I'd like to take a breif moment to express thanks to my friend Kathryn who has ben editing my posts and making them look better. Thanks MB!
As previously mentioned I went on vacation and used planes to get from one coast to the other. Flying often engenders experiences that tweak my disability antennae and this time was no exception.
I’ll relate the first experience as it happened. If it seems unclear, it’s because I was and remain confused by what transpired.
As is our habit, Mom came into the airport with me. When we approached the counter, I couldn’t figure out where the airline person was standing or what computer terminal she would use to process me, so I asked Mom. Her answer didn’t make sense, but I tried to muddle through.
There was some concern one of my bags was overweight, so I focused on the weighing process. A bunch of numbers were bandied about, including 55 and 54 pounds. At first I thought it related to the other passenger next to me, but suddenly Mom was ushering me to one side and the airline person I thought was waiting on me was talking about repacking.
When we stopped moving, I asked, “How are we going to know if the bags are fixed?” I was curtly told there was a scale right in front of me.
I grabbed a tote and instructed Mom to take the shoes out of one of the suitcases and fill the tote. I sorted through the other bag and looked for small, heavy objects that would go through security easily.
Nothing made sense. The bag on the scale was not the bag I wanted on the scale. I was having trouble figuring out how to get 9 pounds of stuff out of my luggage. I was almost in tears. Mom was doing things but without verbal feedback from her I wasn’t sure what. (Still not certain if she did what I was asking or something else.) It was only when I realized Mom was putting items into the smaller bag that I figured out only one was overweight.
Finally, when things were fixed, the airline person dismissed us. I said, “I need a boarding pass.”
The airline person replied, “The last 15 passengers to check in get them at the gate.”
“I don’t have anything to get me through security,” I explain.
Mom answered, “I have it.”
After the airline person vanished, I expressed upset that the woman had given the security pass to Mom instead of me. Mom explained, “She tried to hand it to you, but you didn’t see it.” (Gee, a blind person missed the visual gesture of being handed something. I’m in shock.) Mom was not getting my point and I didn’t want to argue just before I left, so I dropped it.
What caused me to be so confused? Nobody was speaking directly to me. The airplane person and Mom handled things leaving me out of the loop. Obviously information was conveyed in visual ways, like gesturing to the bag on a scale or a digital display. Normally being treated as extraneous to the situation only negatively impacts my feelings. His time, however, it caused some frustrating problems.
Even when it doesn’t matter, I tend to insist people deal directly with me not the person with me. Friends have been told to not respond on my behalf forcing customer service staff to converse specifically with me. While it might appear that I am being extremely difficult, I have good reasons beyond hating to be ignored. If I allow customer service staff to take the easier route of interacting with my sighted companion, I might miss important information as evidenced by the above situation. While it is harder on everyone, it is also necessary.
Think about seatbelts. WE hate to wear them, but we do in order to protect ourselves from potential danger some vague day in the future. Though they are uncomfortable, we as a society consider them a necessary form of proactive protection.
The same theory applies to other aspects of my life, like kitchen cupboards. I am rather zealous in enforcing my “close the cupboard door” rule. Most of the time, I can track details well enough to realize a door is open before catastrophe occurs in the form of the sharp corner whacking my face. Periodically, I miss that somebody opened a door and smack into it. Usually, it’s not hard enough to hurt, but I have drawn blood more than once. Some would argue that I made a mistake by not keeping track of my surroundings. If I paid better attention, went around with a hand before my face, or didn’t insist upon independent movement, open cupboard doors would not be an issue. I would argue that the act of shutting a cupboard door seems far easier, safer, and humane than me becoming a paranoid crab who moves about only when led by the claw. My safety should come before another’s convenience. Similarly I feel ease of interaction should take second place to me understanding what is happening especially if it directly impacts to me.
The second little flying tidbit took a while to register with me. I board the plane before the rest of the passengers, so I hear what flight attendants say as they prepare for passenger embarkation. I happened to be around while the same flight crew conducted two passenger onslaughts. The head flight attendant kept saying things like, “How many wheelchairs do we have?” or “Where are my wheelchairs?” I finally realized he didn’t simply mean the inanimate objects, he meant the actual people. Apparently, if you use a wheelchair to get down the jet way, you are suddenly transformed into only that object. *bangs head against wall* And people wonder why I get so frustrated by anything that even hints at stripping away a microscopic layer of my personhood.
