What it's like to be last in America
These past couple of weeks, I was last a lot. In a wheelchair. And I got to see what being last really feels like in America. And it's not what I expected.
Friends-
Being on a wheelchair at the airport is not what people think.
Boarding a 787 jet plane in America usually feels like a victory march.
The jet is always loud. Someone is always announcing something on the speakerphone. There’s a distinct rumble in the background. Of those waiting to board. And when it’s showtime, everyone pushes in to get in first.
“Getting in first …”
That’s really the hallmark of much of American culture, isn’t it? Maybe even the majority of the modern world.
And yet, America is one of the first countries I noticed who takes care of their disabled. By letting people on wheelchairs board the plane … First.
Or so I thought.
I didn’t know how I injured myself. But one morning I woke up with a scorching pain on my left leg. The type of pain that makes child birthing feels like a walk in the park. I seriously thought I was dying. My neighbors could hear me scream a few houses over.
The following weeks, I turned to our nation’s brightest people (or, again, so I thought). I saw five doctors. I went to four different hospitals and urgent care facilities. And the answer was always the same.
The conversation always went something like this:
Doctor: So what’s going on?
Thalia: I have this blinding pain on my left leg.
Doctor: Where?
Thalia: Here … [As I point to the exact location]
Doctor: What does the X-ray say?
Thalia: Radiology said they “didn’t detect any unusual particles.”
Doctor: Hm … try to walk it off. And see if it goes away. You can always come back later if it’s still a problem.
Guys, after being told the same exact thing by five doctors, I’m beginning to see a pattern. Either:
One: They aren’t trained to ask the right questions. Or,
Two: They know there’s nothing they can do about it that will get them paid. Or,
Three: They just don’t care.
Either way, the system is not just broken. It is shattered. Don’t you think?
Because after being tossed from one doctor to another, my pain worsened. To the point that I couldn’t walk. Period. Just days before my flight, my kids had to body haul me from bedroom to bathroom.
Now imagine for a second that you’re five. And suddenly your parent turned from being the rock of the family … to lying on the ground. Screaming every five minutes from an invisible injury.
How would you react?
The reaction of my youngest, who is in elementary school, was obvious. She didn’t know how to process it. She just distanced herself from me. She barely spoke to me during my injury. When I leaned in to give her a kiss, she quickly pushed away.
She didn’t like my sudden role reversal.
From being first. To being last.
And I think she’s also afraid of her own mind. Maybe it is hard for her to see me like this. Maybe she can’t find the words. Maybe she just doesn’t even dare to think that I’m not invincible after all.
At one point, I caught a glimpse of her looking at me hobbling down the stairs on my crutches. I didn’t even know she was there. She was watching me brave the steps on my own. From behind.
It wasn’t just my kid.
Wherever I went, I was last.
People rushed past me because I was either on my crutches or wheelchair.
I was too slow.
And this became really obvious at the airport.
Most of America in an airport treats people who are “last” … the same way. We want to be supportive. But as a whole, we don’t really know how. Sometimes we just move out of the way. Sometimes we look away so as to not stare. Maybe we whisper while avoiding eye contact.
We’re afraid of the topic.
And ultimately, we’re enabling the fear of our own disability.
You can see this in the way we overcompensate.
There’s wheelchair service at the airport. Which is a nice gesture, I’ll admit. We even allow them to board first. Which is another polite gesture.
It ‘looks’ like we’re accommodating.
But my experience on the wheelchair at the airport tells me something deeper.
Experience 1: To wait, you must first wait
After you wait in line to check in, you then need to go to a separate (sometimes faraway) section to check-in for wheelchair service. And wait again.
Which is odd.
Think about it. When someone’s hobbled over even just more than 10 steps on crutches, their armpit is all sweaty, their one good leg is cramping up with pain, and even just one additional step is pure torture.
So making the disabled wait around is not cool.
Especially if you think about how many of these people are our parents and grandparents who just deserve better.
Experience 2: Getting a hand costs an arm
Weirdly, everyone they ever sent to push the wheelchair barely spoke English.
Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t speak English for much of my life, too. I have nothing against those who can’t speak English. But if your job is to take a disabled person to the right gate, at the right time, along the right security line, and lug the right bags—*not* speaking English is a disservice. It could be costly if they miss their flight or if they end up freezing from being left at the wrong parking lot.
So assigning those who can barely speak English to do all these, is basically like asking the blind to lead the lame. Obviously, the accommodation for the disabled is just a polite gesture.
And not much more.
Experience 3: Legs are up for the bang-kick
Ah, the leg banging. Yes, leg banging!
Did I mention the leg injury? And that every bit of movement hurts? Just imagine being turned left and right in an elevator and banging your injured leg against the wall. Dozens of times. Only to ask people at the elevator to hold the door. Even after they see you trying to make the elevator!
I didn’t like being last.
But I wonder if it’s because everyone didn’t like it either. From my elementary-schooler to fellow passengers.
Or maybe it’s because inside of us, there’s a kid who just couldn’t understand our own disabilities?
And yet, after all this—suddenly, the tune changed.
Having traveled over 200,000+ miles in my lifetime, there are perks. We got to hang at the airport lounge. Here, I went from being ignored … to being served like royalty.
First, I was wheeled into a king-size recliner that overlooks a wall-to-wall glass observation deck.
