This is 35

For years, my mother has oft said with an affectionate and slightly omniscient tone, that the number eight represents new beginnings. I am not sure if it comes from a biblical reference, the Aramaic or Jewish calendar, but I am definitely certain, it has a very kismet-like ring to it. As I sat pondering and being all introspective at my midnight-coloured Venetian marble kitchen counter (after a sleepless night of tossing and turning under my John Lewis summer duvet), fragments of my memories flashed in my mind’s eye. Back to my room in the rehabilitation wing of the Wellington Hospital, newly injured, lost and bewildered, staring into what I thought was a dark abyss. An empty void of bleakness and despondency. Not to sound theatrically overdramatic, but losing the use my lower limbs was scarring, harrowing, devastating, agonizing, heart-wrenching and traumatising, to say the least.

As I regained scintillas of myself over the years, my confidence grew. Instead of perfectly angled selfies, I took full-length pictures, posing in my wheelchair that was front and center. I opted for a vivid, carroty-coloured chair, instead of one sprayed completely black. On a balmy night in Atlanta, Georgia, I started an Instagram page to bring people along on my journey towards total restoration.  

Grabbing onto life by the short and curlies, my adventures in California took me on a literal rollercoaster during the soft opening of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios. It took me to the Beverly Hilton during the Television Critics Association (TCA) Summer Press Tour where I had the distinct pleasure of bumping into Kristen Bell, Colin Donnell, Brian Tee, Ryan Eggold, Yaya and the incomparable, venerated Dick Wolf.

It took me to the disabled section in the enraptured audience at the Seth Macfarlane Panel at the 2015 San Diego Comic Con (SDCC). It took me to the nippy conference room at the Rio Grande in Vegas where I giggled like a schoolgirl in front of my forever crush, Mr Jensen Ackles. It took me to a slightly cramped but picturesque seaside restaurant in Sausalito during a road trip from Rancho Santa Fe to San Francisco. It took me to my first Heroes and Villains Convention in San Jose where I shared inside jokes with Mr Stephen Amell and the crème de la crème of TV dads and husbands, the inimitable Mr Milo Ventimiglia.  

It took me to an aquamarine poolside in the tranquil and reposeful backyard of a dream home in one of the most prestigious and affluent neighbourhoods, twenty-five minutes north of San Diego. It took me to the transcendent Healing Rooms in the curative Bethel Church Sanctuary in Redding, where I experienced a spiritual rebirth after the osteonecrosis of the left humeral head (my shoulder bone) was totally healed. It took me to the place that saved my life.

Being violently thrust into the disabled community might have been savage and excruciating, but meeting other differently abled superheroes, fighting for disability rights, starting wheelchair dance teams, sitting on different Boards and engaging in world-changing discourse with social justice disrupters in the White House; gave me the inspiration I needed. I sit in awe of the remarkable strength of will, resoluteness and fortitude that people in the community display on a diurnal basis. With the disparate social media platforms, their reach and ingenuity know no bounds.

The day I turned thirty-five, something foreign washed over me. An unfamiliar feeling that I eventually identified as ‘unabashed acceptance.’ The knowledge that I can unapologetically be myself. The beguiling, extremely amusing, high-spirited, animated, gifted, imaginative, three-dimensional original that I am. Being God-confident (as opposed to self-confident), in tune with my brawny, well-fortified spirit man has helped me evolve into my divine identity and cement my sanguine outlook for the future.   

One may not view this perspective as ground-breaking or seminal, but I urge you to ponder what I actually consider to be an imperative paradigm shift. Accepting who you are – a flawed being with unique quirks, influences your frames of reference, your panoramic viewpoints, your moral compass and value system. You become content with your natural appearance and accept your limitations. One fully embraces their personality spectrum, sculpted and forged by nature and nurture. A lot of people do discover themselves at certain age milestones but to others, it might seem that the acceptance thought process is outside their realm of possibility. For instance, on one of the elusive, cooler days during London’s heat wave; as we were sipping PG Tips in my kitchen, one of my closest confidantes admitted that my theory of acceptance was such a distant concept. They self-professed the word was not even in their vocabulary.   

It took me eight years into my injury life-path to come to this place of delectation. The quest for true repletion sort of stemmed from a long-forgotten promise; a soul cry from a hospital bed, to live a sweet life to the fullest; doing the things I adore like crafting virtual inscriptions (also known as updating my WordPress. Forgive my snooty doucheness), anatomising films and television shows as well as dissecting screenplays.     

As I laud myself in this sublime month of new beginnings, I implore that you spend some time reflecting and consciously engaging in constructive intrapersonal communication. Being satiated with oneself is tremendously freeing (obviously allowing space for evolution and personal growth) and as you become more self-aware, and delve into your psyche, acceptance is definitely withing one’s grasp.

In the month of Elul in the year 5782, my own personal mantra replays itself in my mind.    

“This is me. This is 35.”