A moment of thought, making sure information is being conveyed to the involved individual, or the addition of the word “user” to the word wheelchair doesn’t seem like too much to ask for, does it? To me the wrongness of what happened is so incredibly clear – I know it the way I know air is going in and out of my lungs without conscious thought. Yet to many it is anything but. Today it feels like the gap between disabled and TAB is more like the Grand Canyon than a drainage ditch.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Temporarily Able Bodied
Did you know that disabled people refer to those of you without a disability as the temporarily able bodied (TABs)? The lofty explanation is that disabled is the only marginalized group anybody can join at any time without any choice. You are just one event away from being one of us. Reminding you of this is supposed to help you see that we are more similar than different.
Frankly, I think there is a much more likely but far less noble explanation. It stems from frustration with a world that seems determined to not understand. It’s a mental sticking out of our collective tongues. “You just treated me like crap, but in five minutes you might be me and then somebody will treat you like crap. See how much fun it is then.”
Bitter and petty anybody? Yeah, and I honestly can’t blame us, the disabled. It helps us get through the day without biting off anybody’s head. A constant stream of pity, desexualization, underestimation, being ignored, being treated like an object, and the ever-so-fun being spoken to as if you are four can wear on a person. If we need to think of you as Temporarily Able Bodied to get through the day, then so be it. I’m sure once you become disabled you’ll understand.
Frankly, I think there is a much more likely but far less noble explanation. It stems from frustration with a world that seems determined to not understand. It’s a mental sticking out of our collective tongues. “You just treated me like crap, but in five minutes you might be me and then somebody will treat you like crap. See how much fun it is then.”
Bitter and petty anybody? Yeah, and I honestly can’t blame us, the disabled. It helps us get through the day without biting off anybody’s head. A constant stream of pity, desexualization, underestimation, being ignored, being treated like an object, and the ever-so-fun being spoken to as if you are four can wear on a person. If we need to think of you as Temporarily Able Bodied to get through the day, then so be it. I’m sure once you become disabled you’ll understand.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Lessons Learned
This past weekend San Diego held its annual Pride Festival. As a co-coordinator of San Diego Bisexual Forum (Bi Forum), I was heavily involved in planning and executing our parade contingent and informational booth. Tons of effort was expended by me and my fellow coordinator as well as a core group of members. Then, this weekend, the event.
I know this was specific to me, but my overwhelming feeling throughout was boredom. Parades are not for blind folks and the only thing worse than watching is marching. Actually, to conserve energy, I rode in the back of a truck. I was by myself and therefore had nobody to describe the sights. My only salvation was the group behind us that had a loudspeaker with an amusing man whipping up the crowd.
I spent Friday setting up the booth making sure I knew where each item was placed and that it was an obstacle-free zone. By the time I arrived at the booth Saturday, that was no longer the case. Chairs were everywhere. Bins tucked under tables were pulled partially out. People were in the way. I sat in the back and tried not to need to move. Had I been able to move freely, I would have not been equipped to snag those walking past and interest them in what we had to offer. Well, I could have talked to them, but getting there attention initially would have been…. impossible. I was utterly useless. I guess useless goes right up there with boredom as my overwhelming feeling. And, in case you didn’t know this, I loathe feeling useless.
I hold nobody responsible for this happening. Unless blind people were running everything, there was no way for me to truly participate. I can think of some ways people could have made me more a part of things -- of more use -- but bottom line is that it is not a great situation in which to be blind.
From the above experience, I learned a few things that will help with future events. This is not the first time Bi Forum has taught me something, though. Five years ago, when I began attending meetings with a friend, I was isolated. In fact, whenever people freely mingled, I sat alone. Sometimes people came to speak with me, the interaction having the flavor of them taking pity upon me instead of wanting to get to know me. And, conversation petered out fairly quickly. Less formal events like parties were equally disappointing. Previously, my experiences with LBGT groups was limited to organizations affiliated with universities. There, as you would expect, I felt a part of the community. Bi Forum felt like just another collection of non-disabled people who didn’t get it. Usually, time and repeated exposure to me solves the problem, but not in this case.
When my friend stopped attending, so did I. In June of 2008, I was present when some Bi Forum members were discussing Pride. At the time, I had been considering getting involved with something to test my limits in terms of “professional” commitments, so this seemed like a great option. Besides, if I failed I would not be letting down a group that was central to my happiness.
