Taking Stock

Right. The entry you're about to sink your teeth into is, in fact, a rewrite. On reflection, this is quite appropriate. 2019, so far, has had a few false starts so why shouldn't my blog keep in step with life? So... into the breach, we go.

Unless you count my ill-fated attempt at realizing a childhood dream from last year, I haven't written anything of consequence for a long time. I met someone a short while ago who suggested that perhaps I should, if only for posterity, consider resuscitating my literary journey. As it turns out, more than just two or three people find my ramblings interesting. Apparently, some even find them inspiring. Who knew?

At the point of penning this entry, you find me a 45-year-old Caucasian man living in sunny Cape Town, South Africa. It's the middle of Summer. Everything is as it should be. Except that it isn't. We're embarking on a run up to a general election that could, potentially, heal our country from a decade of corruption, theft, state capture and a whole lot more. Or, it could herald a time where we, as a nation, go up in flames fuelled by hate, racism, and a general inability to see the otherness in one another. It's fair to say that the only thing certain about being a white male in South Africa at the moment is uncertainty. In fact, it's a little terrifying.

Foreign countries, it turns out, are quite reluctant to grant asylum (don't even start me on citizenship!) to a C4 quad of a certain age unless you can show definitively that you won't be a drain on their economy. I may not have written finals at Stellenbosch university but I can point to the fact that I've been pretty successful as an online marketer, a reasonably competitive industry. Hell, I've been headhunted by corporates twice and, if it weren't for the fact that I can't do 16 hour days in an office, I'd be heading up a team now. I don't need to brag, really, but this doesn't paint a picture of a deadbeat immigrant, does it? So, where to for this multilingual professional? The truth is, I'd be successful anywhere.

Believe it or not, I've even received a couple of marriage proposals. One from a girl in the United States. One from a mademoiselle in France. Here's my problem. I can't marry for any reason other than being in love. At this time, I can't honestly say I'm in love with either lady. Besides, what difference is it going to make if I can't get to either? I've always said that I could find a reason to love any girl. Girls are wonderful that way. I don't need the love of my love to be drop-dead gorgeous. She may come with a wart or two. Hell, she may even come with a chequered past. I don't care. 2019 is going to be the year where I'm going to get myself in a financial position to travel, be it to meet a girl, see the world, or flee the latest African failed state. Right now, I'm at T minus $2000.

Back when I started out my life as a man with a disability, not even my mother, my biggest cheerleader, was 100% certain I'd make it in life. As anyone living with a disability will tell you, nothing can prepare you. It's anything but a bunch of roses. If I proudest of anything, it's of the fact that I've gone out and succeeded. I'm financially independent. No, I'm not a millionaire. Yes, I've received help from others along the way, something for which I'm forever grateful. However, I've also worked as hard as anyone to get where I am. I still have many things I'd like to achieve in my life. I'll never quit. I'll either achieve my goals or I'll die trying.

If you're reading this and you're wondering what to make of me, the aspiring Distinguished Toastmaster (Another goal for 2020!), I'm just a guy like any other. I don't ask society to shift my goalposts further than what can be considered reasonable accommodation. I certainly don't want anyone's pity. All I want is a shot to distinguish myself like anyone else. Give me a job. Offer to be my partner. Teach me something. Those are the things I value. Those are the things that will allow me to set myself apart.

My Le Mans Dream

1983

This was a standout year in my life in many respects. It is memorable to me for various reasons. Some of those memories were sad, but others were of an inspirational nature. Besides the fact that I had graduated to double figures in the age column, and was adapting to a new life with parents who lived at separate addresses, it was also the year that I first laid eyes on prototype sports cars through a coffee table book that my father brought home from a non-descript little village, a couple of hours by train outside of Paris, France called Le Mans. Apparently, some lunatic had got the idea in his head to race these cars for 24 hours, without stopping to draw breath. I was hooked! I decided, then and there, that I would make a point of seeing this spectacle for myself at least once before I kicked the bucket. 

