Happiness Is Not Dependent on Activity

I went to yoga this week after a long absence. I knew my flexibility and balance would be tested. I also know that yoga is a personal thing:  "This is your practice” the instructor frequently reminds us. But, I can’t help noticing the others. Usually, most of them are more advanced than I. This time, everyone was much more agile and far more graceful.

But, creaks, tightness, and all, I am grateful for my body and abilities. I am upright and mobile. I can still do everything that I love -- bike, swim, and kayak (okay, I need some help getting in and out). And, I can still do household chores.

My gratefulness comes from a friend’s example. Last week, I got closer view of what it’s like to be disabled. A longtime friend, who suffers from post-polio syndrome, was in town. She arrived in her kitted-out minivan with an electric ramp and power wheelchair.

Post-polio syndrome is not uncommon for individuals who were stricken with polio.  Decades after the initial polio illness it can cause weakness, pain, fatigue, and muscle atrophy. Physically, my friend is not the person I met 35 years ago. But, while her stamina and endurance may be limited, her spark and spirit seem limitless.

She powered over our doorstep into our home and back into our lives.

Other guests during her visit ranged in age from 8 to 68.  Our “disabled” friend took over the rainy day activity planning and coordinated a trip to the nearby science center. She was firm; we must see all the exhibits and stay for the planetarium show to see a movie about astronauts.

Like a seated Mary Poppins, she was prepared, brisk, and effective. She’d arrived early and seemed to know everyone on the staff.  She powered through the exhibits providing an implicit invitation to see her world, if only briefly and superficially. Not every doorway was easily accessible – the opening would be too narrow or the door lacked the needed pushbutton. A remodeled 1927 school, the science center had no ramps. The routes were circuitous. For her to get between floors required a cramped wheelchair lift and a museum staffer’s help.

So, yes, it was a perspective I’d never had, on being dependent on sensible and accessible design and on the immense contributions of the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990 (www.ada.gov).

My friend, with her vibrancy, is aging as gracefully as anyone I know. As for me, with my dependence on activity and endorphins and fresh air, I need to take note of her approach. 

I like how the late Hugh G. Gallagher, another polio (as polio survivors call themselves; the plural is polios), put it.  This author and activist, among many other accomplishments (Gallagher wrote FDR’s Splendid Deception about President Roosevelt’s polio history), wrote:

“Polios have a certain advantage over the able-bodied when it comes to aging…. We do not confuse the quality of our life with the quality of our tennis game. We know that happiness is not dependent upon activity nor is meaningful defined by trophies. A meaningful life may be hampered—but need not be defined—by pain or disability.” —Hugh G. Gallagher, 1998

Hampered, not defined. Wow.

Will I remember my friend’s example and Gallagher’s perspective when the bike is left to rust, the kayak on loan, and going swimming means walking in the pool?

I hope so.