I couldn’t sleep the other night thinking about a new portable power chair. I was like a kid at Christmas anticipating all the fun things I would do with my new toy and the newfound freedom it would offer. But it wasn’t always that way.

I remember the first cane they handed me at a doctor’s office. It was an ugly black thing, but that wasn’t the issue. The problem was that after living in a state of blissful denial, I suddenly had to recognize the extent of my current disability and the prospect of worse issues in the future. I felt as if I had to give up my independence and that ugly cane was the tangible symbol.

Soon thereafter, I was fitted for a power chair for  going longer distances. Although I knew it was a good idea, I resisted even sitting in it for a while. It was a nearly 300 pound beast that necessitated installing a lift to get it in and out of my van.

Eventually I was able to see it in a new light. It became a way to maintain my independence rather than a symbol of failure. It got me around better than I could imagine and made difficult trips simple. The ugly black cane was replaced by a collection of colorful and patterned ones, and the huge power chair was replaced by a series of scooters that could be disassembled and put in the back of a car or taxi.

Canes eventually gave way to walkers, keeping me going. After more than twenty years, I’m excited to get a power chair that can fold up and go in the car. I marvel at how much better it will be to scoot into the movie theater in my new chair. It will take me to the farmer’s market or a fun festival where my walker just won’t cut it. My friends and family won’t have to wait for me to catch up anymore.

Sometimes what used to be psychological roadblock can become a new source of joy. It only requires a change of perspective and expectations. Now assistive devices are enhancers of my personal freedom, not hindrances to be fought against.

I am, once again, unstoppable.