Disabled for a Day

All right, you got me. The title of this post is a misnomer. I went for the alliteration, but the truth is, I was only "disabled" for about 45 minutes.

When my friend Saadiya asked if anyone was available to ride around the Cornell Store in a wheelchair yesterday afternoon, I responded that I was free and would be glad to do it. I thought it would be fun. I met up with Saadiya, Ross (who would be hobbling around on crutches) and some campus leaders/administrators in the area of accessibility.

Right away, I needed assistance. The handicap accessible entry to the Cornell store is a buzz-in entrance, you have to ring a bell, it's the employee entrance. You can't go in all by yourself. Then, when I sat in the chair, I needed people to hold my things for me. I felt so small as my peers towered over me.

Now, I'm not a very tall person. But I've been told I can have an imposing presence when I want to have one, and I've often taken advantage of my "big personality" to do just that. In a wheelchair, that was taken away from me. In order to interact with anyone, I had to crane my neck to look up at them. People started moving around me with great care. I needed space to maneuver because I was clumsy with the wheels. People were extra polite and patient with me, but not out of respect--out of pity.

My first task was to try to "mail" something at the PostMarket. Fail #1. The stantions (is that what they're called...those things that delineate waiting lines?) were so packed together that there was no way I could get through. A number of people in line shuffled about nervously, trying to move them so I could navigate.

I kept saying, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I got it." I wanted them to know I wasn't actually disabled. And instantly, I felt ashamed. I was embarrassed that people thought I was in a wheelchair because I needed it, and then I was horribly, horribly ashamed that I would be embarrassed of something like that.

My next task was to order something at the cafe. The aisles were wide enough, but I felt very awkward, and again, people were uncomfortable. Then I saw Adina, and she waved, and asked me how it was going. I treated it like a game, and said it was "fun." Wrong. It wasn't fun. It was eye-opening, and in a painful way.

The next failure came when I tried to check out the Cornell ties. Very handsome ties I might add. However, on my way there, I barreled through a few racks of sweatshirts and banged up a few fake mahogany display cases. I tried to turn around and get out the way I came, but there was no space. Someone needed to push me out. Then I got stuck on a little bump in the floor, one of those rubber strips that separates a carpeted area from hardwood flooring. I was sweating by the end of it.

We returned to the employee entrance of the store, from where I took the service elevator down to the first floor. Fortunately I had people with me to push the buttons, because I would have had to strain to reach them.

I wheeled on out of the Cornell Store with a fresh appreciation for what it means to be confined to a wheelchair, both physically and emotionally. I felt that the interactions I had while in the wheelchair were dominated by the fact that I was in a wheelchair and that people were trying really hard to pretend I wasn't, and failing noticeably. I felt that taking a service elevator and using a back entrance made me feel separate and emphasized the words above the elevator: "Assistance Needed."

So I will now do my best to change how I react to people in wheelchairs, and I will try to enact change wherever I am able to make places truly accessible (not just "compliant"). I learned a lot in those 45 minutes, and I hope this blog post has opened your eyes as well. This is an important message, and it is something we can really do something about.

Let's start.

Don't we always wish we had more time

I'm in this class called Acting in Public: Performance in Everyday Life. Once a week, we make a one minute speech. This week was eulogies. I spent all weekend looking for the perfect one--I didn't want to do one that I thought everyone would do (two people in my class ended up reading Karl Marx's) and I didn't want to do one that seemed too real, like for a parent or a grandparent. So I had to look through a lot of eulogies. This was a melancholy process, as I am sure you can imagine. There are some touching ones here: http://connectingdirectors.com/articles/40420-8-of-the-most-amazing-eulogies-of-all-time, especially "For My Mother." So I was a puddle by the time I had selected the perfect eulogy, Cher's eulogy for Sonny Bono. She wrote beautifully and from the heart, but here is the thing that really got to me:

"So the last thing I want to say is, when I was young, there was this section in the Reader's Digest. And it was called "The Most Unforgettable Character I've Ever Met." And for me that person is Sonny Bono. And no matter how long I live or who I meet in my life, that person will always be "Son" for me."

I felt like that summed things up. So I was in this eulogy sort of mood and I started becoming aware of limited time. Not just in the sense of mortality, but in the way things come to an end, or people drift out of our lives, or the world changes irreversibly and we cannot get back to the sweetness of our past.

I'm graduating at the end of the semester, so I am very sensitive to the fact that I will be leaving Cornell in a few short weeks. I've been instagramming pictures of Cornell like crazy to fight the impermanence of it all. (I'm making a photobook from all my photos with artifactuprising.com, it's a great site). I walk around campus awed by the beauty of the buildings, the trees, the views, the skies...it really is gorgeous here but it seemed to become more so when I realized I only had a few weeks left.

I think when it comes down to it, we all wish we had more time. I'm not saying I don't want to graduate! I am soooo done with problem sets and prelims and classes and even my meetings and much of the day to day here. I have given it my all and I am proud of what I've done. But I do wish I had more time, I do wish that I could stretch out those incredible moments that make me feel or think or act differently, that fill me with joy and wonder...

Can I just go back and infuse the Big Red Bar Mitzvah with a few more hours, so that we could keep dancing a little longer? Could I make the Last Lecture I went to today last until late into the evening? Could I add a few minutes onto the football game on Saturday, which I spent soaking up the warmth with Jesse and Adina? Could I squeeze a few more prayers into the Friday night service last week? A couple of classes extra with Professor David Feldshuh? Another cup of frozen yogurt with my lineage? A few more soy hot chocolates in Libe cafe?

I am sure that I will have a more comprehensive list of the moments I'll miss by the end of the year. But for now I am going to enjoy them, and do my darndest to live in the present. It is taxing to do so! And I know why we start to feel like this at the end of things, or when people die; it's because it would be too draining to appreciate whole heartedly every single minute of your life! So I will take advantage of this surge in sentimentality and do it now, for a month or so, and then I will begin a new adventure, and it will be fresh and exciting. I won't know how perfect and good it is until I start thinking about my next chapter, which will surely bring new challenges and surprises.

In closing, I will leave here the words of one of my favorite Third Eye Blind songs, "My Hit and Run."

Feel the speed through the intersection
Sheets of rain I seek out cars
Hands in gloves grip handlebars

Ride alone to the pub in the dark
I get a little wet but I don't have to park
And the lights start flashing green and red as I ride
A car turns left and I slide
I can't turn back
I make contact
Blinkers smash into mosaic
Then I start flying

Always think we get more time
Now I'm flying through the air
Maybe living maybe dying
In this motor crash it's you who comes to mind 
Don't we always wish had more time 

I'm thrust slow mo through time and space
Details smash and
I protect my face
And then I see yours
And go to a time when we just knew

Come down hard and roll to my feet
And rain washes blood now off concrete
People turn away and I just had to laugh
Cause I'm still flying
Living and dying

And I'd like to thank mister death for what he's done
Cause I got to walk away from my hit and run
Mysteries are not so empty
Cause I saw you
At my hit and run