The News of the Day

Fight back end up for them poignant left behind have to wait struck and killed real hero wheelchair-bound victim insurmountable odds can't walk breaking all boundaries found it gone life's little challenges impressed overcoming obstacles such strength the handicapped intolerable

These are phrases from news articles about disabled people; this news from today deepens my exhaustion. We did two school shows -- with some of the sweetest kids -- but even though the dancing was exhilarating, I found myself slipping into the blues.

We sort of hope that social change happens on the one-by-one, individual encounter model. You can legislate non-discriminatory policies, but you have to win over the minds and spirits of the people who live in and around them. And the disjunction between what we perform in both literal and theoretical senses brought out one of the issues I have been struggling with.

It's one thing to write about disability rights, disability culture, et al from this committed point of view, it's another thing to wake up in the morning and get going on the day. However much I write/dance (and however much I spend on therapy), there's still a feeling of not quite acceptance. It used not to be like this. I used not to be like this. This ain't right. (And it's not fair, either...).

From an emotional point of view, it is hard to reconcile the improvements in strength and control that I have gained over the past 7 months with the increase in weakness -- no matter how much I work. Yes, I do actually know that building up my shoulders to protect the AC separation won't affect my legs, but as I get stronger I kind of expect that to be an all-over-body stronger. There's a little more grey area when it comes to core strength. I have improved my core strength. And this has made things like standing and walking less risky. But here again, even while I have seen huge local improvements, my overall situation has not improved.

Does acceptance demand that the desire for improvement slide slowly away? Why does acceptance ask me to be all I can be -- to push the limits and take the risks -- and yet be satisfied with less than I was? Does acceptance place restrictions on the amount you can bitch and moan -- or does it simply mean you can't be self-loathing? Acceptance doesn't mean you have to smile every day, but does it take the fight out of you?

How do we learn, deep in our bodies, minds, and spirits, that acceptance is only the taking of what is offered? In the language at least, acceptance is neutral. It hints at no consequences, no implications. It says nothing about fight, smile, or argument. It requires only a kind of selfish taking. You reach out and you take (and I think some combination of take-in, take-on, and take-over) that which is extended.

Acceptance is never easy, but it is easier in my bubble. The bubble of my home, my friends, my colleagues. Seeing other disabled people and being around other disabled people are huge gifts in my life. I build myself little protected spaces. I am OK at home. I am OK at the public places (shops, theaters, restaurants, parks, studios) I frequent. I am mostly safe at the gym. I am OK at SFO and JFK -- people know me there. I am OK when I am with my friends -- safety in numbers. I am OK with Wizard.

But every so often, I have to leave the bubble. And the splat is always surprising.

Audiences experience us as dancers, hidden in costume, shaped by the stage, created by the movement and the music. We always come out at the end of a show -- and particularly school assemblies -- to field questions. I think this humanizes us; it certainly makes us accessible. And, if we are successful, we are usually able to create a space in which people feel comfortable asking questions. But we are a show. A touring, performing show. And more often than not, I feel that the effects of the performance are like the images of a show. Here today, less present tomorrow, gone all too soon. Most importantly, however, it is a rare audience member who, in a quotidian situation, is able actively to tap into the 'mental release and stretch' experience of our dancing.

We change hearts and minds. Yes, we do. But I wonder how that experience can translate into social and cultural change in the world outside my bubble. I write here about me accepting the changes disability has wrought, but I care equally about the world accepting the difference disability implies.