Dangerous Delicate Power

If you want power and control, are you also willing to earn it?

Power is a dangerous, yet delicate thing. It can overcome us, and make us feel like we’re on top of the world. It can give us access to things we may never have dreamed.

It’s easy to think the world is ours for the taking when power is given. It can poison our bodies and minds. When power is earned or awarded, however, we can make our own way, dream our own dreams and maybe even learn to use what we have to make something worthwhile. Or at least, dream bigger.

That’s one thing I’ve always tried to do, regardless of the many things I don’t have power or control of in my own life. It has always been important for me to work with the things I do have, rather than wish for what I don’t. That can range from my ability to feed myself to the way I think on any given day. I embrace those little things more than I readily admit because they empower me. I try to balance that empowerment with the fact that the world isn’t tailor-made to accommodate my disability. Nor the emotions that are attached to it.

It’s not an object that you can take out of a box and expect it to be perfect. There’s some assembly required, and I’m willing to build until I can’t build anymore. My cerebral palsy is a constant reminder that I need to mold my surroundings in a way to fit me. Most importantly, I need to do so mindfully and realistically.

I’ve applied this mindset to every aspect of my life and it has benefited me. It even helped me through my transition when I started junior high. I was already a curious, awkward kid. Now, I was a curious, awkward kid in an equally strange position. But that was all about to change.

I was still in grade school when I was preparing to receive my first motorized wheelchair. My parents felt I was responsible enough to handle a new set of wheels, and I was ready to show them they were right. I didn’t mind I had to wait until I was a little older. Nor that I had to go to driving school — and pass — before everything was official. I was just excited to have a real chance to gain a little bit more independence.

I was also very nervous because I had never even sat in a motorized wheelchair before — let alone driven one. All I remember having was a hot pink wheelchair with rickety wheels and an oversized seat. It was the talk of my neighborhood when I was younger, but now, here I was — sitting in class on a somewhat warm day, waiting for the final bell to ring. The hot, sticky mesh-like fabric on the cushion of my small manual chair was sticking to the back of my legs. That was usually enough for me to count the seconds until the bell rang every day. On this particular day, however, there was an extra boost of anxiousness.

The bell finally rang after a few long minutes. The local school van picked me up and drove me home. My parents transferred me to their car and we were off to the wheelchair clinic. We soon entered a large room with plenty of space to drive around. There were orange cones scattered across the floor and tape marked off different areas. My eyes were fixed on the sleek wheelchair parked nearby, which I hoped to call my own. Or at least one like it.

A gentleman walk in a few minutes later, smiled and asked, “Are you ready to give this thing a spin?”

“Yes!” I eagerly replied.

With that, I got in the chair and slowly navigated my way around the course. I tried not to let anyone see how shaky I was. I didn’t know if I’d get another opportunity like this, so I blocked everything else out and just drove. When I looked back to see if I had knocked anything over about two hours later, my eyes filled up with hot tears.

All the cones were still standing. The tape on the floor wasn’t folded or bent — and to my surprise, I could drive in a straight line. Everything was still in its place. The gentleman who was monitoring me and giving me directions shot me a wink of approval.

I left driving school feeling incredibly rewarded, even though I had to wait another few weeks until I got my own chair after customizing and ordering it. I went to school with newfound self-respect. I not only passed the latest test in life, but I also gained the power I always thought was missing.

That motorized chair would be the first of many I’d eventually call my own. I realize now that having this type of chair is perhaps the greatest power I will ever have because it isn’t about independence and getting what I want. It’s about what I choose to do with the things my chair gives me that I didn’t have before.

We all want power over our own lives. We all want to have some sort of control. But are you willing to earn it? Or let someone hand it to you?

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