Who Are You?
Lessons From The Couch #3
“Your identity is more fluid than you know, because who you think you are can be stripped away in the blink of an eye”
A few weeks before my back blew up, we were invited on a mystery excursion by our Thai friends Daisy and Pradit. The plan was that Pradit and I would ride our bikes to wherever we were going, while Daisy and Sarah would take the easy road on a scooter.
I’d been cycling regularly with Pradit, who was younger, fitter and much faster than me. He’d pushed me hard, and my fitness had improved dramatically — I still couldn’t quite keep up if he put the hammer down but at least I wasn’t lagging a hundred meters behind.
The mystery trip turned out to be fantastic. We rode from Ao Nang to Krabi Town in the early morning, heading for a small pier on the river. A short time later, the ladies joined us and we piled bikes and scooter onto a long-tail boat and chugged across to an island called Koh Klang. It’s an idyllic place, where time has slowed down. No cars are allowed — just scooters and tuk-tuks, so the roads are narrow and the area resembles a small, spread-out farming village.
We rode around the island for a few hours, dodging mud puddles and being guided from viewpoint to vista by Pradit, who knows the local area like the back of his hand.
Eventually, it was time to head home. Daisy and Sarah whooshed off into the distance, while Pradit and I rolled onto the road. At that stage, we’d been on the bikes for around five hours, but if I was expecting a relaxed ride, I was mistaken. The hammer went down hard! The only way I could hang on was to tuck down and grab the middle of my handlebars like a wannabe triathlete, while keeping my front tire a few inches from Pradit’s back tire. Not exactly safe but the ego wants what it wants. Even drafting close, I had to push myself to the limit.
But we were flying! We blew past other cyclists out for a ride making them look like static installations. In the process, I knocked almost 20 minutes off the time it usually took me to get home from town. I got a very satisfying bewildered look from Sarah when I rolled into our driveway.
“How did you get home so fast?” she asked.
I answered with nothing more than a smug smile before I collapsed on the couch with a bottle of cold water. I was tired but felt amazing. I was at the top of my game — at least as fit as I’d ever been in my life. Plus I was lifting heavier and heavier weights at gym and making “gainz” despite all the cycling. I was actively cementing my imagined status as an action hero while maintaining my “Totally Over The Top Fitness And Nutrition Guy”? identity.
Pride Goeth Before a Fall
Six weeks later, I was rolling along at a very different speed. In a wheelchair at Phuket Airport. We were flying to Australia so I could find out what was going on in my back, but walking wasn’t an option. I could barely stand, so I’d asked for a wheelchair for the whole trip.
I’d spent some time in a wheelchair at the hospital earlier that day, but it hadn’t made much of an impression on me because after all, it was a hospital. That kind of thing happens there.
This was different. I felt two inches tall, yet high up on a pedestal so everyone could take a good look at the disabled guy. Was I disabled? It sure seemed that way.
For some reason, I’d never made the connection in spite of nearly a month of not being able to walk. Maybe because it had mostly happened in isolation but here, in a busy airport, I could be under no illusions.
Not only was I no longer an action hero, I couldn’t freaking walk! I was in a wheelchair, placed carefully out of the way like an object so I didn’t impede the important business of the able-bodied folk. My girlfriend had to carry my backpack, and I had to be pushed around the terminal and loaded onto the plane using the truck that loads the baggage (I kid you not).
Talk about a crushing fall from grace.
From what I could tell, I’d gone from useful to useless. And it occurred to me that if I wasn’t “Captain Physically Capable”, the alter ego I’d kept going since I was a teenager, then who was I?
The Thorny Identity Issue
That was a good question. Who was I? In all seriousness, I had no idea. I’d never contemplated the concept that I wouldn’t get better at some stage but now I was wondering, was this my lot?
And if it were, then what?
Back then, I had no idea of how to answer those questions, and in truth, I’m still not totally sure.
My rehabilitation is going well. I don’t need a wheelchair. I don’t need my walker. I don’t even need a crutch to get around. I swim daily, I do my lists of core exercises as instructed and then I do more. I’m getting better every single day.
But I’m still in pain. I still hobble. I still can’t quite bend over properly and there’s no way I can move the 20 liter bottles of drinking water we need to collect every few days. I can’t cycle, can’t lift real weights at gym, and I couldn’t actually defend myself or Sarah unless I can magically whisk a shotgun out of thin air.
That kind of stuff is hard to deal with, especially when you made your life about being a “real man”. But I deal with it every day. And I’m finding ways not to stress about it.
I’m on a journey that’s been difficult but unbelievably rewarding. I’ve learned things about myself that I never imagined were true — both good and bad. I’ve had more moments of sheer joy and happiness in the last few months than I can recall in some years before. I’m doing great.
It’s strange. I used to hear about people who’d gone through tough times and come out the other side stronger. Stories of addiction, disability, loss and pain. When asked if they’d change things if they could go back in time, many said no, because their struggles were what made them who they are today. Some even said they were grateful.
My response was “BULLSHIT”. Given the chance, I would have been confident that they’d change everything if they could have.
But now I think differently.
If I could go back, I’d leave things as they played out. That probably sounds like self-serving rubbish but what I went through has meaning and significance. I’m learning more about myself now that I’m not hiding behind a mask. And I’m appreciating what I see.
So who am I? I’m Ashley Kramer. I’m evolving, and I’m fine with that.
This lesson is easy. Ask yourself who you are, and what makes you, you? And wonder what would happen to that you if things changed dramatically, because they could. And then who would you be?
As a wiser man than me once said:
“You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis”.
So who are you?
The title of this post is from an incredibly apt song by The Who. Always worth a listen.
