Beauty | Sighs and Hallelujahs

31Jan/101

Beauty in the Struggle

At age 4, Itzhak Perlman was struck by polio and his legs were severely paralyzed. Now well into his 60s, this amazing musician still uses crutches to walk on and off stage.

I entered Benaroya Hall on Thursday night without this knowledge and I was struck by the amount of effort that it apparently took Mr. Perlaman to walk on to the stage to perform. For those familiar with the symphony culture, you are aware that for some strange reason soloists and conductors walk off and back onto the stage multiple times before intermission and at the end of the performance. After seeing Itzhak Perlman slowly amble front and center for his initial performance, I assumed those traditions would be excused due to his limited mobility. I was wrong.

Not only did Mr. Perlman enter and exit the stage several times, he also awkwardly walked up a small set of stairs in order to conduct the symphony. As he approached the first of three steps and swung his leg out to lift it up on the step, there was an audible gasp from the audience. The gasp was in response to the seemingly unstable way that Mr. Perlman climbed the stairs, with most in attendance unsure that he'd manage to make even the first step up.

But, as I should know, those of us who have lived with disabilities most of our lives can often easily complete tasks that others think difficult (if not impossible) for us. There was a sense of relief as Mr. Perlman carefully climbed the stairs, plunked himself down on the chair and set his crutches down at each side.

As I left the Seattle Symphony performance that evening, I struggled to place words to what I had just experienced. Ask my friend, Elisabeth, that joined me that night. I tried to convey to her what I was feeling, but I'm not sure any of my words made sense!

It wasn't until I was driving home that the words came to me. What I had witnessed was amazing beauty in the struggle. Had an athletic, perfectly ambulatory performer jogged out onto stage that night and played with the same perfection that Perlman had, I would have been impressed. But, I left that night with a level of gratitude and amazement that was only present due to the amount of effort that it seemed to take Mr. Perlman to simply get on and off stage.

(Check out an earlier performance by Itzhak Perlman below. In this video you can see the struggle in him walking.)

These past few days I've been thinking about what it is that makes beauty so stunning when it's in the context of struggle. It's the contrast, I suppose. The music was elevated even further by the fact that Mr. Perlman spends so much energy just getting from place to place. He could easily say, "I'm going to retire and rest." Instead, he presses forward to be a great ambassador for both music and disability.

Through this experience I have begun to better appreciate what people mean when they tell me they see beauty in how I use my feet to complete daily tasks. It simply seems like survival to me, but there is likely much beauty within the daily struggle. This is so true for all of us - disabled or not. Now, my - and our - goal is to see that beauty as we are present in and push through the struggle.

Tagged as: beauty, Itzhak Perlman, music, Seattle Symphony, struggle 1 Comment

2Oct/094

All Sort of Crazily Beautiful

I borrowed the title of this post from a sentence in Bird by Bird, a book on writing and life by Anne Lamott. In the chapter called Polaroids she speaks of the need to show up and be present -- for writing assignments, specifically; but for life in general. Lamott recalls attending a Special Olympics event in the Bay area, where she lives, with no idea what she'd write about for her upcoming newspaper article. After lunch she wandered into the gym and found a basketball game being played. "In lieu of any scoring," she says, "the men stampeded in slow motion up and down the court, dribbling the ball thunderously. I had never heard such a loud game. It was all sort of crazily beautiful."

As I walked around San Diego yesterday, taking in the warm weather and experiencing a new city, I couldn't help but think the same thing of my life recently.

A few weeks ago I wrote of my need to begin to wrestle with God, especially involving issues around my disability. 32 years into my life I've finally begun to engage in questions around my creation as a man without arms (as well as severe problems with my left leg). Last weekend was a rough time for me -- mostly due to that wrestling. It was packed with true feeling and emotion -- something that I rarely stay present for. I tend to limit my emotions, good or bad, in order to stay on an even keel.

So, two main points of Lamott's chapter struck me as being very poignant:

1. Showing up and staying present -- It's going to take times in the valley in order for me to appreciate the mountain top experiences like I'm having this week. I hate this. I've perfected the art of pushing away anger, emotions and truly feeling. To stay present, as Anne Lamott wrote about, takes a lot of work on my part. But, that presence is what makes things so good and so bad at the same time.

Rarely do I show up with all I am, and even when I do, I can shut down quickly at the moment feelings start to appear. It's a fear of the wellspring of emotions that may come flowing out if I really plumb their depths. They've been kept down for over three decades and they've built up a lot of pressure over that time. To start to open up that well is scary, but I'm doing my best to start exploring what's down there -- as ugly or toxic as it may be.

On the positive side of things, it means breathing in the ocean air, smelling the scents of the city (not all of them pleasant) and noticing faces. I did this well yesterday. I was noticing the stares, hearing the comments from kids as I passed by and truly engaging with folks when the opportunity presented itself. Being fully present led to a great day.

2. Beauty does not mean perfection -- Perfection is what so many of us strive to present to others, no matter how unrealistic everyone knows it is. That's the paradox of facades -- those of us presenting them are often the only ones who can't see through them. Meanwhile, the rest of the world sees us for who we really are -- struggling and stumbling.

Obviously the Special Olympics basketball game that Lamott wrote about was not played at the NBA level. But the moment that the one and only basket of the game was made, she explains, "The crowd roared, and all the men on both teams looked up wide-eyed at the hoop, as if it had burst into flames." To an outsider, there was nothing spectacular about that 2-0 game. But, to those wrapped up in the drama and the struggle, that moment was pure bliss. It was beauty at its finest!

My life has not been perfect and neither has the past week. It's been rough. But, walking around on a glorious day in San Diego yesterday I could only say to myself that life has been crazily beautiful as of late. Just as it has been for the past 32 years.

Struggling, staying present and living beautifully is what we've been called to -- each and every one of us. As I was reminded by an atheist (ironically) this past weekend, "maybe it's God's glory" shining through. It's not perfection and it's nowhere near that -- but I'm beginning to see how brilliant, yet difficult, this life can be when I allow myself to wrestle, stay present and persist in the muck of life.

Tagged as: beauty, being present, San Diego 4 Comments

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