There’s a pinky sunrise outside my window and my iPod has played the cheery “marimba” wake-up call three times, and yet I linger in bed, unwilling to awaken.
Today is day 2 of my course and I realize I don’t want to go. I long to wallow in my comfy warm sheets, curl back into my dreams, wallow in the joy of being cozily sleepy.
I’m so lucky to have this bed, this apartment, this life. I can choose my activities, within the limits if my disability, and choose my goals.
Others don’t have the choice – their disabilities are worse, their finances are less, their ability to speak is muted.
For me, this is a call to action, to speak for those who can’t or fear to.
And so I quit my comfy warm bed and struggle upwards, knowing this class may lead to an ability to know and understand, a bit, others’ challenges. So that maybe, maybe, I can be of some help to them, sharing my luck (for that is all it is) with them until they also feel stronger.