This time around, things changed. First, it was somebody commenting on how I had “stopped hiding.” I think he mistook the necessity of me walking behind a sighted guide in crowded areas as a personality trait. The fact that I brought baked goodies to every meeting also helped. Mostly, though, I think it was the leadership role I assumed. As a co-coordinator, I was in the middle of everything and people had to deal with me, like it or not. This became even more the case when I started facilitating the support group. They could not simply avoid interaction because they were uncomfortable or unable to figure out what to do. I never realized that leadership positions can actually break down barriers erected by social norms.
Another piece of the puzzle became clear when a member told me he was enjoying getting to know me. I bluntly said, “Umm, I have been around the group for four years. What’s the difference?” He told me he previously thought we would have nothing in common because I was blind and conversation would be limited. I found this to be especially interesting since we did share a common sexual orientation. To him, that common ground was not sufficient to bridge the gap between blind and sighted. I have no idea what caused him to change his mind, but he did.
I am not the most outgoing person on the planet and describe myself as a shy extrovert. Social interactions in large groups of strangers when I am not familiar with the surroundings are even more challenging. I think having a job brings out the overachiever in me and forces me to deal with other people as well as occupying my time. I suspect, but do not like to admit, that I could probably better deal with social situations if I pushed my boundaries just a little.
The tool of taking on a leadership role to force people to overcome their discomfort intrigues me. Now I need to find a way to apply it to my most irritating social situation – the live music venue I haunt. After more than three years of regular attendance, the people who acknowledge my presence can be counted on one hand. There is a cluster of regulars like me, but no means to become a leader. I shall ponder.
I know this was specific to me, but my overwhelming feeling throughout was boredom. Parades are not for blind folks and the only thing worse than watching is marching. Actually, to conserve energy, I rode in the back of a truck. I was by myself and therefore had nobody to describe the sights. My only salvation was the group behind us that had a loudspeaker with an amusing man whipping up the crowd.
I spent Friday setting up the booth making sure I knew where each item was placed and that it was an obstacle-free zone. By the time I arrived at the booth Saturday, that was no longer the case. Chairs were everywhere. Bins tucked under tables were pulled partially out. People were in the way. I sat in the back and tried not to need to move. Had I been able to move freely, I would have not been equipped to snag those walking past and interest them in what we had to offer. Well, I could have talked to them, but getting there attention initially would have been…. impossible. I was utterly useless. I guess useless goes right up there with boredom as my overwhelming feeling. And, in case you didn’t know this, I loathe feeling useless.
I hold nobody responsible for this happening. Unless blind people were running everything, there was no way for me to truly participate. I can think of some ways people could have made me more a part of things -- of more use -- but bottom line is that it is not a great situation in which to be blind.
From the above experience, I learned a few things that will help with future events. This is not the first time Bi Forum has taught me something, though. Five years ago, when I began attending meetings with a friend, I was isolated. In fact, whenever people freely mingled, I sat alone. Sometimes people came to speak with me, the interaction having the flavor of them taking pity upon me instead of wanting to get to know me. And, conversation petered out fairly quickly. Less formal events like parties were equally disappointing. Previously, my experiences with LBGT groups was limited to organizations affiliated with universities. There, as you would expect, I felt a part of the community. Bi Forum felt like just another collection of non-disabled people who didn’t get it. Usually, time and repeated exposure to me solves the problem, but not in this case.
When my friend stopped attending, so did I. In June of 2008, I was present when some Bi Forum members were discussing Pride. At the time, I had been considering getting involved with something to test my limits in terms of “professional” commitments, so this seemed like a great option. Besides, if I failed I would not be letting down a group that was central to my happiness.
This time around, things changed. First, it was somebody commenting on how I had “stopped hiding.” I think he mistook the necessity of me walking behind a sighted guide in crowded areas as a personality trait. The fact that I brought baked goodies to every meeting also helped. Mostly, though, I think it was the leadership role I assumed. As a co-coordinator, I was in the middle of everything and people had to deal with me, like it or not. This became even more the case when I started facilitating the support group. They could not simply avoid interaction because they were uncomfortable or unable to figure out what to do. I never realized that leadership positions can actually break down barriers erected by social norms.
Another piece of the puzzle became clear when a member told me he was enjoying getting to know me. I bluntly said, “Umm, I have been around the group for four years. What’s the difference?” He told me he previously thought we would have nothing in common because I was blind and conversation would be limited. I found this to be especially interesting since we did share a common sexual orientation. To him, that common ground was not sufficient to bridge the gap between blind and sighted. I have no idea what caused him to change his mind, but he did.
