Open Writing

My friend Ruth could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

'Guess what!' she crowed over the telephone.

'You murdered that bad cat,' I responded.

'No, something even better. I walked an entire block today without my cane! Isn't that wonderful?'

Yes that was really wonderful. But for someone with half-a dozen marathons under her belt, someone who refused to be cowed by age or infirmity, this seemed like a very small blessing.

Flattened by an injured back, and having to accept home care for a long time, Ruth was finally getting on her feet again. Resuming her activities, even running a little. And then, last winter, in an angry confrontation with her delinquent cat, she broke her hip.

For a while, she refused to accept that the fates could be that unkind. But when the pain became unbearable, she ended up in the hospital.

The good news was that she did not have to get a hip replacement.

The surgeon inserted a pin to repair the damage. But she would be out of action for many months, never mind the excruciating pain.

As the brutal winter surrendered to spring, Ruth made tentative efforts to try out her cobbled together hip-bone. She became dependent on her cane to get around.

And now she had weaned herself of that dependence.

'You have no idea what it feels like to have my arm back again,' she jubilantly explained. 'It's so liberating to be able to swing it, to move it independently, to pick up an object whenever I feel like it.'

I hadn't thought of the importance of arm-swinging before. Now that my awareness was provoked, I started paying attention to the significance of arms in motion. I have since discovered a few things.

A lot of arms are commandeered by cell-phones. Talking has replaced swinging.

Kids seem to be always swinging their arms. Those with that I am up to no good look on their faces appear to relish this action.

Courting couples holding hands and swinging their arms look like they are pretty sure of themselves. They laugh a lot.

Guys with serious faces tend to fold their arms across their chests. They are probably not swingers!

Women on the way to the office hardly swing their arms. They have a briefcase or a lap-top in one hand and a fashionable handbag hanging from their free shoulder. Other women lug heavy grocery bags, most often leaning into them with a lopsided gait. They definitely do not experience the joy of freedom of the arm.

Some older people seem to need all their energy to propel their bodies around. There's none left for arm swinging. Canes come in handy for this group.

People who are in a hurry swing their arms like mad. I guess they are saying 'get out of my way!'

And then, there are the arms masquerading as wings when a gale is blowing. I once saw a grown woman (well-dressed too, with high heels) spread her arms and dive into the wind with wild abandon. Perhaps she thought nobody was watching.

But back to Ruth's little triumph.

Triumphs seem to be categorized into big ones and little ones. But who makes the distinction? A seemingly little one could be a very big one for the achiever.

Climbing Mt. Everest is a major accomplishment. A real triumph. But what about the little boy out in the school-yard who gave one side of his gloves to his friend whose hands were freezing in the minus 20 degree weather? Isn't that a deeply heroic act? Or the neophyte who confronts the paralyzing fear of a near-drowning experience, to swim in the deep end of the pool a second time?

Perhaps the triumph simply lies in the will to push ourselves to the limit. To face our deepest fear. To know a pure moment of freedom bought with tragedy and loss.

Which tells me that triumphant moments are happening everyday. They just don't make it to the media.

**

Lytrice writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au