I watched a man in a wheel chair today. Maybe that's not so unusual, we all have at one time or another. But it was a cold blustery day, and he only had one arm.
I had pulled up to the traffic light, and for a moment, time stood still. I watched this man as he slowly made his way up the sidewalk, with his one working arm he would push the wheel on his chair propelling himself forward, then reach over across himself and push the other side of the chair to correct his heading, and push it again.
I sat there wondering, "why would anyone in their right mind even do that?" Obviously he had done this before, it couldn't possibly be the first time. I of course had no clue as to where he was going, he made no obvious effort or movement towards the convenience store there on the corner, he just kept pushing himself forward, a little bit at a time, against the wind, wig-wagging back and forth on the sidewalk, constantly correcting himself.
And then his hat blew off.
I was half tempted to leap from my car in some gesture of compassion, some noble deed to scurry over towards him, retrieve his cap and hand it back to him, even though the light had now turned green and traffic had begun to move once again. Instead, I watched as he spun his wheelchair about, his cap running free behind him for a moment, before stopping back where I had first spotted him. I passed by as he leaned over snatching his cap back up from the ground, putting it back on his head, and then spinning once again, beginning the journey all over again that I had sat and watched him make.
And I wondered.
In a way, we all sit in our own wheelchairs. Most of us find a way to keep going forward no matter how difficult it seems to be, or how difficult others may see it as we struggle on through life. And for some, it's far harder than that, for some like this man, we do it with one arm, we keep going even though we sometimes lose the comfort of our own hats, and have to stop, retrieve that comfort, that security and find a way to keep going.
Maybe he would have appreciated the gesture, my stopping jumping out to help. But I also wondered, how many who sat behind me in their cars would have honked impatiently as I did so. How many others sat there as I did wondering at his determination, or stupidity? Would he have appreciated someone giving him a hand, walking behind, pushing him instead of his doing it himself? Or would he have found annoyance in that?
I think that all of us at times appreciate a little push, a little help once in a while. But sometimes, we need to push ourselves, even if we wigwag up the sidewalk, frustratingly so perhaps, against the wind, against the cold, against the anger and frustration for what life has given us to try and overcome.
To be honest, I don't know how I will face my own days ahead. I don't know if I will have that kind of determination to persevere, to keep going and not give up. I admit I admired his determination, even though I felt sorry for him. But did he want that? I think not. I don't think he was there traveling along just so people would see, wonder, and feel sorry for him even if they did, even as I did. I'm not sure I'd have gone back for my hat. I'm not sure I will when the day comes for me that I lose that comfort or my security, or even my desire for life. I wonder, will I step back and try again? Will I accept that not everything in life that we dream of or desire is possible. Maybe I won't care by then, I honestly don't know. I'll certainly find out at some point, as we all will.
Will I finally reach the corner and cross the street? Will the time allotted to do that be enough to accomplish so simple a task, complicated by whatever handicaps we're faced with? By an uncertain future and a past that haunts me still?
Will I welcome the push behind me to help me a long. Probably. Will I resent that someone has to do that for me? Probably.
We all have our own wheelchairs to push along.
But I guess I should be thankful that I have two arms to do it with.