I am not the most outgoing person on the planet and describe myself as a shy extrovert. Social interactions in large groups of strangers when I am not familiar with the surroundings are even more challenging. I think having a job brings out the overachiever in me and forces me to deal with other people as well as occupying my time. I suspect, but do not like to admit, that I could probably better deal with social situations if I pushed my boundaries just a little.
The tool of taking on a leadership role to force people to overcome their discomfort intrigues me. Now I need to find a way to apply it to my most irritating social situation – the live music venue I haunt. After more than three years of regular attendance, the people who acknowledge my presence can be counted on one hand. There is a cluster of regulars like me, but no means to become a leader. I shall ponder.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Things People Do
One friend best summarized how strangers behave around me by saying, “Jen, when it comes to you, normal people get weird and weird people get talkative.” Often the odd things happen late at night when I am walking home from my nearby live music venue.
On Friday, I was headed down the sidewalk going for the corner. Someone stopped and asked me, “Do you need help? Can I walk you to your car?”
For a change, I thought on my feet. I wiggled my cane and said something like, “My car with this?” I then began giggling. I mean, really. This man thought I needed help because I am blind then decided I drove a car? It’s funny. Really funny.
Guess he missed the humor because he started verbally back pedaling with an apology etc. Poor man. I’d say I turned him off from helping entirely, but when I came by later he offered more aid.
Sunday night was even better. After the concert, I was standing by my seat and trying to decide if the crowd had thinned out sufficiently to leave. I hadn’t made up my mind when a woman approached and asked if I needed to be walked out. I unhelpfully replied, “I don’t know.”
There was some small talk then she said, “Well, do you want help?”
“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll just take your elbow on this side.” I waved my empty left hand. She kept standing on my right, so I made it clearer. “I need you on my left. This side.” More wagging of my hand.
She then takes my left hand. In disengaging from that, I somehow touch her breast. Ooops. Eventually I have her elbow and we take off.
The man who runs the music venue sees her walking me and must have realized she’s not being a great guide, so he tells her, “Be careful.”
From this I realize I’m dealing with a novice. I do the smart thing and sort of get a little behind her which will keep me from running into things. Mostly. We make it outside in one piece and I thank her.
We exchange names and I discover my helpful stranger is Ashley, who is apparently feeling chatty. She states more than inquires,"So, you have some sight.”
"Um, no.” I reply.
Ashley has just successfully completed one of the items on “The List of Things Strangers do When They Meet Me.” I guess people have this idea of how competently a totally blind person would function, and when I don’t behave in that way, they assume I have some vision. I guess I am too proficient to be totally blind. Who knew?
We check another item off the list when Ashley starts telling me about her deaf teacher who “had a thing in her head.” I think she was referring to a cochlear implant. Ashley goes on and on about how this woman did ordinary things.
My former neighbor Marilyn is a regular at this music venue – she actually introduced me to it. Her background is in special education and she knows me fairly well. I am grateful when she joins our little group. A discussion of guide dogs begins. Ashley keeps saying things like, “Oh, but you can’t do that.” I need to say nothing because Marilyn jumps in with, “Uh, yes she can.”
Eventually, I escape and walk home, only to discover I don’t have my house key. Attempts to remove a screen from my window so I can crawl inside fail. It is about 11:30pm and there are two people with a spare copy of my key in the neighborhood, but I know I will wake up the closer person. The other is a night owl like me, so I call. She is up and I head back out. I am just crossing the first part of an intersection when Marilyn calls, “Did you forget something?”
“My keys,” I groan. “I’m going to get a spare from a friend.”
Apparently Ashley is still with Marilyn because she then states, “You’re going to need help getting there.”
Marilyn saves me again. “She knows her way around here pretty well.”
Ashley’s parting remark is, “Make sure you listen for traffic.”
I guess I would otherwise ignore what my ears perceive and walk into an intersection without thought. If I did that regularly I would have long ago won a Darwin Award posthumously.
With the same reliability as the sun rising, I will have another encounter to share soon. Since I am flying east to see my family, the chances are doubled. Airports make people crazier than usual. Actually, I think it amplifies their personality because nice people get nicer as well. I once met a man on an airplane, so you never know.
On Friday, I was headed down the sidewalk going for the corner. Someone stopped and asked me, “Do you need help? Can I walk you to your car?”
For a change, I thought on my feet. I wiggled my cane and said something like, “My car with this?” I then began giggling. I mean, really. This man thought I needed help because I am blind then decided I drove a car? It’s funny. Really funny.
Guess he missed the humor because he started verbally back pedaling with an apology etc. Poor man. I’d say I turned him off from helping entirely, but when I came by later he offered more aid.