2016 

Fast forward 33 years. I am now hastily approaching what most people would consider middle-age. I won’t lie, the years have been quite rough, as far as throwing up challenges goes. In 1990, all my dreams, my entire life to be precise, was thrown for a loop when I had a sports injury that left me a quadriplegic. It happened a month before my 17th birthday. I had been chosen to represent South Africa in trampoline gymnastics and, during a routine practice session, I landed on my head and dislocated a vertebrae in my neck. To say that I was scared would not be doing the sensation justice. I had just lost the use of my hands and my legs, and every ambition that I held most dear had now become a stark impossibility. I went, in an instant, from needing nobody to needing everyone. It is a very humbling sensation to have to experience. 

Still, during my five months of rehabilitation, I became resolute to find my “plan B”, even if it took the rest of my life. All I had ever wanted to be was a surgeon. All my dreams entailed having a family, and seeing the world. How would I, the head without a body that obeyed, achieve any of these things? It was a long, hard road to get to where I am now. If you consider that only 1% of people with disabilities are employed in any way in South Africa, it may be termed a miracle that I have managed to keep myself financially independent to a large degree, and build a career for myself in digital marketing. Not only do I work, but, as it turns out, I am pretty good at what I do. Good enough that I have never had to send out a CV to find employment. My clients have come across me by word-of-mouth, according to the work I have done for others. 

However, I digress. Getting back to my current predicament… In August of last year, I was promoted at work and given a reasonable salary increase. As I have done since the early 1990s, I was watching the Le Mans 24-hour on television and a thought occurred to me; how much would a trip to France actually cost, and was I now in a position to afford it? I did my homework on the Internet, and discovered that maybe, just maybe, one of my boyhood dreams could, in fact, be realised if I played my cards right, and had a little luck. I must make the point here, that for someone like myself to travel involves a great deal of planning, a great deal of help regarding logistics – I use a wheelchair, after all, and need a friend to double as an assistant, at the very least, to see to my requirements regarding washing, ablutions, feeding, and getting from point A to point B. Sadly, I do not have a motorised wheelchair. 

So, to make it all happen, I started at the beginning which, surprisingly, required me to find accommodation, first and foremost, in Le Mans. Hotels are fully booked a year in advance, so the only option one really has is to find a local host, gracious enough to accommodate me for that week. After learning a smattering of French to make myself understood, and scouring Airbnb, I found a lovely old lady who agreed to book me with her, almost a year in advance, for the bargain price of around R 5000. Next, I set to work getting tickets for the event itself. Once again, more brushing up on my French, and after a few calls to France, a doctor’s note to prove my disability to the organisers, I managed to secure access to all the week’s happenings as well as tickets to the main event. This cost me €259, about R 4130 in the exchange rate of the day. Lastly, I decided that if I was going to do a trip to France, I should make it one to remember. I promptly set about looking for ways to extend my holiday, and spend a few days in Paris before I returned. Sadly, or fortunately, whichever way one looks at it, I could only secure leave from work until the end of that week, the Saturday to be precise, at which point I would have to make my way back home. Low and behold, things were looking up. I found a lovely place, close to the Nord du Gare train station, that was prepared to put me up, that is to say, myself, and my two friends who would be going along, for the bargain price of R 8530. All I needed now was to pay for my airfares, and get my visas. Blessings abounded! Doing a napkin calculation, I figured that it would take me until the end of February to save the amount required, and I would be free to then accumulate pocket money until my departure… 

2017 

As I suppose everyone knows, life has a way of throwing you curveballs when you least expect it. After everything I have endured in my life, after all the challenges I’ve had to overcome, one would think that I would never take anything for granted or assume everything as completed until I crossed that would-be finish line? Well, as it turns out, I probably still have a few things to learn. 

In January I contracted an E. coli infection that saw me spend a few days in hospital. Even after I was discharged, this infection kept coming back, again and again. I was making trip after trip to the emergency room, and before I knew it, most of my hard-won savings had gone towards paying off some doctor’s Mercedes. I had already spent close to R 18,000, and time was now starting to tick away. What was I going to do? Never being one to simply give up, I applied for a personal loan from my bank, but that would only cover one airfare. I am one airfare, and about R10,000 short of having enough. At that point it was 25 April, and I didn't know what to do next. I contacted Air France via my travel agent. What happened next, to be frank, shocked me. I enquired about making a booking for myself at a seat in front of a bulkhead, since my right leg only bends to about 60°. Not only were they unable to assist me – they weren’t even prepared to try! The response to my enquiry was to upgrade to business class, something that would effectively have doubled the cost of my ticket. 