Then, I got a VIP front-and-center view of five Boeing jets revving up to fly.
Afterwards, I was brought scrumptious food. Grapes, cheese, sweet jam, nuts, strawberries, crackers, chicken curry, and avocados.
I mean, I feel like if ancient Romans and modern Californians ever meet up, this is the menu they’d come up with.
The drinks were no less impressive. Open bar. At 9:30 AM! Who are these people!?
There was one lady who seemed to be assigned to our table. Bringing me everything. Clearing my plates. I looked around at other tables. I don’t see anyone else getting this service.
OK, I get that this was a VIP lounge. But why the sudden over-servicing of those in wheelchairs?
We can say that it’s just good business. That perhaps the lounge people know what they’re doing. And that they’re just doing their job. Being professional.
But in reality, there’s something more.
Being first and last, is not really a matter of winning. We think of winning like there’s an end-game. Like it’s a one-and-done. But most ‘games’ in life—if we should even call them ‘games,’— is just a matter of who’s ahead. And who’s behind.
At the time.
Many scholars have talked about this. Starting with theologian Dr. James Carse. Carse’s concept is simple.
In areas of life where the goal is perpetuation of a cause, of ourselves, or of others—there is simply no end. And because there is no end, there is also no winning or losing. Just momentary “ahead” and “behind”.
In the US, though, we don’t really like this.
Not because we don’t understand the concept. But it’s more because it’s much easier to understand something that has a beginning and an end. Something that has clear finite boundaries. And something that has extreme high and extreme low. A top and a bottom. Extreme cold and extreme heat. A winner and a loser.
I talked more about why this is previously in a couple of recent articles.
Even the concept of ranking serves this basic need to gamify our place in society.
Why, for instance, do we need a list of Billboard’s Top 40 to make decisions on which music to listen to? Isn’t the nature of music organic and fluid anyway?
Why also do we search for things like “Best doctors in the area”? Especially if “best” is really a matter of personal experience?
That’s like asking: “What is the “Best food for me”? And then turning to millions of people to sort out this very personal answer for us.
It’s weird.
Of course, none of these are done with ill-intent.
It’s simply our ancient genetic programming. Our ancestors had to hunt in the wild. How else were they supposed to make decisions on how to best survive in the wild?
It’s also how we reward ourselves and others with words of appreciation. If you’re recognized for something that you worked hard on, why shouldn’t these rankings, and designations of “first” and “last” exist?
Is recognition possible without ego?
I had to ask myself this exact question recently, when Feedspot, with its 120+ million users, recently featured our podcast as Top 10 in their 30 Best American Culture Podcasts. Others on the list include podcasts by a Los Angeles Times deputy editor and an Operation Underground Railroad proponent.
The feature was definitely a nice gesture by Feedspot founder Anuj Agarwal. Though I’m more curious about how they decided I was worthy. Among such impressive people (Anuj, if you’re reading, hit me up and let me know).
Unsurprisingly, ego took over first. There was a lofty feeling that I had to immediately question. As if being in these lists matter at all. Which, of course, ultimately it means squat.
And gratitude didn’t kick in until after I saw how undeserving I was.
Clearly, rankings, being first-or-last, and designations of best-or-worst—had become ingrained in us. Even when they’re just finite methods to make sense of both our limitations and limitlessness.
The question is, when we’re faced with options, do we practice enough autonomy to make decisions independent of these designations?
The honest answer is that we probably don’t. And I’m guilty of this.
This is why, whenever I can, I try to:
Read beyond just New York Times bestsellers. Nothing against bestsellers. I just think there are many more brilliant thinkers in the world.
Learn from those without thousands of followers. The thing about following those with millions, is that it’s like we’re on a highway. Every second of your life. Without any chance of exiting. Meaning, unintentionally, we’re at the mercy of the surrounding speed. And you don’t really get to create your own genius. At your own time. You’re just following the masses. Beyond this, I also try to:
Take notes from those with unpopular opinions. If I disagree with someone, I want to test my take against theirs. See whether it holds. Plus, it’s good exercise to practice self-check. Life is not an solo sport. My eye-opening stunt with the wheelchair at the country-sized airport taught me that much.
My elementary-school kid taught me the same.
The next time she caught me wrestling, I want her to see acceptance. Not frustration. I want her to see that I’m open to being last. And that recognition is simply a manmade tool. I want her to see that it’s OK to have inabilities. To have disabilities. And to have the fear of it.
Most importantly, I want her to see that I welcome the infinite with arms stretched wide. As if weaknesses and I are old friends.
This week, let’s shift the focus from being “first.” Let’s instead work tirelessly to be custodians of hidden thinkers and of the infinite.
See you next week.
-Thalia
Next:
Ascension, Observed: 700,000 people watches hot air balloons go up every year. How come the world’s slowest possible ride is not yet dead? And how is it that it still pulls in millions, centuries after its peak?
Everest vs. Chemistry teacher: Why climbing the highest summit on earth had nothing to do with height. Or mindset.
-Thalia
Yikes! So sorry you had to endure both useless doctors and really bad airport-airline disability assistance! (Well, except for the lounge ☺️)
Is your leg any better? Did the pain resolve?
"I mean, I feel like if ancient Romans and modern Californians ever meet up, this is the menu they’d come up with." Funny but true.