Sunday night was even better. After the concert, I was standing by my seat and trying to decide if the crowd had thinned out sufficiently to leave. I hadn’t made up my mind when a woman approached and asked if I needed to be walked out. I unhelpfully replied, “I don’t know.”
There was some small talk then she said, “Well, do you want help?”
“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll just take your elbow on this side.” I waved my empty left hand. She kept standing on my right, so I made it clearer. “I need you on my left. This side.” More wagging of my hand.
She then takes my left hand. In disengaging from that, I somehow touch her breast. Ooops. Eventually I have her elbow and we take off.
The man who runs the music venue sees her walking me and must have realized she’s not being a great guide, so he tells her, “Be careful.”
From this I realize I’m dealing with a novice. I do the smart thing and sort of get a little behind her which will keep me from running into things. Mostly. We make it outside in one piece and I thank her.
We exchange names and I discover my helpful stranger is Ashley, who is apparently feeling chatty. She states more than inquires,"So, you have some sight.”
"Um, no.” I reply.
Ashley has just successfully completed one of the items on “The List of Things Strangers do When They Meet Me.” I guess people have this idea of how competently a totally blind person would function, and when I don’t behave in that way, they assume I have some vision. I guess I am too proficient to be totally blind. Who knew?
We check another item off the list when Ashley starts telling me about her deaf teacher who “had a thing in her head.” I think she was referring to a cochlear implant. Ashley goes on and on about how this woman did ordinary things.
My former neighbor Marilyn is a regular at this music venue – she actually introduced me to it. Her background is in special education and she knows me fairly well. I am grateful when she joins our little group. A discussion of guide dogs begins. Ashley keeps saying things like, “Oh, but you can’t do that.” I need to say nothing because Marilyn jumps in with, “Uh, yes she can.”
Eventually, I escape and walk home, only to discover I don’t have my house key. Attempts to remove a screen from my window so I can crawl inside fail. It is about 11:30pm and there are two people with a spare copy of my key in the neighborhood, but I know I will wake up the closer person. The other is a night owl like me, so I call. She is up and I head back out. I am just crossing the first part of an intersection when Marilyn calls, “Did you forget something?”
“My keys,” I groan. “I’m going to get a spare from a friend.”
Apparently Ashley is still with Marilyn because she then states, “You’re going to need help getting there.”
Marilyn saves me again. “She knows her way around here pretty well.”
Ashley’s parting remark is, “Make sure you listen for traffic.”
I guess I would otherwise ignore what my ears perceive and walk into an intersection without thought. If I did that regularly I would have long ago won a Darwin Award posthumously.
With the same reliability as the sun rising, I will have another encounter to share soon. Since I am flying east to see my family, the chances are doubled. Airports make people crazier than usual. Actually, I think it amplifies their personality because nice people get nicer as well. I once met a man on an airplane, so you never know.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Yoga -- It's More than Downward Dog
I’m taking a yoga class that has brought more into my life than knowing how to do downward dog. Aside from me, the class is entirely sighted and I think I’m the first blind person any of my teachers have instructed. They have worked hard to integrate me into the class, going above and beyond. I’m fairly certain that most, if not all, of my classmates have never known a blind person and they have needed to adjust as well.
The class itself is great and seems to be helping my body grow stronger. The social aspects of attending a class are a different story. At first, I had little interaction with my fellow yoga enthusiasts. When politeness dictated speaking to me, my classmates did, but there was no voluntary interaction. Yet they freely chatted with each other. That phase lasted about 2 months. Then one person actually introduced himself and asked me what to do if he was setting his mat up next to mine. I indicated he should say something and including his name would be helpful. He did that once or twice, seemingly shifting the tide because people suddenly voluntarily interacted with me.
It started off slowly, with somebody taking the blankets I was carrying and returning them to the shelf because she was closer than me, followed by a hello when I encountered somebody at the mat closet. Then, insanity erupted. People suddenly and simultaneously got the idea that helping me navigate around the room meant putting their hands on various parts of my body, not saying a word, and gently nudging me in the direction they thought I was headed. It happened A LOT. In case it’s not clear, that is NOT a good idea. It’s creepy not knowing who owns the hand, it’s disconcerting to suddenly be touched without warning, and it can be dangerous if they think I’m going one way when I’m going another. I was so flabbergasted that I didn’t know what to do.
