A Change of Scenery

I needed a week away. I rarely say those words because my life doesn’t really generate the feeling of being overwhelmed by daily life and I think they are overused. But quarantining and being on my own five days a week for about a month gave those words real meaning for me. I was thrilled to get “down the shore” over July 4th.

Rob at Sun Dog
on the Beach.

There’s nothing like sitting on the beach letting the ocean roll over your feet. Looking out and seeing no end to the water as it gives way to the sky is amazing.

I was lucky enough to get in the water on my knees a few times. Even just inches deep in the ocean gives me a feeling of connection to the world, the universe, that I don’t understand but absolutely love. It’s the closest I come to feeling a sense of awe at the planet I live on. The warmth of the water allowed me to stay in the ocean for a while, the tide bringing the waves up to my waist at times. Letting the water run around me relaxed my body in ways I remembered from years past but never appreciated as much as I did this time.

My mind was relaxed as well. Spending an afternoon feeling an ocean breeze with absolutely nothing to think about, looking up at the sky, which seems bigger than ever extended over the ocean, leaves you open to new ideas. The typical daily noise is gone, even when you live a fairly quiet life as I do, freeing your mind.

There are just things you do down the shore that somehow never happen at home. Eating breakfast outside (even if it hadn’t been the only way we were allowed to eat out) was fun. I read more than usual on vacation. I played games. I met some of the family of my mom’s significant other—or whatever we call John these days. Nice people, to no surprise. I also enjoyed not being alone for a week and simply being somewhere other than home.

My mom, Donna, and John
at the Crab House.

I was grateful my mom and John were willing to have me down. The house is their summer home and is not really intended for visitors, especially those in wheelchairs! At their age and mine, it was more than challenging for me to get in and out of the house and to navigate once I was inside. Wheeling through the soft rugs felt like what I imagine it’s like moving through quicksand. But thanks to their efforts, things worked out.

The experience was another reminder that cerebral palsy is slowing me down even more than I think at times. The older I get, the more I feel the toll cerebral palsy is taking on my body and its impact on my day-to-day life. It seems that CP has met middle-age in the last few years, and they don’t play nice together. I’ve come to believe that being filthy rich is the only way to live when you have a significant physical disability. While that’s said in jest on some level and I’m very aware of how fortunate I am to live in a nice home and to get to have a vacation, I do think of the things “money can buy.”

I didn’t notice a single accessible house while I was away. Steps seemed to lead to every door. Accessible parking didn’t exist. Houses are generally as close together as they can be without being attached.

That’s not a complaint. There’s nothing to do about it. But, man, it’s fun to daydream. If I were a rich man . . . I played with the thought that I’d buy up about four houses in a row on the block we were on, bulldoze ‘em, and build one with a ramp into the house, room to park, maybe a big backyard, and definitely an inside with plenty of room to maneuver in a wheelchair. (And no plush rugs!) Of course, beachfront might be nice!

In the meantime, just the thought of going away finally gave me the energy to do some writing. I’ve done a little work on a sequel / re-launch of Super Crip. I’m considering some adjustments to my workout in light of the physical struggles I’ve been experiencing even before vacation—following some of my own advice from Reach Past Your Limits. I’m already enjoying the reopening of my Y, hoping the first step of a return to normalcy is a sign of things to come.

And I look forward to the next chance to have a change of scenery.