What if today is the last day you can walk, or go to the toilet on your own? Mine was Sunday, 1 September 1991.
I have rebuilt that morning in my head hundreds of times. Waking up. Stretching. Lowering myself onto the toilet without a thought. Showering, drying myself, wrapping a towel round me and walking back to the bedroom. That was the last day I had superpowers, and I had no idea. Twenty nine years on I am not asking you to be frightened. I am asking you to notice that you can talk, taste your food and feel the cold on your face, and that none of that came with a guarantee.
One thing to try: Do one ordinary thing today slowly enough to actually notice you can do it.
In this episode
(1:18) Lowering myself onto the toilet without a thought
(2:50) The last day I could wash myself
(4:14) The last day I had superpowers
(5:03) Live with gratitude, because there is no guarantee
(6:37) Eighteen years old, and the dive
(7:41) How would you live today if you knew
(9:03) We eat in front of Netflix and never taste it
(10:41) Too afraid to sit in gratitude in case it fades
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Thank you for listening.
Steven
The story behind this one
Sunday, the first of September 1991. Twenty nine years to the day when I recorded this.
I have rebuilt that morning in my head hundreds of times, because I did not think to keep it. Waking up a bit dazed. Reaching out, pulling the quilt aside. One leg down onto the floor, the twist through the waist, the other leg following. Sitting on the edge of the bed feeling the cold on my skin, rubbing my eyes.
Then pushing off the bed, shifting my weight over my feet, and standing up.
That was no ordinary journey to the bathroom.
Lowering myself onto the toilet without a moment's thought. Showering. Drying myself. A towel round me and walking back to the bedroom to get dressed.
That was no ordinary shower.
Then breakfast, then a Sunday that I am certain was completely unremarkable, because I have no memory of it at all. I had my whole life in front of me. There was no need to do anything with that particular day.
That evening I stood on a wall facing a swimming pool, bent my knees, and pushed off.
What it taught me
That was the last day I could walk. The last day I could feel my hands. The last day I could shower alone, or use a toilet alone, or hold somebody's hand and feel it properly, or stand up and hug somebody I love, or take an ordinary breath.
That was the last day I had superpowers.
And I did nothing with it. Not because I wasted it. Because I did not know.
So what I ask now is not that you live in fear of losing everything, because that is as paralysing as losing it. Only that you notice.
You can speak. You can taste your food. You can see a billion colours and hear a bird. None of that came with a guarantee, and every bit of it is running on evolution's best work.
There are only two ways to live your life. As though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is.
Albert Einstein
We eat in front of the television and take the next mouthful before we have tasted this one. We are living tomorrow while preparing today.
It is a shame that we have to lose something to gain it.
Questions people ask
Would you change the accident if you could?
I answered that in an earlier year's write-up and the answer was no. Not because it was good, but because I have no idea what the other life held and no way to check. I am not prepared to grieve a version nobody has ever seen.
Is this episode meant to frighten me?
The opposite. Living every day braced for loss would take exactly as much from you as the loss would. A few moments of properly noticing is the whole ask.
What do I actually do with it?
Next time you are somewhere ordinary, ask what is miraculous about this moment, and do not settle until you find one. You are hearing my voice through a machine, sent across the country. Show that to somebody a hundred and fifty years ago.
Read along
The transcript
It follows the audio. Press any line to jump there.
In this episode
personal-story · gratitude · disability
Read the transcript
Today is no ordinary day.
29 years ago today, everything changed.
Sunday, September 1st, 1991 is a day that I have recreated in my mind many times.
The details are important.
Waking up, a little daze, Stretching Reaching my hand, grabbing the quilt and pulling it to one side,
Giving me just enough room to bend one leg up and place it on the floor next to the bed.
Twisting my waist as my other leg follows my first, My torso follows in a spiral direction,
Upward movement. As I come to rest, sat on the edge of the bed,
I feel the floor under my bare feet. The coldness of the air on my body as I sit rubbing
my eyes with continuing effort to wake up after a few minutes, I lean forward, I push myself off the
bed with my hands and I shift my centre of balance over my feet so my legs can straighten, lifting
my body flawlessly as I stand up.
After getting my balance, I walk to the bathroom. This was no ordinary journey. I
lower myself on the toilet, relieving myself without a moment's thought. Over the next 10 minutes or so, I
shower, dry myself. I wrap myself in a towel and I head back to the bedroom to get dressed.
That was no ordinary shower.
Heading downstairs, my mind wandering everywhere but here, I get to the kitchen and prepare my breakfast.
It was no ordinary breakfast.
I got on with my day. As it was Sunday, I suspect I did something very ordinary,
Normal and almost mundane. I had my whole life ahead of me. There was no need to do anything
with today. It
was no ordinary evening.
Standing on top of the wall, facing the swimming pool, I bend my knees slightly, moving my body weight forward
as I pushed off the wall. This was no ordinary dive.
Then I hit the bottom and at that moment, 29 years ago, became the
last day I would be able to walk.
The last day I would be able to feel my legs, arms, hands and my precious private parts.
The last day I would be able to shower and wash myself.
The last day I would be able to go toilet alone without help.
The last day I would be able to wipe my own bottom.
The last day I would be able to properly feel and hold someone's hand.
The last day I would be able to stand and hug someone I love.
The last day I would be able to take a normal breath.
