I was born with one leg shorter than the other. It was not very noticeable when I was younger, but as I began to age beyond the magical years of my twenties and thirties, the hitch in my step became a little more prominent to those who might happen to watch me walk. My partner in life swears that there has always been a hitch to my walk, but I never really noticed it for what it was. Frankly, while I was cursing my short legs for not moving as rapidly as the rest of humanity, my left leg was actually lagging behind, while my right leg took on most of the movement burden.
So when did I finally notice the difference between the height of my legs? It was long after my obesity had become morbid and the taking of a deep breath was a luxury. It was after my knees had become more than a minor irritation, as the arthritis began wearing away the cartilage from my joints in earnest. It was even after I had become dependent on using a cane to help carry me from one place to another.
I was 316 lbs with a decided limp that I thought was due to the fact that I relied on a cane. It was not until after I began to lose a substantial amount of weight for the umpteenth time in my life, that I truly took stock of the length of my left leg as opposed to my right. As I increased my activity... no, let's be honest... as I added a previously non-existent level of activity into my life, I began to notice that the limp did not go away, and within ten years, I had concluded that my right leg was definitely longer than my left.
Those of you who are markedly more perceptive than I, might ask, "What does this have to do with anything? Why should I care about the difference in the length of your legs and how it causes a limp that you were too ignorant to notice for a substantial part of your life? And, more to the point, will there be a test, because I dozed off at least two paragraphs ago?"
I would probably be smart to promise you cookies, if only you will stay and listen for just awhile longer, because there are probably half a dozen paths I could take from this point in my post and more than half a dozen reasons to even share these thoughts with you at all.
Let's talk about how it feels to be considered an obstacle to be gotten around at the quickest pace. Everyone is in a huge hurry these days; racing their cars to reach their destination in the least amount of time; donning streamlined gear before mounting their bikes to take this ride at the fastest speed ever; hurrying to get around the slow moving person with a cane, or a wheelchair, or simply short legs, one of which is shorter than the other.
I want you to actually consider that person for just a moment. In your rush to get to your destination by the quickest route, have you ever noticed why that turtle-person is in your way? Have you ever thought that perhaps this particular obstacle might need more consideration than you are providing as you cut directly in front of them?
Speaking from experience, walking is a necessity that is more grueling than fun. And, stopping abruptly causes extra pain and stress in my joints. So, while you are getting from point A to point Z, with as few steps as possible, this slow moving turtle is mindfully concentrating on placing one foot in front of the next with the least amount of pain. When you come from behind and skirt around me with less than two feet of space between us, I have to put on my brakes, and frankly, the clutch in this old car is useless. As I stumble abruptly to a halt, my knees squeal with the cry of a grinding clutch gone bad. Meanwhile, you are propelling your Ferrari forward to your destination at a pace I can only dream of.
I tell you this story in this particular manner, not because I think that you are in any way complicit in this type of scenario, but because I am hoping to make an impact upon those of you who are idling your cars nearby, while this sort of thing happens. Trust me, this scenario happens countless times each day, and while my speeding nemesis probably does not spare a second thought beyond her gratitude at winning our race, I think about it often.
I think about it in many different ways, and from a lot of different perspectives. Sometimes, I attribute the rashness of the action to a need to be first at everything, regardless of the consequences. Sometimes, I am loath to admit, I think people are just plain rude and do not truly care what happens to another as a result of their actions. And, certainly, I have surmised that there is evil intent on the part of the people who race around me. But mostly? Mostly, I believe that people are so intent to hurry through life that it has become an automatic need to rush everywhere we go, and in our rush, we have a need to be first in line.
Please don't think that we don't notice the huge rush most people accelerate into as soon as they notice that we turtle people might possibly get in their way. And, please, don't think that we are not subject to the same human thoughts and urges that create a need to be first through the door.
Just like when I am driving on the freeway, and I see a slower moving vehicle in my lane in front of me, and I signal to make the pass before I can be slowed down. I push the gas pedal harder, revving my engine to speed up my pass, before the person in the other car can notice my intent. Though my countenance remains nonchalant, he usually does notice, and with a studied complacence, he will almost always attempt to rev his engine even higher than mine, so that, as we race each other down the highway, intent only on being first in line, the original objective is now missing. There is no longer a slow moving vehicle ahead of me... simply put, there is only my adrenaline-laced need to be first.
