Wheelchairs, Surfers and Human Contact

Some years ago, I heard or read an interview with a gentleman in a wheelchair who said that one of the challenges for him was that, 'people no longer look me in the eyes.' He described how folks avert their eyes, look away, surely out of a sense of politic, of not wanting to cause discomfort. But, in fact, the loss of human eye contact left him lonely and disheartened.

Since that time, I have acted on my personal commitment to seek out eye contact with people in wheelchairs or in anyway disabled. I've thought a lot about what it would be like to have people always look away, to turn their heads, or look down rather than to look at me. As a single woman who lives on her own, I know that I relish street walking, or here in CA - pier walking, and I unduly appreciate a smile, a raised eyebrow, a look between me and another person.

Today, on my morning walk to the beach, I counted how many eye-to-eye moments I had. I tried to take hold of the stories these encounters brought into my head. True stories, no, not, not at all. But it came to me how when I connect eyeballs with another person, a kind of not at all psychic story pops into my head, as if I understand somehow something about that person. Today, I counted my eye contact moments, I think there were 17.

An Asian couple, arm in arm, both in white tops, beige pants, and straw hats. The man put his hand up to the brim of his hat as he passed me. Our eyes connected. And he tipped his hat, I think. I can't say I've ever had a hat tipped at me before. It was a marvelous moment. As if I was back a hundred years or so. Maybe in the movie, The Painted Veil, and Edward Norton was walking by me in Shanghai. I felt the Asian couple were happy. Happy, but maybe he had a secret personality. A different bent. A desire to have whole-hearted discourse with me. His tipped hat was like we were having a conversation. A nod to what we might discover, if we talked, if we could.

Two Eastern European women walked towards me. One in dark red and maroon. One in a white jacket over a black and white top. She had eye glasses that looked framed in crystal, like wings on her face. I looked up, smiled, and saw her look over her glasses directly into my eyes. Piercing but in a nice way. Like an aunt or grandmother looks at you. Inquisitive but cautious. Pleasant.

I passed a man who might have been of Thai descent - he looked like a shorter version of Larry King with an even darker tan. Big glasses. A heart-shaped face. He didn't smile at me. But he didn't frown. He seemed like a person that you could sit next to for a long time and stare at the Pacific Ocean. You wouldn't have to say anything at all. He'd j understand.

I saw surfers in the ocean from the Venice pier. They looked right up at me much like we were all meeting at Starbucks. One guy took off on his board. Here's the gang that was just hanging out.


I saw my new office. Take a look:


Then, I saw a black woman in a red sweater fishing next to her young son in a red hoodie. He was bouncing up and down as if he would hook a fish by sheer energetic will power. She smiled at me, the smile of a mom to another mom, that look of pure hope and pride.

A middle-aged all American man walked by me, flannel shirt slapping, ball cap on head, a good morning grin shared with me.

I thought how boring to be us, me and the American guy, just plain old Americans. No discernible ethnic origins. I don't think anyone can look at me and imagine any wondrous heritage. I look like a middle-aged white women. A few freckles that could be seen as interesting. iPod earphones stuck into the sides of my head. Oakley sun glasses. Triple Venti latte in hand.

Kind of just plain me.

But you know what makes me different, maybe, perhaps? I look at people in wheelchairs. I make eye contact. I concoct fascinating human stories from the faces I see. I'm sure the lady in a dress and black suit jacket and 4 inch heels that I passed on my way back was enroute to her way to her job as an up and coming CEO. I hope that man going through the trash is a collector. And that the athletic looking guy in the yellow jacket, who said excuse me when he jogged by, is going to be at the Olympics in Chicago.

Something else about me is that, no matter what, in my heart, deep down, where it matters, I hope I made someone's day.

And lastly, what I really hope doesn't make me different, is my hope that all the citizens in our country continue to love our differences. All of them. Our myriad colors of skin. Our eye glasses of all shapes and sizes. Our origins. Our roots. Our beliefs. Our wheelchairs. Our bikes. That our food courts have Barbecue, Mongolian, Thai, Italian and Subway!

That we are as different as night and day.

Marcia's advice for today: Look at people in their eyes even if you have to bend a little.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Instant Karma by John Lennon