Today’s offering is a little different. It comes from the blog-and-stuff site of Chuck Wendig, game designer and author most famous for being one of the new Star Wars novelists.
He shared a post by Steven Spohn, who heads up a worthy cause called AbleGamers. The post is powerful and worth your attention, because not only do I want to promote Steven’s efforts to create peace and happiness for others, but his words should help you look to your own Happiness, Peace, and Dreams.
I am excerpting the post; head to Chuck’s site for the rest.
34 days ago, I lost the ability to drive my wheelchair and with it… my independence.
You see, my disease, SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy), is deteriorating my muscles at a very slow pace. Over time, my abilities are being torn away due to the atrophy that sets in from not using groups of muscles. The same thing would happen to you if you were to stay in bed for months or years without moving. Astronauts experience some of what SMA does to the body after being in space for long periods of time where you don’t have to fight gravity to lift your body weight.
Basically, if you don’t use your muscles, you lose them. Keep that in mind the next time you decide to skip out on leg day at the gym.
John Green captured the disturbing truth of living with a progressive disease in The Fault in Our Stars. The main protagonist, Hazel, riffs about life “There’s no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.”
Your Last Good Day is a day like any other day. The limitations in your life have stayed the same for some time. There’s nothing different about that particular day. Until all of a sudden, like a dump truck crashing through your front door, everything changes in an instant.
For someone with a progressive disease like mine, you get many, many Last Good Days.
My Last Good Day of breathing, right before I was put on a ventilator, was when I was nine years old.
My Last Good Day of driving a wheelchair with a standard joystick controller was right after high school.
My Last Good Day of using a computer keyboard was a decade ago.
My Last Good Day of driving with a tiny joystick using my thumb was a Friday in late February.
The thing about this concept is that it’s not limited to people with disabilities. In fact, like many subjects, the real difference is that they’re amplified for me. But you’ve had your own set of Last Good Days. Maybe you just haven’t thought about it that way.
Your Last Good Days look entirely different than mine and entirely different than everyone else’s. Yours might be something like your Last Good Day of seeing without glasses, walking without pain, lifting without discomfort, or eating a piece of cake without it going straight to your hips.
Each of our lives are full of Last Good Days.
Truth is, you and I have an invisible clock above our heads. It began the second you were born, counting the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds you still have on this Earth. Even with a terminal illness, you don’t think about the clock. You’re busy living your life. The best life you can. The best way you know how.
But every once in a while life has a way of reminding you that the clock is still ticking.