It would appear that I am truly no different than the woman speeding down the hall to cut in front of me before my slow moving limp causes her to slow down. Her walk is as swift as a red Ferrari, while mine is a stuttering 1968 yellow Volkswagen Bug. Maybe my question should really be, why am I upset by her passing me? Is it truly just because it caused me some difficulty, or am I harboring some inkling of irritation that her walking vehicle is faster than mine?
So when did I finally notice the difference between the height of my legs? It was long after my obesity had become morbid and the taking of a deep breath was a luxury. It was after my knees had become more than a minor irritation, as the arthritis began wearing away the cartilage from my joints in earnest. It was even after I had become dependent on using a cane to help carry me from one place to another.
I was 316 lbs with a decided limp that I thought was due to the fact that I relied on a cane. It was not until after I began to lose a substantial amount of weight for the umpteenth time in my life, that I truly took stock of the length of my left leg as opposed to my right. As I increased my activity... no, let's be honest... as I added a previously non-existent level of activity into my life, I began to notice that the limp did not go away, and within ten years, I had concluded that my right leg was definitely longer than my left.
Those of you who are markedly more perceptive than I, might ask, "What does this have to do with anything? Why should I care about the difference in the length of your legs and how it causes a limp that you were too ignorant to notice for a substantial part of your life? And, more to the point, will there be a test, because I dozed off at least two paragraphs ago?"
I would probably be smart to promise you cookies, if only you will stay and listen for just awhile longer, because there are probably half a dozen paths I could take from this point in my post and more than half a dozen reasons to even share these thoughts with you at all.
Let's talk about how it feels to be considered an obstacle to be gotten around at the quickest pace. Everyone is in a huge hurry these days; racing their cars to reach their destination in the least amount of time; donning streamlined gear before mounting their bikes to take this ride at the fastest speed ever; hurrying to get around the slow moving person with a cane, or a wheelchair, or simply short legs, one of which is shorter than the other.
I want you to actually consider that person for just a moment. In your rush to get to your destination by the quickest route, have you ever noticed why that turtle-person is in your way? Have you ever thought that perhaps this particular obstacle might need more consideration than you are providing as you cut directly in front of them?
Speaking from experience, walking is a necessity that is more grueling than fun. And, stopping abruptly causes extra pain and stress in my joints. So, while you are getting from point A to point Z, with as few steps as possible, this slow moving turtle is mindfully concentrating on placing one foot in front of the next with the least amount of pain. When you come from behind and skirt around me with less than two feet of space between us, I have to put on my brakes, and frankly, the clutch in this old car is useless. As I stumble abruptly to a halt, my knees squeal with the cry of a grinding clutch gone bad. Meanwhile, you are propelling your Ferrari forward to your destination at a pace I can only dream of.
I tell you this story in this particular manner, not because I think that you are in any way complicit in this type of scenario, but because I am hoping to make an impact upon those of you who are idling your cars nearby, while this sort of thing happens. Trust me, this scenario happens countless times each day, and while my speeding nemesis probably does not spare a second thought beyond her gratitude at winning our race, I think about it often.
I think about it in many different ways, and from a lot of different perspectives. Sometimes, I attribute the rashness of the action to a need to be first at everything, regardless of the consequences. Sometimes, I am loath to admit, I think people are just plain rude and do not truly care what happens to another as a result of their actions. And, certainly, I have surmised that there is evil intent on the part of the people who race around me. But mostly? Mostly, I believe that people are so intent to hurry through life that it has become an automatic need to rush everywhere we go, and in our rush, we have a need to be first in line.
Please don't think that we don't notice the huge rush most people accelerate into as soon as they notice that we turtle people might possibly get in their way. And, please, don't think that we are not subject to the same human thoughts and urges that create a need to be first through the door.
It would appear that I am truly no different than the woman speeding down the hall to cut in front of me before my slow moving limp causes her to slow down. Her walk is as swift as a red Ferrari, while mine is a stuttering 1968 yellow Volkswagen Bug. Maybe my question should really be, why am I upset by her passing me? Is it truly just because it caused me some difficulty, or am I harboring some inkling of irritation that her walking vehicle is faster than mine?