One of my neighbors is also in the class and he is my ride, so I asked him. He told me people were only trying to help and my instinctive solution of announcing to the entire class the proper way to help would go over badly. He thought everyone would go back to ignoring me. I let the problem sit in the back of my head and tried to cope with the behavior.
Then, it disappeared. Entirely. Without warning. I have yet to find out why. There has also been a slight decrease in voluntary interactions with me. Obviously something happened.
Now the latest new disconcerting behavior. Looking back, I know it has been growing over time, but today it reached the level of irritating. For a while, my instructor has been thanking me – and only me --for coming to class as if I’m doing something exceptional. Other people have taken up similar behaviors like saying, “It’s so great to see you in class.” I also noticed people say hello and goodbye to me, but otherwise I’m not sought out. Furthermore, I am getting special treatment because I’m blind that goes beyond what I need. Today, I began to do this backbend thing and the instructor made somebody who was in my way move, even though she was there first.
I have to ask this: What’s so profoundly amazing about a blind person doing yoga? It’s yoga, not curing cancer. And, if it’s so incredible that I’m in a yoga class, doesn’t it follow that people would want to talk to this paragon of accomplishment? And if being blind means people need to cater to me, I want the catering behavior to be real human conversation, not simply relocating so I can stay put.
Sometimes I truly feel like a space alien suddenly dropped on earth. I don’t fit anywhere, people do the strangest things, and reactions seem out of proportion to my judgment of the situation. I know my classmates are good people. I know they are trying to be kind. I even know that the biggest problem is that they simply do not know what to do. But, um, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I would think more than three months of my presence would have gotten us past this point. I keep thinking I should do something shocking or say something provocative to snap them out of their current mindset and force them to see me as a person. Maybe if I went to class naked?
The class itself is great and seems to be helping my body grow stronger. The social aspects of attending a class are a different story. At first, I had little interaction with my fellow yoga enthusiasts. When politeness dictated speaking to me, my classmates did, but there was no voluntary interaction. Yet they freely chatted with each other. That phase lasted about 2 months. Then one person actually introduced himself and asked me what to do if he was setting his mat up next to mine. I indicated he should say something and including his name would be helpful. He did that once or twice, seemingly shifting the tide because people suddenly voluntarily interacted with me.
It started off slowly, with somebody taking the blankets I was carrying and returning them to the shelf because she was closer than me, followed by a hello when I encountered somebody at the mat closet. Then, insanity erupted. People suddenly and simultaneously got the idea that helping me navigate around the room meant putting their hands on various parts of my body, not saying a word, and gently nudging me in the direction they thought I was headed. It happened A LOT. In case it’s not clear, that is NOT a good idea. It’s creepy not knowing who owns the hand, it’s disconcerting to suddenly be touched without warning, and it can be dangerous if they think I’m going one way when I’m going another. I was so flabbergasted that I didn’t know what to do.
One of my neighbors is also in the class and he is my ride, so I asked him. He told me people were only trying to help and my instinctive solution of announcing to the entire class the proper way to help would go over badly. He thought everyone would go back to ignoring me. I let the problem sit in the back of my head and tried to cope with the behavior.
Then, it disappeared. Entirely. Without warning. I have yet to find out why. There has also been a slight decrease in voluntary interactions with me. Obviously something happened.
Now the latest new disconcerting behavior. Looking back, I know it has been growing over time, but today it reached the level of irritating. For a while, my instructor has been thanking me – and only me --for coming to class as if I’m doing something exceptional. Other people have taken up similar behaviors like saying, “It’s so great to see you in class.” I also noticed people say hello and goodbye to me, but otherwise I’m not sought out. Furthermore, I am getting special treatment because I’m blind that goes beyond what I need. Today, I began to do this backbend thing and the instructor made somebody who was in my way move, even though she was there first.
I have to ask this: What’s so profoundly amazing about a blind person doing yoga? It’s yoga, not curing cancer. And, if it’s so incredible that I’m in a yoga class, doesn’t it follow that people would want to talk to this paragon of accomplishment? And if being blind means people need to cater to me, I want the catering behavior to be real human conversation, not simply relocating so I can stay put.
Sometimes I truly feel like a space alien suddenly dropped on earth. I don’t fit anywhere, people do the strangest things, and reactions seem out of proportion to my judgment of the situation. I know my classmates are good people. I know they are trying to be kind. I even know that the biggest problem is that they simply do not know what to do. But, um, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I would think more than three months of my presence would have gotten us past this point. I keep thinking I should do something shocking or say something provocative to snap them out of their current mindset and force them to see me as a person. Maybe if I went to class naked?
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