So, here I was in a state of limbo, wondering if my dream would still come true. I decided to approach French news publications, in the hope that, perhaps, we would be able to assist each other. As I am sure you will agree, my story is noteworthy at the very least. Furthermore, I am someone who doesn’t take no for an answer very easily, and am prepared to do whatever it takes to get to where I want to be. My proposition to these publications was this: I would give them exclusive rights to my story for the purposes of publication, as well as the opportunity to follow me around on my adventure through France, from my arrival on 10 June, attending the Le Mans 24-hour event from 11 June to 18 June, as well as my stay in Paris until 24 June, at which point I would depart for home. I would make myself available for press conferences, telling my story, as well as making promotional appearances on behalf of these publications. If they required an interview, I would be happy to speak to one of their journalists from South Africa, prior to my departure as well. I had given them a very abbreviated summary of my story, and would have been happy to expound on it if the need arose. All I asked was that they publish my story in France, giving me the opportunity to raise the necessary funds to realise my boyhood dream. 

I wasn't looking for charity, per se. I was prepared to do my part to make this a mutually beneficial arrangement between us...

One would think that after all this had already transpired, I would have seen the last of luck's cruel sense of humour? Apparently not. Just as I was teetering, wondering if I was deluding myself that I'd ever realize the dream I'd invested my heart and soul into, not to mention a large sum of non-refundable money, the straw finally landed which broke the camel's back. I learned that I had to be operated on in order to remove a bladder stone - and the operation failed! All the tea in China wasn't going to get me to France. My dream for 2017 was dead and buried.

I now have another operation to look forward to at the end of July. After that I may need a second operation to get my right knee bending again after I broke my leg paragliding. My life is comprised of the highest highs and the lowest lows. Regardless, I see it all as one big adventure but after all I've had to deal with in the last year, I finally had to admit to myself that I may need some help getting over the next hurdle. So, pride in my pocket, here I am asking you, whoever you are, to please find it in your heart to help me realize my biggest adventure yet. I believe one reaps what one sows 100 fold. I'm asking you to take a chance and sow into me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. 

DONATE to Paypal: will.gullum.scott@gmail.com

Three little words

I haven't submitted/posted/written in this blog for the longest time. So I got to asking myself, why? The truth is, I haven't got the foggiest idea. It's not like I don't have things to inspire me, or a very boring life. Quite the opposite, actually. So WTF?! Could it be that I am just plain lazy? Why is it that people in this world, wracked with the most morbid self loathing or the most self deifying narcissism can put out small novels in blogs? I just don't get it.

Anyhow, here goes for my own two cents worth. I am in a very interesting space at the moment. My life is never easy. Every day I try to find new reasons to justify why it is I woke up that morning. No, this is not me sending out invites to my pity party. It's just something that the universe decided was to be what I like to call my life. Actually, I don't have too much to complain about. Blessings abound! The problem is, I want more.

You can do the checklist. Job? Check. Roof over my head? Check. Food on the table? Check. Girlfriend? Well, on that one, it's a very hazy check. So what, exactly, is the problem? My life has actually taken on some interesting dimensions lately. I'm getting out a lot more. I'm never short of friends. So why all this angst? Sure, there are things that I need, but don't most of us? I have dreams and desires. For heavens sake, these are what drive me! So why all this insecurity, all of a sudden? I thought I left that behind after puberty. Is this what they call a midlife crisis? My God, I'm turning into Woody Allen! If things carry on like this, I'm going to be a card-carrying member of neurotics anonymous.

They say that men never know what it is that women want. Forget that! Right now, I need to figure out what I want. It's hard to think outside the box when you're living outside your mind half the time. I know I'd like to travel some more -- speaking of which, there is still a half written blog on my last trip I still haven't published. Note to self: FINISH IT! -- I digress. It's no secret that I desire, perhaps more than anything else, someone to share my life with. For that, I need to be patient. Yeah, that's me… Will Patience Scott. I've done more than 20 years of it! It does get a bit old from time to time. Yet, after having said all that, I feel like I'm still missing something.

