Some people say life is meant to be lived – we should keep our eyes open and be present in every moment. Others say life just happens and we need to take whatever comes our way.
These two schools of thought can mold and shape everything around us. They’re powerful on their own without any bells or whistles. Although they may be contested at times, our thoughts can’t be taken away from us.
They’re ours. We own them, but something has to happen to make us think the way that we do.
The notion that things just happen without rhyme or reason has never set well with me. Nor has the idea that the things that do happen don’t leave a lasting impact on you or someone else around you. That way of thinking didn’t help me or mark a path of maturity for me. At the time, I didn’t realize how true this was. Nor how important it would become. It didn’t make me think any less of myself, either. In fact, it did the opposite.
It motivated me.
It made me realize I didn’t need a typical rite of passage to signify that I was mature. I slowly came to the conclusion that I could rely on my thought process to measure my own maturity. My thoughts had never been childish up until this point because they always had to be doing something for me – whether they acted as my moral compass when I was in pain, or guided a choice I’d made when I was a kid.
I eventually came to another conclusion. The reason I was so headstrong wasn’t so much because I learned the ways of the world at a young age. It was rather because I had to fight to get to where I was – fight to reach a point in my life where it was plausible to think about my future. And to even have a future beyond the realm of my cerebral palsy. So now, here I was. 12 or 13 years old, with nothing but my thoughts and budding ambitions to carry me.
I hadn’t done anything “big” with my passion for writing yet. I also didn’t have the privilege of eventually receiving many of the things most kids my age dreamed of getting: a car, keys or a driver’s license – among other rites of passage. That hope was dashed before I even knew how I truly felt about it. All I had was the cell phone that I convinced my parents to let me buy, which I treasured.
My phone gave me a genuine sense of independence and responsibility. It was almost equal to the feeling that my first motorized wheelchair gave me – as well as the other pieces of technology I’d learned to use over the years. The emotion they evoked in my soul was immeasurable, but I felt I had nothing else to show for myself.
That started to get under my skin. I was waiting for something to happen. Something that could let me know I was truly growing up. I had already been through enough to know that a negative mindset wasn’t going to get me anywhere. And it didn’t.
I wasn’t trying to be something I wasn’t. I was simply trying to get through this extremely awkward stage in my life. It was very clear that my path to maturity wasn’t going to be lined with fancy things. I accepted that, but I struggled to fill a void that I couldn’t explain or describe.
I tried being angry.
I tried being bitter and taking my frustrations out on people who didn’t deserve to be yelled at or ridiculed. Or had nothing to do with my circumstances. None of my tactics were working, so I tapped back into what I’ve always known: the power of determination. That, along with a slight change in attitude, brought me to a better place. It was a place where I didn’t have to be angry or bitter. Nor did I want to be.
I could just accept the fact that things were different for me, even the smallest things. I remind myself that if I can’t physically be as strong and poised as I’d like to be, my thoughts are stronger. They’re always there to fill that empty space and I am grateful for that.
If the mind is considered a great and useful tool, I’d like to think I’ve used mine well. It’s yet another gift that shouldn’t be wasted. As with any gift that’s found, not given.
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