I’ve stopped asking who I would be without my disability and begun to consider who I would be if I lived in a society that centered the needs of disabled people such as myself and which treated us as something more than the sum total of our “productivity.” I’m disturbed at how fully and uncritically I’d bought into capitalism and work as a measure of worth. Had I known where my effort was leading me, I would have course-corrected long ago.
An aspect of this reassessment has been to realize that many of the aspects of what I’ve consider success in other people are most likely, at least in part, the result of privilege. Yes, each person faces their own struggles and challenges in life, but some of us have a much shorter path to travel to arrive at the “American dream” than do others. Something has always felt off when people have praised me for prevailing against the odds and said they were proud of my accomplishments. I wonder if this is because reaching those accomplishments took from me or prevented me from obtaining core securities such as trust, relationships and safety.
Even writing this feels self-indulgent and disempowering. I don’t want to become stuck in anger, facing off with those with more power saying “fix it,” although that is likely a much more appropriate assignment of blame than shaming myself for being disabled. I want nothing more than to disengage from our capitalist society entirely and either emigrate or become wholly self-sufficient.
There are real limitations to what I can do right now to achieve these goals, so I find myself gravitating towards trying to accept a reality I despise. I would not miss my job or where I currently live for one heartbeat, but, in leaving abruptly, I would be choosing at least a time of severe poverty and lack of access to healthcare. I am at least burdened with a choice; I feel a new level of empathy for those who are trapped in relationships with family, partners and/or friends who cannot leave because our society’s lack of provision and accommodation for their disability prevents them from doing so.
I am sitting with where I’m at and allowing myself time to notice if any answers arrive. In the meantime, one question I want to begin to ask myself more frequently is the following: “What would I like to be doing right now?” rather than “what should I be doing right now?” I am so afraid of acting in a way I classify as lazy; I need to explore the discomfort of that space instead of busying myself in a futile attempt to subvert it. How much are you affected by needing to feel busy and productive? How much would you be or are you impacted by the word “lazy”? How far apart does “what I want” and “what I should do” feel to you?
If you have access to a sense of hearing, what sounds come to mind when you think of busyness? What do words like hectic, stressful and crowded bring to mind? I hear cars engines running, a cacophony of harried voices, the smell (wrong sense, I know) of pollution and footsteps stomping down the sidewalk or hallway in a clipped pace.
What do phrases like slowing down, living the simple life, relaxing and spacious stir up? My mind conjures notes of grass blowing in the wind, birds chirping, a stream softly flowing and insects at play on a summer night. I continue to watch live streams of nature scenes from around the world, and, more than the peaceful visuals, I’ve become accustomed to the instant feeling of calm that permeates my body as soon as I hear the accompanying sounds. In particular, the night-time noises from various animal parks in African countries and the rush of waves coming in on Hawaii’s beaches are the most soothing I’ve found.
It is a privilege to be able to enjoy slow living. What we often conceptualize as a simple lifestyle depends on pre-existing wealth or access to funds. I detest tourism to poor areas of the world that revels in the condition of life there as the “cure” to busyness, when, in fact, abject poverty brings its own forms of (often physical) suffering. To be able to be still and to be able to relax into the sounds of that stillness are gifts for which I hope I can be grateful and moments I desire not to squander.
There is nothing that needs to be done or accomplished with the quietness of the natural world. It is ephemeral, broken most often where I live by the machines humans have made. It cannot be stored in quantities and does not hold over from one day to the next. All we can do with it is attend it, open to it, and be in it as fully as the presence it offers us. The pandemic is stripping from me any vestiges of a belief in raw capitalism as a way of life; today I find myself pondering how many billions of dollars humans have spent on products designed to mimic, at maximum expense and minimum function, the enormous wealth that can be found in acts as simple as pacing my breath to the contour of the ocean’s rhythm?
I’m struggling through a migraine today and nearly forgot to make a daily post! Although taking time to appreciate the good I have in my life has been an intentional practice that’s enriched my day-to-day experience, focusing on it lately has felt at times like a way to escape grim reality or to brag about privilege more than a genuine stance. I am truly grateful, though, for the change of pace my life has undergone.
I’ve worked for the last three or four years to cut as many obligations out of my life as I could, after coming to terms with the fact that I have both physical and mental health conditions that are disabling. In some ways, the triggers that remain have become more destabilizing, as though I’m in shallower waters and therefore feel each ripple more acutely. I haven’t been able to arrive at a place of feeling secure and balanced.
Being allowed to work from home and having it be socially acceptable to minimize my contact with other people has felt like a prescription for good health, not a burden. People, especially when they are angry, are my main trigger, so having more control over the circumstances in which I encounter them has physically slowed my heart rate and lowered my blood pressure. I’m calmer and more grounded.
February was busier than normal for me, and the reset of my life through which I’m living right now is welcome, even if the circumstances leading to it are devastating and terrifying. Things will pick up again soon for about two months, and then I will have three months off of work entirely. This experience is teaching me that I might need a lot more physical distance from others than I thought I did. I’ve dreamed of moving to a remote area and living off the land. I figured it was one of those things that sounds good until you actually try it, now, I’m not as certain it’s a bad idea for many reasons. And, best of all, I have some space to try it out in small ways to see how it sits with me. What has happened to the pace of your life as of late? How has it affected you? For what are you grateful today?