By Bob Dixon
In November 2009 my son Bobby was hit by the driver of a van as he was riding his motorcycle. He suffered horrific injuries and not a single doctor expected he would live. I was in Shanghai, and from 8000 miles away had to ask for a priest to give him the last rights. He did survive, but unfortunately is now a paraplegic and is learning how to live his new life from a wheelchair.
Obviously this changed my life in all sorts of ways. I quit my consulting job in China and moved back to the USA to be with my son during his recovery and rehabilitation.
I have a much better appreciation of the challenges faced by people in wheelchairs, that I realized I had never even thought about before. I also learned that parents around the world are united by a common bond – their children – and I’ve been blown away by the support we’ve received from people who don’t even know us.
But most of all, I realize what an amazing man my son is. I now understand how it’s possible to face terrible adversity, deal with it, and continue to focus on moving forward. I am so proud of him, and often wonder whether I could experience what he has been through, and come through it as well as he has. Honestly, I’m not sure. I only hope I never have to find out.
Still reeling seven years after my husband ended our 23-year marriage, I visited my son studying abroad in Florence. On a whim, I then flew to Amsterdam. I immediately fell in love with its beauty and charm; its emphasis on tolerance and personal authenticity that was so different from the shallow, consumer-driven, conservative life of southern California.
Strolling down Damrak to my hotel one day, breathing in the drug-tinged yet crisp air, it hit me: I could make this my home! People spoke English, I had a portable career and adequate resources, my parents were dead and my children partially launched. There was nothing stopping me.
So began my love affair with Amsterdam. Fast forward through a medical catastrophe and a three month romp with a con man; a broken heart, a broken arm and a totalled car; and now I’m finally living in my chosen city, just about to open the B&B I’d always dreamed of.
These ruts on the road taught me a very important lesson: shit happens! You’ve just got to deal with it, and have the stamina and maturity to pursue your dreams.
By Donna Lubrano
At age 46 I became responsible for caring for my 86 year old mother, who had advanced Parkinson’s disease, a progressive and very ugly disease. During the six years I cared for her I watched the disease progress from her not being able to swallow, to not being able to walk, to her beginning to aspirate her own saliva. Shortly after, she passed away at home, among friends.
But the amazing thing is that she never bemoaned her condition. She was happy to be alive, enjoyed everything she had and did not focus on the things she didn’t have, like mobility or the ability to eat.
I learned to love unconditionally and to make the commitment to put myself aside and work for someone else’s happiness. I learned that happiness is something you choose, and once you choose to be happy all the decisions you make support that choice.
Because of this, I have chosen to enjoy everything, whether it is a lazy day around the apartment or taking my first helicopter flying lesson. I’ve made a commitment to enjoy my quality time remaining.
By Paul Padilla
Riding a scooter on a dusty Guatemalan road, I turn and smile at the countryside. It smells of cow and mangoes. A just-met distant aunt is driving. She won’t let me drive. “You don’t know these roads,” she says in Spanish. There is only one road.
The first person I’ve seen in twenty minutes is an old man. He’s wearing a farmer’s hat and carrying a walking stick. He’s whacking the weeds, swinging aimlessly here and there. He’s got a barrel strapped to his back. And in the barrel is fire. A fire burning.
His head is bowed, and he walks as if on a mission. And in that one second where we pass him I sense ritual, and obligation, and the weight of humanity. I don’t know why he has a barrel burning old grass.
People carry backpacks full of books and laptops, strap bombs and babies. This man has strapped on a wooden barrel with a small fire in it, and is walking the lonely road. I think of Sisyphus, condemned to do something every day, only to do it again the next. But there is no sense of regret or apathy, but rather human dignity and perseverance.
I realize we each have the responsibility to carry our own Self, our own Humanity. That we can “do”, and not merely “try to do”, no matter how trivial or important the task. That we can succeed in life merely be doing and doing and doing.
As we speed away he grows distant, the smoke billowing high.
Have you ever had an experience that flipped your life upside down in an instant? If you have, and are to happy to share, we’d love to hear about it, and how it affected you.