh about it because we know better than to get caught up in or bound by “generally accepted’ societal norms.
Only around each other can we most comfortably laugh at our own foibles, for doing so alone isn’t nearly as much fun. As human beings, no better or worse than anyone else, we’re not immune to the pain of our given condition; it can still hurt profoundly inside. Ruminating over this is perhaps the least productive, most destructive thing anyone can do. So why not always strive to make the best of things even if, or especially if we’re feeling our lowest?
Our mobility issues, limited attention spans and/or outright physical pain seriously impairs any likelihood of extended conversation. But those few joyous minutes we get together are packed with enough intense enjoyment that, like a festively-wrapped Christmas present we can slowly enjoy opening it for the rest of the day. Maybe beyond, too, who knows?
Physically speaking, we never get tired because we always are tired. And no matter how we’re feeling, we always know we have each other to bump into in the days ahead.
People who make me smile-and who let me make them smile - are the only “stuff” I’ll ever want. And if you must consider them to be a “collection” then so be it; I’m proud of the wonderful circle of people, a great group that grows by one or two or more each time Sophie and I meet someone new.
And we usually know one another when we see us, for the pretentiousness that usually lurks inside most folks is absent. Instead there’s a smiling air of calm, of approachability and dignity. Not indignance, mind you but, for lack of a better phrase, open acceptance.
We’re proud of what we stand for, what we sit for, or what we climb, crawl, or crutch for. We’ve earned our place here in this world even if, like me, we still haven’t found that exact place.
In our orbit everyone is welcome, though few among the able-bodied ranks seem to care to join us. Now that I think of it, back in my own so-called able bodied days I was among those who did join them/us. Thanks to my disabled Uncle and Aunt I experienced firsthand the special energy that’s sorely lacking in so many other aspects of life.
And not everyone gets to- or deserves to- be with us anyway. Sounds so snotty but that’s not where I’m coming from. If you understand that then I think you’d be happy to spend some time with us.
Who needs stuff when we have each other? For within each of us you can find The Right Stuff.
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