Last week we took a quick four-hour round trip drive to the desert before things potentially go to a complete lock-down. We didn't interact with people and we only got out of the car near a deserted fireside road to watch the windmills up close. It was mainly just an excuse for a long drive.

While many people are experiencing significant changes, we haven't as much. Jason's company switched to working from home a couple weeks ago and the University he teaches for has been shut down for the duration of the semester. And, I already do freelance from home. But other than that, work has been too busy this year for social gatherings outside of a few friends dropping in here and there, so we've mostly been homebound. 

Still, I along with you feel caged. The only difference is I've had a few years of practice over you...and you still have more freedom than I. When you are like me the freedom and independence to come and go is reliant on others.

I am one of those high-risk people who would most likely have difficulty recovering from Coronavirus (like many people with disabilities and chronically ill would) because it affects respiratory and so I’ve mostly been careful and been staying away from people the last couple weeks.

*It should be noted that I recently discovered several states has written in their policies that during dire health crisis situations like this, people with disabilities are essentially considered “unsaveable” and refused treatment. Wild. Some of us have more to lose. It’s a real justifiable pulsing concern for the disability and chronically ill community right now.

Jason and I have been filling in empty time slots with a drive down the coast or through the city to scope out new art murals or architecture (from inside the car). With or without a global pandemic, Jason and I have always gone on frequent drives; locally and cross-country. We have all our best conversations on drives. Perhaps this is why we have completed so many road trips. 

If a few days or a week or two of self-isolation is making you feel limited and confined, I understand this feeling. The feeling of not being able to drive somewhere or leave on a whim is hard. It is a privilege we don't quite acknowledge until it is gone.

Of all the things I have lost, driving is the one I miss the most. 

When I was young in high school and college I was always driving. I had less freedom in high school but I was always secretly exploring some deserted place or farmland. In college, these self-excursions became even more extensive. At the time I was living in Detroit for college and me and my car surveyed every inch of Detroit and its surrounding cities. I would also frequently take off to an eight-hour roundtrip drive from Detroit to Chicago. Just to drive. And think. Most times I wouldn’t even stop off in Chicago and would immediately turn around back to Detroit. I loved to drive.

I used to live in Chicago when I worked for Motorola. Chicago is still probably my most favorite city I've lived in. I had the best time there. Although, living in Los Angeles, San Francisco and Detroit are not too far behind. Each city has enriched me.

I was always driving. It’s how I dealt with problems, including what was going on with my body. Back then I never imagined one day I would lose my ability to drive. I try not to think of this loss too much. It can be painful.

Even though I’m no longer driving, I still love road trips — witnessing landscapes zooming towards me just to see them pass while I zone out to think. I like traveling alone. In fact, I prefer it. Today, I have to travel with someone else and most of the time that someone is Jason (lucky him 😉) but in general I prefer the solitude in traveling by myself or with one other person or friend whom I really care about and can connect with.

I was meant to be in motion. Today, I’m forced to think in stillness which has been far more intense.

I don't mind being isolated because I've felt that way for a long time. It often feels like that 'Lost In Translation' movie. You're not quite sure. You're trying to understand the pathos of the moment in a city full of unfamiliar familiarity. Still on the outside. We can all relate. But most people can fill these periodic time tables with distractions. I must face all mine head-on.

Hard times can make us feel...deserted. 

The feeling of immobility can make you feel...isolated. 

My life is one big vulnerable blob. Hidden wounds opened up again and again..

In current times “healthy” people are forced to entertain their “What-ifs” while mentally charting an escape plan, just in case. This is something I don't wish upon anyone. Physical vulnerability is frightening.

In any time of crisis whether it’s health, climate or natural disasters — the elderly, chronically ill and people with disabilities are the most vulnerable, but often thought of last. As I’ve become more immobile thoughts and plans of escape in case of an emergency run through my mind nearly every single night. 

“What if Jason dies in his sleep and I can't call anyone?” or “What if someone breaks in and I'm unable to protect myself?” 

In any real catastrophe I'm a sitting duck, making me feel vulnerable every second of every day.

And in these moments...

I feel isolated. I feel deserted. 

Sometimes at night I'm silently screaming, “Can anyone hear me out there?!”

I wonder.

*. *. *

I love deserted bare lands, whether I’m roaming it alone or letting loose in isolation with friends and the like. I like its potential. Deserts allow me to imagine. I can fill bare lands with my own images and imagination. Sometimes in the blank backdrop I can see vast lush forests and monsters and creatures parading the land as their stories run wild in my mind. With all the difficulty my disease has given me, it has also heightened my imagination. For everything lost, there is a gain. 

I think the beauty of the desert is its perceived lifelessness under such harsh conditions. From far away you see one picture but if you look closely life still thrives even in the most grim situations. 

Finding what is, inside what isn't is the secret to surviving...and thriving. Use this time to find what “IS” for you and it won’t be a wasted moment.

What it comes down to is in any situation you must have faith that you can get through it. This, too, shall pass. 

So, hang on. This won't last forever.

I’ll be taking a break from writing and will be working on new art to share. Take care ❣️

My art gallery

Follow my wheelchair travels, art and mini-memoirs at Instagram.com/kamredlawsk and Facebook.