Celebrating the Beauty of Imperfection

As I woke up this morning, my thoughts went to the Carson of three years ago. I wondered what time he woke up, what he ate for breakfast, and how he enjoyed the few remaining hours of his able-body, not knowing that at 3:10 PM, he would lose the ability to do so much of what he had loved to do with his 23 year old life. I wonder if I played the piano or flute that day, or if I ran everywhere I went, like I usually did. 

Today means three years of paralysis. It means three years of loss and grief. It also means three years of amazing experiences and victories. As I began writing this, I promised myself that I wouldn't sugarcoat my experience, that I would remain consistent with the feelings that I have.

I tend to set goals that are extreme in nature. I struggle to set smaller, incremental goals because I’m so fixated on becoming the best, making it the farthest, swimming the fastest, finding that elusive cure, solving that impossible problem, walking after that spinal cord injury. The truth is that these impossible goals and standards have been a part of my thinking since birth (ask my parents). This mindset has been a strength in many ways, and a weakness in others, but for better or for worse, this last year of paralysis came with a difficult realization that challenged some impossible goals:

I’m not going to get over this.

I have believed over the last 3 years that if I get strong enough mentally, emotionally and spiritually, that I’ll be able to beat loss and grief. At this point in my life, I’ve adjusted the expectations of my physical recovery to match a realistic outcome. That is, not recovering too far beyond what I have so far. However, in terms of my emotional and mental recovery, I’ve believed that one day I won’t look back and grieve the way I still do at times, and that I’ll accept and embrace what has happened.

I grieve because I love what I lost, and that the only way to take away the grief, is to take away that love… which cannot happen. How can I become indifferent to the love I had of playing the flute with fingers that did as I asked? How can I forget the amazing feeling of my feet burning in my shoes after a run on a hot day, or the freedom of tumbling and flexibility? How can I forget what made me me in so many ways? The answer is I can’t, even I wanted to. I cannot forget what I had, and as long as I remember, there will be grief.

I’m a psychology major. My younger brother is also psychology major, my father a clinical psychologist, my older brother a PA for a psychiatrist, and I work for a psychologist. One of the greatest things I’ve learned from lifelong exposure to this field of social science is that life is incredibly diverse, and that perfection is a concept that rarely, if ever, has found a place on earth or in people. At first realization, this challenged my Pollyanna-like thinking that all people have good intentions, that everything happens for a reason, and that positivity can solve all problems. Side note: Pollyanna is paralyzed at the end of the movie. We a lot in common.

What I have gained, however, is the understanding that perfect circumstances are not a prerequisite to real happiness, and that light and darkness constantly coexist, and require the other’s presence for their own existence. It’s a beautiful and complex dichotomy. 

I mentioned above the realization that I’ll never get over this… but along with that realization came the recognition that I don’t have to get over this in order to be happy. I am learning to accept that on the same day I can both praise and curse God, that I can both love and despise my predicament at the same time, and that none of these feelings undermine the other. Truly, there are aspects of SCI that I despise (which shouldn’t be a surprise to most), but there are also parts of this whole situation I love. I’m never lacking for human connection. Life has a beautiful depth because of what I’ve been through. I believe I have connection to the most beautiful human beings that planet earth has to offer, many of which I have come in contact with or connected with because of my injury. 

Another side note: It's important for me to state that I do not mean to suggest that tragedies are worthy of celebration, or that if we just shift our perception, we will see what a blessing our losses are. I speak only out of the context of my specific life experience, understanding that there are many in painful circumstances who will read this, whose real pain I validate.

As this day arrived, the anniversary of my injury, I’ve wondered what I want this day to stand for. I want the 30th of December to be a celebration of life, and specifically, the celebration of our complex, confusing, and exquisitely imperfect lives. I want to celebrate the reality that I can live a happy and fulfilled life with a partially paralyzed body.  Life is rarely an either/or statement, but is so often an and/with statement.

Today I celebrate living as passionately, authentically and courageously as I can in a body that doesn’t respond to my commands, and that still lies dormant and waiting for the day that it will perform again as it used to.

What complexity do you celebrate?

I cannot finish this post without thanking the many individuals in my life that have stood by me with perfect love and loyalty. I must especially thank my parents who would give their lives for me or take my position without hesitation. Mom and Dad, we made it through another year.