No Lemonade

Central Park was bustling last Tuesday. Runners of all stripes and strides. Cyclists on everything from Citi Bikes to racing bikes. Even pedicabs pulling tourists around in those tuk-tuk things.

Some people gave me a thumbs-up as I pushed and plodded up Harlem Hill. Others were just confused.

“What’s that?”

“That is so cool.”

Looking out on Central Park South

I put in a couple of hard loops around the park on a glorious afternoon. Just before finishing, I stopped to take in the view overlooking the Boathouse and thought: It’s good to be alive.

That’s not a sentence I say lightly. Not after everything.

For almost fifteen years, people have offered me a version of comfort that never fit. They say things happen for a reason. You’ve made lemonade from your sour lemons.

I usually nod because I understand where it comes from. People want the story to resolve. They want the accident to have been worth something and to believe they don’t have to worry about me. The wheelchair becomes the plot twist that brought out a stronger person.

I don’t see it that way.

A drowsy driver fell asleep, and everything that followed was renegotiated without my permission. There’s no moral to that story.

I find the things that still give me something. Family and friends, for sure. The handcycle and rowing shell. Writing and speaking, too.

Not because I’ve cracked some code for overcoming adversity, but because I’ve learned that when life takes away choices, the ones still within reach matter more.

Doubt doesn’t disappear. Neither do the roadblocks. But we can decide what is still ours to control, grab hold, and keep moving. That’s the conversation I bring to leaders and teams facing changes they didn’t choose.

Joy doesn’t come as easily or as often as it once did. There’s a long list of things I can’t do anymore. But there are moments when it does: sun, wheels, motion, the ache of Harlem Hill, and reaching the top anyway.

Not proof of anything. Not a comeback.

This isn’t the life I planned, and it isn’t the one I would have chosen. But it’s the one I have.

There’s a difference between accepting it and being grateful for it. I’m not interested in pretending otherwise.

No lemonade. No reason.

Just the park bustling below, my arms tired from Harlem Hill, and a thought I don’t take for granted.

It’s good to be alive.

If this is a conversation your organization needs, I’d be glad to have it.