What is it going to take to be content? Don't get me wrong, I have no need for others to massage my ego. Surprisingly, I like the person I am… even though I frustrate myself more than any wife ever could. Ambition, it turns out, is a bitch of a mistress. The way things are going, nothing is ever going to be good enough. As I read my own words, I feel the most deep, dark despair for the poor soul that says "I do" to me on our wedding day. Where is "nature versus nurture" in all this? For heaven's sake, there are days where I feel like I was toilet trained at gunpoint! Maybe, the truth is, I am simply another screwed up member of the human race trying to figure out the logic behind it all. Yeah, good luck with that.

Anywhere but here, anyone but me…

I find myself on many nights, lying awake and wondering what it must be like not to have to be afraid. When viewed as a snapshot, other people seem to have such idyllic lives. It must be so nice not to have to struggle financially, like Tom? If only I had an amazing family, like Joe. The truth is, when viewed against the seemingly endless string of reasons to fear that you experience in your own life from day to day, all of these people and their experiential Polaroids are infinitely more well-off. The question is, is this assumption a valid reflection of the truth?

It is easy to cherry pick certain aspects of other people's reality, and be envious thereof. But, on closer inspection, one might have to rethink one's initial assessment. Let's take Tom, for instance. Here is a guy who owns a beautiful home, with all the mod cons you could want. He has a great entertainment area, and makes great use of this. You want to be invited to one of his parties as he pulls out all the stops. You always leave his place thinking how wonderful it must be when money is no object, and always being envious that you can't do the same. However, in reality, Tom's house as well as pretty much everything else in it is owned by the bank. It will take him 20 years or more to make it his own. In order to afford this sort of lifestyle, Tom works a 60 hour work week. He has no choice. As a result, his relationship with his wife suffers and his children only see him on weekends. While Tom can kick back at a party, his stress levels are usually through the roof. To compensate, Tom has a few drinks every evening. Over time, one glass becomes one bottle at a time. Tom is now an alcoholic. Most people will agree that, at this point, there is very little left to be envious of.

At the end of the day, you are the only person you need to be able to live with. Chances are good that if you are able to live in peace with yourself, those closest to you will be able to as well. Life is not lived in bits and pieces. It is lived as a whole, where some parts are more pleasant than others, and where you take the salt with the sugar. The truth is that if everything always went well, life would be exceedingly dull. You only learn something by making mistakes and correcting them. You only grow through adversity. Character, as it turns out, is honed by hardship. There is no manual or map that can guide you through life unscathed… But then that is the point to it all, isn't it? The next time I find myself on the verge of a panic attack at 3 AM, I'm going to remind myself that, in life, the bad is there to help me appreciate the good, and that sometimes the good can make it all worthwhile!

So I'm not the world's only lonely heart?

I was very tempted to start this entry with "dear diary…". I mean, really, I've become convinced that when it comes to matters of the heart I was romantically retarded or something. Yes, I hear the baying of people shouting how "un-politically correct" that statement is. To you I say: "get over it!" A very dear friend of mine is currently going through something very similar to what I've experienced when it comes to relationships. We console ourselves with Jack Daniels and the odd chocolate, gravitating between thoughts of "what did I do wrong?" and "… She is a narcissistic cow and she doesn't deserve me."

Of course, these are feelings that that other person will never know –, or care – about. Ultimately, you can boil it down to a ridiculous case of venting, with a healthy side order of self-pity. So, if I were to impart a little of the wisdom I might have gained along the way, I'd point you to a timeless classic by one of my favourite artists, Billy Joel: "don't go changing to try to please me; you've never let me down before. And don't imagine you're too familiar…" Yeah, the song is "Just the way you are", and that's the way you should accept yourself – and your significant other.

So I'm rambling. Big deal! I've had a crappy week. People don't keep their word, things sometimes don't happen the way you'd like them to. Get over it, get on with it! I'd say this as much to someone reading this as I do to myself… everyday. Where to from here? Who the hell knows. It's your life, so live it! Maybe you thought that this was the love of your life? Obviously, that feeling wasn't mutual. Don't be scared to put your toe in the water again. Sure there are sharks, but there is also incredible beauty just waiting to be found by you. If my unapologetic self-indulgence has inspired you to fight another day, I'm glad. If not… Well let's just say that the lesson may come from another source. Goods night and good luck.

