Why do I have to be inspirational now that I'm in a wheelchair? So many people say "oh, you're such an inspiration". I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's better to be an inspiration than a miserable energy-vampire. Yet I'm the same person I was before my accident. One of the most regular questions I get (from strangers, who seem so willing to talk to me now. I've always been socially adept, but this is different. Is it because I'm less threatening at my new height? Do I attract sympathy?) is "your accident must have made you re-evaluate your life, to change your priorities, surely?". Well, no, actually. My children have always been my priority, and they still are. I have no greater sense of purpose. I've always had a sense of purpose. Breaking my back hasn't suddenly caused me to see the light. "Oh, you'll do stuff you've never done before." Um, sorry, no. Apart from going clubbing and having a large, very drunk woman falling on me, breaking my nose, blood everywhere and her complete lack of concern. That, yes, I've never done before. I think perhaps the main difference is I can perhaps have a greater impact simply because people assume I can achieve less. I liked this brief comment in the Seattle Times. And there's interesting guidancefrom the Society of Professional Journalists with a fine quote from one HolLynn D'Lil: “Being told that you're inspirational when you're doing something ordinary is an assault on your self-concept".
But hey, what am I complaining about? If I can get more work as an inspirational leader, speaker, trainer, whatever, then that's obviously a good thing. And checking out other sources for this rant has led me to a great website, Pushing the Limits. Having tried one of their suggestions, I'd have to agree that blokarting is wind-powered wheelchair awesomeness. Yes indeed. But if I want a cold reality check, just speak to Annika: "Inspirational? People should try living with you". A good test.
