It was a beautiful day outside, the first such day in several months. After being cooped up inside for months I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by. I grabbed a jacket to stave off the bit of a chill that lingered in the air and then began my mental checklist. My ankles felt a little squishy but not too bad. My knees twinged a bit, so maybe I’d been my brace and cane. My hips…my hips hurt as I shifted my weight back and forth. It was the kind of pain I often thought of as sour since it was like the pain you get in the back corners of your jaw when you taste something incredibly sour. At the moment it was only noticeable because I was checking for it, but experience had taught me that such pain would quickly increase once I started walking for any significant amount of time. My brace and cane did little to ease or prevent that pain.

I wasn’t going to be denied my chance to go outside and enjoy the day, however. I rolled out my second-hand wheelchair, put on my fingerless gloves, and set out before I could change my mind. I’d only had the wheelchair for a few months. On the one hand, it allowed me to go out on days like this when I might otherwise remain stuck inside. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly self-conscious whenever I used it. I have to remind myself that it was the same when I first began using a cane and that, eventually, I got over those feelings of insecurity. Still, I found myself worrying about other people seeing me in it, seeing me shifting my legs around and being called out for using a wheelchair even though I wasn’t paralyzed.

The sidewalk in front of my house is tilted ever so slightly towards the road. I’m not sure if that’s by design to shed water or just the natural result of the sidewalk settling. Either way, the slope makes my wheelchair want to turn towards the road. I am constantly having to course correct, turning one wheel faster while slowing down the other to keep me going in a straight line. My upper body isn’t used to this sort of thing yet and my muscles began to tire quickly. Soon there was the big hill that led down to the trailhead. Having previously tried to go down it using only my hands to control my speed I knew I’d have to do something else. The fingerless gloves gave me fairly decent grip on the wheels and allowed me to use my palms as a sort of brake, pressing down on the wheel rim to slow myself down, but the hill was too long and steep for that to work.

I didn’t want to get up and walk down the hill. I would need to walk back up it anyway on my way back so I wanted to preserve my joints as best I could until then. After considering my options for a few moments, I folded up the footrests and used my feet for additional control. By allowing the soles to drag on the ground I was able to control my descent much better. The entire time I was going down the hill, my worry that someone might see me using my feet came flooding back to me. Such concerns were foolish but acknowledging that fact only made me feel worse for having them.

About halfway down the hill there was a broken patch of sidewalk where some tree roots had gotten underneath and forced the slabs up at odd angles. I’d been over that patch before but it was never easy going. Once I’d just about been toppled out into the street while trying to get up and over the various bits of uneven sidewalk. This time was no exception and nearly tipped over, though this time it would have had me going face first into the sidewalk rather than into the street. Fortunately, I was able to catch myself in time. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill I was almost regretting my decision to go out.

As I made my way onto the trail, the asphalt surface making it somewhat easier for me to traverse, I tried to refocus on why I’d come there. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t pay attention to the beauty that surrounded me. Every time I took my eyes off the path I’d get caught on a fallen stick or sink into some snow drift that hadn’t yet melted or been cleared from the trail. Even when the path was clear I was constantly fighting to keep my wheelchair moving in a straight line since the path, like the sidewalk, always had a slope to one side or the other that invariably would pull on my wheelchair.

I pushed through, hoping against hope that it would get better, that my perspective would improve. I stopped to watch some ducks in the stream that ran alongside the trail. I wanted to move off of the trail so I wouldn’t be impeding the other people using the trail, but the paved surface of the path didn’t slope back into the ground and instead had a sheer drop of several inches on either side. Sure, I could stand up and traverse it, but again the fear of being seen held me back.

Eventually I reached a spot where the path widened and I could move off to one side. It wasn’t a particularly nice part of the trail. I couldn’t see the stream, and there were none of the cultivated flowerbeds that were interspersed along the trail. The reason for the wider paved area was because a gas utility access point was nearby and they needed a place to park a vehicle whenever they needed to service it. I couldn’t hear any birds over the noise of the hissing pipes.

I knew the next part of the trail was much nicer with some of the most beautiful trees and flowers but I couldn’t build up the motivation to press forward. My arms were tired and my hands were cramping up from fighting gravity as it pulled me and my wheelchair from one side of the trail to the next. I also knew that many parts of the trail ahead were kept in shadow and would likely still have snow on them.

With a sigh of regret, I turned back towards home. I was glad that I’d tried, glad that I knew I would eventually get over my insecurities, but mostly I was sad that I had not been able to enjoy my time outside. As I worked my way back along the trail, I thought of how relieved I was when I first got the wheelchair. I’d been needing one for some time and for the first little while that relief overshadowed any sort of embarrassment on my part. With careful use of my wheelchair, I’d been able to get back some of the mobility I’d lost and was even having fewer days overall when I needed the wheelchair. Then the difficulties began to take center stage. Things I use to take for granted were suddenly complicated. The first time I went to use a public restroom while using my wheelchair was an exercise in both patience and humiliation as I struggled to open the restroom door without getting caught on it or pinned to the wall by the door as it swung back into me. Going shopping alone was another unexpected trial as I had to figure out how to manage a shopping cart while in my wheelchair because all of the motorized carts were either in use or not working.

The climb back up the hill wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. I kept my eyes focused on the sidewalk, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the people going by in their cars. As expected, my hips began to hurt more and more as I walked and by the time I reached the top I was ready to get back into my wheelchair. Once I was back home I put my wheelchair away and spent much of the rest of the day on the couch. My legs hurt a bit more than usual for the next few days due to my walk up the hill and I’d need to take things easier for a while.

It’s in those moments, sitting on my couch because it hurt too much to walk around, that I contemplate what I’ll do the next time my legs feel good enough for me to be up and about. In years past, Summer tended to be when I felt the best and had the least discomfort. These days I’m planning out the yardwork I’d like to do, from landscaping to building a pond and a greenhouse. I had intended to do many of those things last Summer but never had enough good days with my legs to do them. I still work on my plans, but secretly I worry that I won’t get any of them done again this year.

It used to be a common refrain of mine, to tell my family that I was going for a walk. Even though the sentiment is still the same, I’m less comfortable now with that phrase and I find myself struggling to find an appropriate substitute.

Through it all, I’m reminded of the various changes we experience as we grow and age. When I was young I took pride in how high I could sing and was devastated when my voice began to deepen. I remember the morning I was no longer enraptured by Saturday morning cartoons and felt as though something had been lost. The same thing happened the first time I chose not to go out Trick-or-Treating. So many things that mark our growth that also can mark the end or loss of something else. We sacrifice old endeavors to make room for new ones. Old friends grow apart and new friendships are found. We all have our dreams, whether they’re from as far back as our childhood or as recent as today, and none of us knows which of them we will get to see come true, which of them we’ll let go of, and which of them we’ll never reach no matter how much we may yearn for it. That’s life, I suppose, and all any of us can do is to try our best. Find joy in the victories, learn from the failures, and lend a hand whenever you can.