Just a Butter Dish
The butter dish gently comes to a rest in its own little spot high up in the fridge door. As my fingers glide out, I see it.
Holy cow! I just did that. I really just did that.
I just took the butter dish from the counter to the fridge – with my left hand. Wow.
So what, you might be thinking? What’s the big deal? That’s a common everyday task. Anybody can do that. Under normal circumstances, you’d be right.
But this time you’re wrong.
This is the first time I’ve been able to do that in 17 years, 7 months, 4 days and 5 hours. And I did it without thinking. My body just did it.
Huge. Huge. Huge. Just plain massive.
I did it without thinking. I did it without compensating with other muscles. I did it with ease. Like it’s normal.
It’s not normal. That guy, Little Guy, attached to the left side of my body, once upon a time, hung helpless. For years he banged and bumped against my body. I pitied him and protected him and hated him. But mostly I ignored him.
He still causes me constant pain. He still twists my body into knots. He still asks my right to carry more than her fair share of the burden.
Now, he’s finally working all by himself. Some of the time.
We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and the presumption that once our eyes watered.
—Tom Stoppard, Rosencratz and Guildenstern Are Dead
The Flying Lesson
Feel the triumph no matter how small.
You Can't. Until You Do.
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