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<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\nAbout a decade ago, while I was waiting in line at a music festival, it suddenly became very clear that I needed to use a bathroom. I had spent the morning chugging water, but I didn\u2019t anticipate the length of the bus ride and amount of people waiting to get in. None of that mattered, anyway. I had to go. I had to go immediately<\/em>. <\/p>\n \u201cWe have to find a bathroom,\u201d I said to my sister. She could tell by the panic in my voice that I was serious, but she couldn\u2019t just wave me away to find a toilet on my own. She had to push my wheelchair. \u201cGo faster!\u201d I yelled as she navigated wood chips, grass, and dirt. When we got to a group of attendants, and my sister squealed, \u201cWhere are the bathrooms?\u201d to a sweaty man who couldn\u2019t care less, he pointed to a porta-potty in the distance, just beyond the multiple rows of a roped-off queue we were required to roll through first. <\/p>\n To me, this is comedy gold.<\/p>\n Disability is rarely thought of as comedic. It\u2019s usually depicted as depressing, which is probably why you may feel slightly uncomfortable right now. In movies, it underscores a love story of two people who must face an impending death, or a drama about a misfit who doesn\u2019t have any friends, which naturally includes a scene about his parents encouraging him to ignore a bully (who loses in the end). <\/p>\n But real-life perceptions around a disabled life aren\u2019t much better. There have been numerous occasions when a stranger asks me \u201cwhat\u2019s wrong?!\u201d as my legs limp in her direction. She\u2019ll apologize about my cerebral palsy once I tell her I was born with it, because what else have people been taught to say? (Frankly, I wish more people would respond with, \u201cWay to go on the kick-ass parking spot,\u201d but that\u2019s just me.) <\/p>\n After a lifetime of observing the public\u2019s reaction to disability, I know how common it is for people to lament what could\u2019ve been and grimace at what is. Disabled is what people hope they\u2019ll never become; it\u2019s what people refuse to believe is possible. While some of these negative responses may ring true \u2014 disability can<\/em> be sad and painful \u2014 this vantage point often makes it difficult to appreciate the lighter layers within all the complexity.<\/p>\n The truth is, having a disability can also be hilarious. <\/p>\n Maybe my sense of humor matches the coffee I drink in the morning. When I pour myself a dark cup and walk from my kitchen to the living room, there\u2019s a high probability that I\u2019ll lose my balance and spill a few swigs on the floor. If that happens, I giggle. I tend to think of my cerebral palsy as a source of physical comedy. I constantly bang into corners and slip on stairs, creating a personal soundtrack of \u201coh\u201d and \u201cah\u201d that sounds like the intro of a \u201890s club hit. Sure, it can be tough, but what a treat to always have fresh material. <\/p>\n We all spend our lives putting such seriousness around the state of our bodies. They should be this height and this size; there should be two arms and two legs, and a nose that slopes just so. A body should walk and jump and lift and twist. We hide what isn\u2019t universally acceptable; we spend ridiculous amounts of money on \u201cmaintenance.\u201d Of course, I\u2019ve fantasized about \u201cif only\u201d \u2014 especially when I was younger, and even now, as I wait for elevators.<\/p>\n Nevertheless, here\u2019s something I\u2019ve learned after a little more than three decades spent should-ing<\/em> all over myself: my body and I are in this together. As soon as I accepted my body as it is, I let go of what it isn\u2019t<\/em>. And that\u2019s when I started to have more fun.<\/p>\n There\u2019s always going to be a crack in the sidewalk that I trip over, especially when I\u2019m trying to look hot. I\u2019ll never be able to cross a room holding a cocktail without it splashing, especially when I\u2019m trying to look hot. Spiral staircases seem to materialize every time I\u2019m wearing impractical footwear, especially when I\u2019m trying to look hot. And my crush will surely come into view as I\u2019m struggling to carry a bag, climb up a hill, or literally do anything \u2014 while also trying to look hot. Such is the price to pay for routinely getting a kick-ass parking spot. <\/p>\n Perhaps being able to find humor in disability comes from knowing it so intimately. The other day, I told old friends that I prefer my neighborhood over theirs, because it\u2019s so much harder to find parking where they live. Without missing a beat, one friend said, \u201cIsn\u2019t finding somewhere to park kind of easy for you?\u201d We all laughed, and I knew they were laughing with<\/em> me \u2014 never at me. Once you accept that a disabled life is still a full one, it\u2019s much easier to be in on the joke.<\/p>\n Kelly Dawson<\/a> is a writer, editor, and marketing consultant based in Los Angeles. She\u2019s written for Cup of Jo on navigating encounters with disabled folks<\/a> and why NYC is often inaccessible<\/a>. Follow her on Instagram<\/a>, if you\u2019d like.<\/em><\/p>\n P.S. Becoming friends with a non-disabled person<\/a> and how to navigate encounters with disability<\/a>.<\/p>\n![\"the](\"https:\/\/cupofjo.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/07\/Kelly-Dawson-Grass.jpg\")
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