Walking outside
It was a comment of my daughter’s while I was in town with her and my husband – “Why do we walk (outside) as if we don’t know each other?” – that set up a long fuse, a question that wanted an answer.
Good question.
I used to think of my walking stance as broad and roughly triangular, taking up a lot of room on pavements and walkways. These days, with two walking aids, I am even broader in my stance, though I do manage to be a bit faster and more confident. However, because of the extra space I take up on the pavement, it is a brave person who can stay abreast of me and ignore the hurried accelerations of others as they overtake.
Most pavements are rather narrow; and those pavements that are broader, also tend to carry a lot of street furniture. So my husband has evolved a habit of either forging ahead of me, or walking behind me in single-file mode. And that has always been that.
But why? Because, he says, he doesn’t wish to impede others. He doesn’t want to get in the way. This is the expected politeness that of course makes plenty of sense and which my daughter would probably agree with, if asked.
I do rather rebel at the assumption that I, or we, will be in the way, even if it is sometimes true. Unless I rather forcefully insist that I like his company and would welcome conversation, outdoors, I will otherwise be doomed to spend the rest of my life walking with Eddie in single file, to spare his blushes and for the convenience of others.
In single-file mode, I feel either self-conscious – if he walks behind – or rather as if I am being pulled along on a lead, if he walks ahead. I just want to walk beside him, and I think that joy is worth the possible inconvenience to others, who will simply pass by and continue their conversations anyhow.
So I now ask my husband to walk alongside me, and perhaps he may stop worrying what other people think, and oblige me. Not because I am selfish, but because I do wish to inhabit my life fully. Now I do believe that a little inconvenience to others is worth the pleasure I gain from being able to converse out of doors at my leisure. And since I rarely do walk outdoors with my husband, it seems a small privilege to claim.
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September 12, 2023
Just like everyone else
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Happiness Matters, Memoir 2 Comments
For years and years I bought into the idea – the dream – that I should be treated “just like everyone else.” If I had known what a mantra was, that would have been mine.
But when I started parroting that dream, I was only a child.
What that phrase is trying to say, is, “I’d like people to see me as I am: flawed certainly, as a character flaw is part of the human condition. But whole, and sometimes, a bit of a pain. And allowed to be a nuisance, not because I am ‘unusual’ and ‘expect special treatment’ but because I would like to listen to Abba when it’s clear the flavour of today’s party is David Bowie. Get with the programme, Fran.
Saying, “We don’t make allowances for you, we treat you like everyone else,” in certain contexts can mean that we are free to ignore you, just as we ignore everyone else. They manage, and so will you. “See? Isn’t this grand? We treat you just the same.”
But that kind of ignoring can sometimes lead to failure: in an active universe, being the subject of ‘equal treatment’ can mean that we sit and listen and nod and admire and wish and dream and hope and yearn for someone to come along who will actually take time to listen, and do things with us. Not for us, but with us. Taking the time to acknowledge difference and allow it full expression and room.
I hope that the world might slow down a bit, so that I don’t have to devote all my energies to just trying to keep up. ‘Keeping up’, I devote a great deal of time and energy to others, worrying about what they expect from me, and what I need to do next to meet expectations.
That’s not good, as these things go; and so now, I do think that allowances should be made, based on what each of us asks for. Which is, to be seen and accepted as we are. We can make time to listen. I don’t always manage that, but it is my aim.
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