When Fortitude Hides

I watched a man the other day. There were others watching him, too. We were on our exercise machines and weight equipment, and we could see him through the expanse of windows that lined the front of the room. The man was painstakingly making his way from the curb of the rec center over to his car. He looked like geologic time.

I was in the back of the room, so I could see the others watching this very old man. They were all sorts of ages — teenage, young adult, middle-aged like me. There was the same quiet pause about them, as there was about me. We were rapt. You can’t imagine how this fellow inching his way along the pavement was a thing of multiple fascinations.

For starters, the length of time it took for him to execute each step made the math on the total time it must take him to do anything mind-boggling. You could see in this one act of crossing the parking lot, how giant a project going to the rec center was for him, and the enormous effort locomotion must be for him every day.

His head was in a permanent bend forward and his shoulders hitched up past his neck. His hands clung to his walker for dear life. He’d peek up every step or two to view his route, maybe spot his car. There was a young woman accompanying him who looked like a hired aid.

As I tried to wrap my head around this big daily challenge of his, I then tried to fathom his effort and grit. This is what I might have seen in the body language of those around me who were watching this man, too. First, we were stunned, then awed, then extremely inspired.

I’m not sure what the teens were thinking, but maybe the middle-aged folks were thinking like me. If I ever get to live that long, I hope I’m as determined and admirable.

Each other’s mentors

This small scene stayed with me for a long while. I contemplated both the man and those of us inspired by him. I tried to pick it all apart, as I do sometimes.

We’re constantly mentoring each other without realizing it. We learn by watching and we mimic what we see, even though we often don’t realize this either. The man in the parking lot, the state of his body, his determined management of it — these were big lessons for those of us witnessing.

He was a vision of influence. A long string of years, perhaps coupled with the way he lived his life, turned him into a veritable inchworm in front of the parking lot traffic. Drivers waiting to park summoned patience for him instead of complaints. They accepted that his slowness was something he couldn’t control. They respected that he worked very hard to overcome it.

It’s easy to respect a very old body because it’s easy to understand. Aging is a blend of time and biology. We understand that an older person’s physical challenges derive from their flesh and bones rather than their personhood.

Yet, we can be less inclined to apply this same understanding to less visible biological challenges in people. We can easily view invisible hurdles not so much as hurdles, but as choices.

We sometimes see our own invisible challenges with the same lack of clarity, too.

Same play, different actors

It’s sad when we don’t give ourselves such leeway, or it’s frustrating, anxiety-inducing, or arduous. Often, it’s simply self-defeating. We all need to know others are supportive of us, above all ourselves.

It’s just as unfortunate when we don’t give others leeway, too — both for them and for us.

It’s hard to recognize in anyone sometimes that depression, anxiety, neurodiverse challenges, sensory overload, or learning difficulties are not moral failings.

It’s easy to see that blind eyes don’t work, or that a prosthetic has replaced a missing limb. Advanced age is obvious, too. It’s wrinkled and slow.

It’s harder to see other challenges because they’re obscured; because those challenges are present in the brain where you can’t see a physical difference. When behavior reveals the challenge, we tend to think it derives from intention or lack thereof.

Yet, a slow, aging memory is housed in the same place as an impulsive executive function or a depressive outlook. Impaired motor control in an older person is on the same biological stage as missing or inaccurate social cues and vocal tics. Same play, different actors.

To make things more complicated, the harder someone works to mask their brain challenge to try to fit in, the harder it is for the rest of us to see it, even in instances when we know it’s there. This can also be the case with our own challenges, despite knowing full well they are within us.

I think it’s sad that I will have automatic esteem for the old fellow in the parking lot, but I won’t instantly form the same view of someone working just as hard to act more acceptable. This is the unbalanced part of that biological play. All the actors work very hard, but only some are stars. Sometimes, some are even considered villains.

A better understanding

What makes it even trickier is when someone’s brain challenge is apparent only sometimes, rather than present at every possible turn. There is no equivalent of a missing limb with a brain challenge. Conditions and situations vary, and this can influence one’s anxiety, inattention, social difficulty, or memory — and the list goes on.

Therefore, it becomes easy to assume someone made a choice to be socially removed, to act impulsively, or to ‘forget’ because they don’t do it all the time. After all, a slow-moving old man is always slow-moving.

This isn’t to say there is no choice about how we cope or manage our difficulties. There certainly is. In most situations, there are options for us if we have the fortune to learn about our options and have access to them. If we have these opportunities, then we can begin to work toward a better self-management system.

When someone works on this self-management, they are essentially walking across the parking lot with extra effort. Whether it’s a hard effort across the parking lot or across the work or school day, it’s the same grit and determination put toward the same thing: life.

The more I learn about our various invisible challenges, the more I’m awed by the fortitude shown by folks every day. I want to learn from these people. I want to mimic their strength.

I wonder how much I’d learn about strength if I took the time to notice it more in myself, too.

Kudos to all of us.