Alaska: Day 28: 8-2-93: Final Day, Final Thoughts

Welcome, Dear Reader! You've come upon me at an opportune moment. I find myself waxing introspective. I'm going to write whatever comes into my head (stream-of-consciousness like), so excuse me if I ramble at times. Now, please join me in my thoughts, already in progress . . .

It's quite apparent that the people I've met and the things I've done on this trip have transformed me for the better (many of these changes are blatantly obvious, others are more subtle -- and still others, I imagine, are yet to be discovered), and there is little doubt that the impact will be everlasting. When I first set off for Alaska, I was hoping to have a good time and maybe meet a few interesting people along the way. But clearly, my experiences went way beyond that. I've had adventures here which have shown me that life has a lot to offer if you but choose to seek it out. I've also found myself in situations where I was unquestionably in danger, and this, too, has shown me how precious life is. I've worked side by side with individuals from all around the globe, who selflessly volunteered their time to help strangers -- so I know there are genuinely good people in the world. And I've met a special group of athletes, who tragically lost their legs or full use of them, but -- drumroll please -- they NEVER let it stop them! On the contrary, they adapted and overcame . . . and didn't look back. They made me realize that the things I complain about in my life (car insurance premiums, boring graduate classes, canker sores, even [cringe] a "B" on a test) are woefully inconsequential in the overall scheme of things. More importantly, they've showed me that it doesn't matter what so-called "handicap" you have -- you can rise above it and have a happy, fulfilling life.

This trip also taught me to banish the uneasiness and irrational fears (stemming from society or totally from within?) which heretofore dominated my encounters with the "disabled." (I remember [with no small amount of shame] an incident that occured when I first arrived at the Challenge Alaska headquarters. I met a woman who had no arms whatsoever -- just a pair of three-fingered hands jutting out of her shoulder sockets. As open-minded as I thought I was at the time, I recall feeling awkward in her presence and somewhat repulsed [I doubt I'd even blink now].) I recall being reluctant to approach the racers when I first met them, for fear that I would be tongue-tied -- or worse yet, say "the wrong thing." Indeed, I was more conscious of their handicaps then they were. But as the days unfolded, and I came to know these people, their disabilities were all but forgotten, and their wheelchairs became nothing more than an accessory, like glasses or braces.

(. . . Oh, my! It seems I've reached the last page in my notebook, so I better stop reflecting and wrap things up.)

Technically, I still have one more day in Alaska, for I'm not due to leave until tomorrow. But as I sit here alone in the abandoned UAA dorms -- "The Last of The Mohicans," as it were -- I realize this journal is complete. Nothing of further significance will happen, and I've nothing left to say. The trip will end as simply and quietly as it began -- with an airplane ride. Yet another example of how life comes full circle . . .

. . . just like a wheel.

-- Chris
August 2, 1993
2:41 p.m.