Letter to my unborn son

I really thought long and hard about whether or not to write this entry. Ever since I can remember, I've always had one desire above all else; to have a family, to be a father. Growing up, I couldn't have had two more contrasting parents. Life, it turns out, is not without a sense of irony. I'm eternally grateful to both of them for the example they set. Don't get me wrong; neither of them was perfect. My gratitude lies in having been able to observe both their triumphs as well as their failures, taking it all on-board, and not having to learn life's lessons for myself the hard way. I found myself thinking a little while ago: What would I have thought on the day my child was born? Many of my friends and acquaintances have young children. I've seen a myriad of reactions to new arrivals, both in terms of how they felt as individuals as well as how they felt about this new little life. So, I write this from a position of absolute inexperience, perhaps even a bit of romanticism… but I'm putting out there anyway – for myself as much as anyone.

To my beautiful baby boy,

Today you were born. Today I learnt what it was to love. The moment I saw you I knew you were mine. The moment I saw you I knew God was smiling down from heaven. So frail, so delicate, so perfect. I cannot imagine a time in my life when my life wasn't about me… until now. Years from now, you'll be a man. Years from now, you may have a family of your own. Protecting you, providing for you, guiding you; I hope that in this life I can give you everything you need to know that you were loved. You are my wish come true. I hope, when you read this some day, that you'll know that your old dad cherished you with every fibre of his being. I hope that you'll know that I did the best I could for you. For better or for worse, we're in this adventure together, you and I. Right now, in this moment, I cannot imagine another guy being more proud, more humbled or feeling more joy than I do. I thank God for you and pray that He may always watch over you when I can't.

Loving you, always and forever –
Dad

Out with the old and in with the new.

It's 10 o'clock on the last day of 2010. I couldn't see in the New Year without saying goodbye to the old properly. What a rollercoaster ride it's been! It's only fitting that I give this last year a worthy sendoff. Where to start? January seems an eon ago.

I started this year with hopes, dreams and ambitions which would necessarily make it better than the one before. I suppose, for most people, this is what you do every year. Of course, for me, the highlight of 2010 was always going to be the FIFA World Cup... yeah, for me and for 40 million others! This year, it might surprise some to know, will go down first, for me, as one of incredible healing. Don't get me wrong – going to the World Cup was a bucket list event. However, I'm days away from saying goodbye to the pressure sore that has kept me bedridden for the better part of a year and a half. As if this wasn't enough, I do believe that I've finally reached the place of closure with regards to my last relationship. I might have said this before, I'll say it again: 3 and a half years is about frikkin time!

Christmas, 2010, will go down as the first truly merry yuletide in 6 years. Instead of the episode of Jerry Springer that I've gotten used to, this year turned out to be filled with loving family, moments to be cherished and memories to last forever. I was filled with the most incredible sense of gratitude and hope. This, to me, is what Christmas is all about. As an old friend put it so cynically, Gift-mas, is much more than a typo. Sadly it's a reflection of the society we're all a part of. For me, however, this year's event has helped restore my faith.

I suppose I have to say that, in accordance with the up and down nature of the year gone by, the year-end has not been entirely uneventful. For the last three days I've been dealing with a digestive tract that is chosen to go thermonuclear on me. It has not been pretty! My apologies to anyone who reads this with an overactive imagination. So, here I am with auld lang syne on my mind and less than an hour to go. To all my friends; thanks for being so supportive, thanks for being there for me and, probably most of all, thanks for putting up with me. To my amazing family; I love you one and all more than words can say or science can measure – you're all my inspiration, my raison d'être,.

As for resolutions, I never usually make them. My hope is that the New Year will bring new adventures, new challenges, new friends – perhaps even the reappearance of some old ones. My journey through this life has taught me enough to know that things are surprising, sometimes disappointing but never truly boring. It is, after all, the unexpected that keeps us guessing what exactly life will throw at us next. Fake it 'til uou make it, remember that the sun will come out tomorrow – choose your cliche but always remember: never give up, never throw in the towel. The night is always darkest just before the dawn. As for me, I'll hold on to the words of 2 Chronicles 15:7 – "Be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded."