Immediately, I was impressed. I usually have trouble maneuvering my suitcase, and I can see! I watched in bewilderment, in awe, as she calmly rolled her suitcase onto the L train.
I sat down across from her, shaking my head in amazement. I'd been running a bit behind that morning (sleeping in is great, until you get up and still have to arrive at work at the same usual hour) and was perturbed when I left the house with my hair damp and my cuticles ragged. At least I had my sight! The effort and the patience that this young woman had exerted in order to ride the subway that morning was beyond my comprehension, and I was immediately humbled.
I studied her as the train zoomed past the Union Square stop. (At first, I was embarrassed to stare - but then I realized that she couldn't see me.) She wore a purple newsboy cap, with gold hoop earrings and a pink tee shirt. She had a whistle on a lanyard around her neck, alongside a laminated card...I leaned to the right a bit so that I could read it.
CAN YOU HELP ME CROSS THE STREET?
Tap me on the shoulder if you can help.
I am blind and deaf.
I gasped. Oh dear G-d. How was she not scared out of her mind, riding the subway without being able to see or hear? How did she know when to get off of the train? How could she walk down the sidewalk in New York without being hurt? What could her life possibly be like?
I closed my eyes, just for a moment, to try to comprehend what riding the subway would be like in total silence and darkness. It was terrifying.
I looked up, aching inside for her, and turned towards her once more. She didn't seem scared. She looked happy, even. She was holding on to the rail contentedly...and that's when I saw her hands.
They were covered in red. At first, I thought it was blood, and I panicked. I narrowed my eyes, as if I could zoom in on her hands like a camera lens, desperate to figure out what was wrong. The red seemed to start at her fingertips, and it was shiny, almost glittery.
That's when I realized: it was nail polish. The young woman had apparently attempted to paint her nails herself, and nail polish had ended up all over her hands.
It took a heck of a lot of willpower, especially considering that I hadn't had coffee yet, for me to not cry. It was all just too heartbreaking and adorable. This girl was obviously determined to not be hampered by her disabilities, however challenging. She got up this morning, and, yes, it took effort, but she still chose to look her best. She still was determined to follow her glee. She was going to ride the train and carry her own luggage and paint her nails -- and nothing was going to stop her. She was going to stride through the crowds at Penn Station, blindness and deafness be damned.
As I watched her walk off of the train, I thought, "That is quite possibly the bravest person that I will ever see in my life." That girl had gumption.
Last night, the rabbi asked, "How did you get here? The answer is up to you. You can say you took the L train. Or, you can think about how you got to this point in time, this train of thought, this comfort level...just think about how you got here and how you're going to get to wherever you're going next."
I grinned, and thought of the blind and deaf woman from the L train. Her answer, no doubt, would be fascinating.
How did I get here? Well, Rabbi, where shall I begin? I decided that I would live in New York City around the age of 5. I told my mother that I wanted to be a journalist, in the car en route to Hebrew school from an orthodontist appointment, in 8th grade. I sat in a Mexican restaurant on Waverly Place when I was 17, and had a panic attack because I was afraid that I would get in to Columbia early decision and not be able to attend NYU (I am, I do believe, the first child to hope and pray that they wouldn't get into an Ivy...).
I realized that Reform Judaism wasn't enough for me anymore about a year ago; I decided that keeping kosher, despite its illogical ways, rang true in November, and I was finally able to pray, at Conservative services, in January. I considered joining JDate yesterday.
It took 4 internships for me to decide that I want to have a career in women's service magazines. It took my parents about 2 years of college to convince me that graduate school might not be such a bad plan after all. It took me 2 weeks to learn how to do all of the functions on the color copier at Good Housekeeping.
And, now, I'm turning 21 on Thursday. I'm taking the GRE for the first time on September 14th. I'm still waiting for my lobster (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WViFQiRgs0). I have a lot of traveling and writing and loving left to do; there are, undoubtedly, a lot more close calls and difficult decisions in my future.
How I got here is an amalgamation of hope and hard work and serendipity. Wherever I go next, I'd like to have the kind of bravery that a girl needs to paint her nails with her eyes closed.
Tap me on the shoulder if you can help.
I am blind and deaf.
I gasped. Oh dear G-d. How was she not scared out of her mind, riding the subway without being able to see or hear? How did she know when to get off of the train? How could she walk down the sidewalk in New York without being hurt? What could her life possibly be like?
I closed my eyes, just for a moment, to try to comprehend what riding the subway would be like in total silence and darkness. It was terrifying.
I looked up, aching inside for her, and turned towards her once more. She didn't seem scared. She looked happy, even. She was holding on to the rail contentedly...and that's when I saw her hands.
They were covered in red. At first, I thought it was blood, and I panicked. I narrowed my eyes, as if I could zoom in on her hands like a camera lens, desperate to figure out what was wrong. The red seemed to start at her fingertips, and it was shiny, almost glittery.
That's when I realized: it was nail polish. The young woman had apparently attempted to paint her nails herself, and nail polish had ended up all over her hands.
It took a heck of a lot of willpower, especially considering that I hadn't had coffee yet, for me to not cry. It was all just too heartbreaking and adorable. This girl was obviously determined to not be hampered by her disabilities, however challenging. She got up this morning, and, yes, it took effort, but she still chose to look her best. She still was determined to follow her glee. She was going to ride the train and carry her own luggage and paint her nails -- and nothing was going to stop her. She was going to stride through the crowds at Penn Station, blindness and deafness be damned.
As I watched her walk off of the train, I thought, "That is quite possibly the bravest person that I will ever see in my life." That girl had gumption.
Last night, the rabbi asked, "How did you get here? The answer is up to you. You can say you took the L train. Or, you can think about how you got to this point in time, this train of thought, this comfort level...just think about how you got here and how you're going to get to wherever you're going next."
I grinned, and thought of the blind and deaf woman from the L train. Her answer, no doubt, would be fascinating.
How did I get here? Well, Rabbi, where shall I begin? I decided that I would live in New York City around the age of 5. I told my mother that I wanted to be a journalist, in the car en route to Hebrew school from an orthodontist appointment, in 8th grade. I sat in a Mexican restaurant on Waverly Place when I was 17, and had a panic attack because I was afraid that I would get in to Columbia early decision and not be able to attend NYU (I am, I do believe, the first child to hope and pray that they wouldn't get into an Ivy...).
I realized that Reform Judaism wasn't enough for me anymore about a year ago; I decided that keeping kosher, despite its illogical ways, rang true in November, and I was finally able to pray, at Conservative services, in January. I considered joining JDate yesterday.
It took 4 internships for me to decide that I want to have a career in women's service magazines. It took my parents about 2 years of college to convince me that graduate school might not be such a bad plan after all. It took me 2 weeks to learn how to do all of the functions on the color copier at Good Housekeeping.
And, now, I'm turning 21 on Thursday. I'm taking the GRE for the first time on September 14th. I'm still waiting for my lobster (see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WViFQiRgs0). I have a lot of traveling and writing and loving left to do; there are, undoubtedly, a lot more close calls and difficult decisions in my future.
How I got here is an amalgamation of hope and hard work and serendipity. Wherever I go next, I'd like to have the kind of bravery that a girl needs to paint her nails with her eyes closed.
