When I was considering whether or not to move to New York City for work last year, I created an extensive pros and cons list. At the top of the cons list was city transportation.
I am an ambulatory quadriplegic, meaning I can walk short distances even though I have varying degrees of paralysis in all of my limbs. I also have a mobility scooter that I ride to navigate longer distances. My choice between walking or scooting depends on the distance and my energy levels.
Prior to moving to New York, I lived in the Midwest and then in Baltimore for college. In those locations, I relied on my car for covering long distances. If I needed to travel a mile or two across town, I would hop in my car, travel to the destination, and park near the entrance. My car, thus, gave me freedom to do as I pleased while conserving my energy.
Transportation topped my cons list for moving to New York because I would no longer have my car and would be left with fairly inaccessible city transportation, as many subway stops do not have elevators or are easily navigable. I feared my freedom of mobility would be hindered. To hedge the risk of inaccessible transportation, I found an apartment in Manhattan that is only a fifteen-minute scooter ride from work. I traded a potentially larger or cheaper apartment outside of Manhattan for proximity to work. This trade has been worthwhile, and for the first half of this year, there were so many shops, cafes, and restaurants in my neighborhood to explore that I did not use public transportation.
That I could not use public transportation because of the friction of inaccessibility became a firm, core belief. If I needed to travel farther than would be practical by scooter, I would simply Uber and pay $20-30. This was just another instance of the disability tax where inaccessibility pushes disabled people to pay up for accessible options.
My girlfriend, as she has done regularly over our five-year relationship, broke this belief last weekend. We were going to FiDi to see Pixar’s Inside Out 2. The catch: We weren’t Ubering. We were taking the subway.
The subway stop was close enough to our apartment that I could walk. We carefully walked down the first set of stairs and stepped through the turnstile. We went down a subsequent flight of stairs to the platform. When the train came, I found a seat and waited for our stop. When we arrived, I slowly climbed the stairs to the street level.
I had done it! I instantly remembered Seneca’s quote of suffering more often in imagination than in reality. In my mind, thousands of negative outcomes could have occurred, such as fatigue setting in before making it to the stop and needing to turn back, falling down or up the stairs, or no open seats being available to rest on the subway. In reality, I handled the situation well.
Tackling this fear of inaccessible public transportation has already been a major unlock for me. Just this morning, for example, I independently took the bus to the Upper West Side to enjoy a pistachio cappuccino and croissant at Casa Salvo. I no longer feel restricted to my neighborhood. I can go anywhere in the city if I desire. I have found the freedom I thought I lost.
At an abstracted level, I am reminded of one of Carl Jung’s famous quotes: “Where your fear is, there is your task.” This quote crosses my mind nearly daily, especially at work. If I feel a sense of dread or uncertainty at my job, I know to dive deeply as growth and understanding will be on the other side of the mental effort and pain. Interestingly, I have failed to implement this same model in my personal life. I did not attack my fear of inaccessible public transportation head-on. I needed to be coaxed and literally hand-held to overcome this erroneous belief that I could not use city transportation.
On a deeper personal level, I have held many firm, yet false, beliefs tied to my disability since I was injured nearly a decade ago. For instance, in the year or two following my injury, I believed I could not go into public without a negative event, such as falling, occurring. As a result, I remained holed up in my room as life passed me by. My recent belief regarding my inability to use city transportation was yet another instance of this pattern. What is the root issue here, then? Is it a fear of embarrassment or failure that leads me to restrict myself? Why do I limit myself when I have a history of proving myself wrong? Further, how else am I currently restricting myself by believing false ideas of what I can and cannot do?
To conclude, we must challenge our limiting self-beliefs. We must remember Jung’s words: “Where your fear is, there is your task.” Many of our negative self-beliefs are rooted in fear—in fear of not being loved, respected, or accepted. This fear is typically exaggerated by our imaginations, and if we had the courage to face these fears in reality, we would likely question why we didn’t confront them earlier.
—KH