on pitiful lives

i was born in the usa, and in a permanent sense, i have lived here my entire life. by most statistics i have seen, this essentially puts me in the top 10% of the world’s population in terms of well-being. if i consider that i was not born into poverty, i think that would drive upwards to the top 5%.

some people don’t have legs. their life experience is much different; they are wondering if places are wheelchair accessible, what kinds of jobs they are able to get, if they will find someone who will love them despite some missing appendages.

this could be you. it’s probably not, but it could be. it could be an accident away. how many accidents occur every year? 30,000 people die from car crashes in the usa each year; how many more are permanently injured?

i am rich, wanting to be richer. i want to be fit, within the most healthiest people of my age. i want to be happy, able to travel anywhere i want, want to be able to build my own house on a small piece of land. i want to be competent, able to solve problems, able to understand a variety of complex fields. i want to be able to care for my parents in retirement, have good friends, have a family.

i am in the running.

but it really only takes one stumble, a fall.

if i have a head injury, i’m going to be glad every day i can cherish my family. if i lose some limbs, i’m going to be grateful for each outdoor adventure that i’m still able to have.

and i’m out of the running.

worrying about making 10 million dollars is a luxury. planning on a house to buy, finding and crafting a beautiful relationship, adventuring as much as i can are also luxuries. being able to be independent and depended on, rather than being the dependent, is a precious treasure that allows me to fill my life with purpose and responsibility. when i take measure of my life and my goals, i look to my wonderful peers for competition and inspiration, and i look to my past to appreciate both how far i’ve come and how much i have to go. all of this churns in my mind to chart a courageous, ambitious voyage into the future, where things will be better, where my goals are conquered and new ones are erected. just wow! there is so much to do in life! – yet, what little is needed to take all of that away?

this is not a feel-good exploration of my feelings. i don’t feel extraordinarily grateful for the things i have. i am not especially happy i am not one of those pitiful people. if you say that some people don’t let any of those things hold them back, i think you are cruel. there are tens others who experience the same and live an excruciating life; are they less worthy than the one who overcomes their injury to become an olympics medalist? this is an acknowledgement of reality, and a displacement from meaning for many of the things in my life. in a sense, i am preparing myself for the worst, though i know the real thing could never be truly prepared for. i’m sure people would say “that’s mental illness, you need to go out there and live your life; these things are so rare they don’t matter”. i acknowledge that, and these things don’t translate to actionable things in my life. it’s a matter of perspective.

i feel aware of the portion of the population that lives these invisible lives. invisible because nobody really compares themselves to them. invisible because they suffer silently. they are sometimes hopelessly reliant on meager afterthoughts and accommodations fought for in minor histories of accommodations laws. the consolation is that this is rare, and if it does happen, you’ll deal with it then. you’ll get swept in to the invisible section. for someone who lives competing with my peers and my accomplished past, how is this not a terrible tragedy? i won’t pity them too much since everyone adapts. everyone carves out an acceptable life where they grow stronger, have things and accomplishments they’re proud of, even in the worst of conditions. it’s not fair to minimize that. instead, i mourn for the possible me that falls, falls, and falls from the heights i’m at now. i’m sure i would get back up, once again fighting for a life i’m proud of… but how am i not supposed to acknowledge that there will be something i have forever lost?

above all, this only instills in me an acknowledgement of fate. this could be you, it could not be you. “live your best life” comes in two forms: first, do the best you can because it is your only life, your only opportunity; greatness awaits you. second, no matter how bad things get, you should only worry about the things you have control over; only compare yourself to the you of yesterday. two sides of the same coin, side one is that of boundless opportunity and ambition, while side two is trudging through to make slivers of progress moment by moment. one is your maximum, one is your minimum. cynically, one is your greatest hopes, and the other one is a coping mechanism.

if i think about this too much, i start to feel a tragic but peaceful ambivalence towards fate. that’s really scary to the egoistic part of me still anchored to reality. i’m going to go back to conquering my little slice of the world now…