The last day I was ordinary.
The last day I was normal. The last day I would ever feel my body or walk.
It was no ordinary day. That was the last day 29 years ago, I would be able to do the
many things that we all take for granted today.
It was no ordinary day.
It was the Last day I had superpowers.
Like knowing I needed the toilet, walking,
feeling my hands, and being able to be independent and sticking my finger up to the world when the need
arises.
That was the last day I had superpowers.
Today is no ordinary day. What
if today is your last day that you could walk or go to the toilet in private?
Would it be an ordinary day? Just
like I thought that Sunday 29 years ago. What did I do with that incredible, amazing day?
Nothing.
Nothing. I
don't even remember. I have to create it in my mind.
Einstein said there's only two ways to live your life. As if everything is a miracle or
nothing is a miracle.
Perhaps if I knew what tomorrow holds, today wouldn't be another ordinary day.
Love yourself, love today. Live with gratitude for what we have, as there are no guarantees we will have it
tomorrow.
Today I can speak and communicate. I see a billion colours. I hear a bird sing. And I feel
the immense gratitude for those miracles.
If the ability to see is not magic and a miracle of evolution, then I don't know what is.
Wake up every morning, take a deep breath and say to yourself and the world, today is no ordinary day.
I have superpowers and I will make them count. The
small things are the big things.
It's a shame that we need to lose something to gain it.
Try not to wait until it's gone before you realise how special it is. Life is special.
You have superpowers.
Love is a miracle.
Life is a miracle.
And living is the greatest experience you will ever have.
Today is no ordinary day.
I'm Steven Webb, and this is Stillness in the Storms podcast. And every year for the last few years,
I wrote an article on how I reflect on the anniversary of when I broke my neck. I was 18
years old, and when I dived into the swimming pool that night, instantly I had the challenge of my life.
For my whole life, I'm paralysed just below the neck and my hands are paralysed. And it's strange how I
reflect on it each year and come up with something different. A few years ago, I reflected on the question,
would I change my accident? And I come to the conclusion I wouldn't. I don't know what the alternative holds.
I don't know whether or not my alternative life would have been better than the one I've got. So, no,
I don't look through rose-tinted glasses as if I didn't break my neck. And life would have been amazing and
wonderful. And this time I just reflected on the day before or the day of breaking my
Neck. What did I do that morning? What did I do that afternoon? How I would have lived that day
differently if I knew that was the last day I would walk.
Interesting question. What
if today is the last day you'll ever be able to see colours?
Would you spend the day thinking about your to-do list what you need to do, complaining about tomorrow, what might
happen, or trying to relive a life before
then? I'm not saying we should live every day as if we're going to lose everything, because that will end
up paralyzing us as much as what losing everything would do.
But we can spend a few moments each day just appreciating what we got. Living in gratitude.
Wow. I can see.
Look at the colours. Look at the depth. Wow,
I can feel. Wow. I can love.
You know, look at it as if it's the first time you've seen colour, the first time you've heard
a bird sing. You know when you look at children of two years old or 18 months old and they
just open their eyes so wide when they see something they haven't seen before because everything is a miracle to
them. Wow, you can talk. Wow, I can hear you.
Wow, that tastes amazing.
We have our food dished up and we gobble it down so quick in front of a Tv Netflix program,
and we don't even realise we tasted it. We're already tasting the next mouthful while chewing on the one that's
in our mouths.
We're already living tomorrow while preparing today.
We just got to slow down and every now and again just pause. Maybe sat at traffic lights,
maybe doing something different, maybe been intimate with a partner and just stop and pause and go.
Wow.
Ask them what's amazing about this moment and
don't settle till they find a miracle in this moment.
Don't settle till you find the miracle in this moment.
Right now, you're listening to digital recording online or coming out over the radio or wherever. You're hearing this
too. I
mean, I'm talking into a microphone, it's going into a computer, and it's been sent out to you through your
phone or your through your headphones. That in itself is incredible. You imagine 150 years ago
turning up and giving them this recording,
and yet we blindly look at our phones, too afraid to open our hearts just in case we lose. Too
afraid to really sit in gratitude, just in case the gratitude fades away and we don't have it anymore.
We're far too afraid to live, and we're far too afraid to see the miracles and the love around us
every day. It's here and it's real.
Just the fact that you're here is a miracle. Do
you know the odds on you've been alive but that's been calculated. It's like trillions and trillions to one. The
odds on you've been alive right now,
you are a miracle.
You know you you're alive at the greatest time in history, the longest peaceful time in
human history. It may not feel like it in 24 hours news. It may not feel like it when we're
bombarded with bad news 24 hours a day. But the reality is we're living through the greatest time
that you could ever possibly live.
Possibilities are endless. We
just got to open our eyes, open our ears, open our hearts and slow down and listen to what Einstein
said.
You can live every day as if everything's a miracle or that nothing's a miracle. You
know your choice.
Today is no ordinary day. It's never happened before. Today is filled with more opportunities than
anything. Don't do nothing with your day like I did that Sunday.
Do something today that you will remember in 10, 20, 30 years time.
Life is special.
Life is a miracle.
Today is no ordinary day.
I'm Steven Webb and this is Stillness in the Storms podcast. All I can hope is that you may see
your life a little different. You may look out your eyes and see the colour of the world, the
sound of the birds,
the gift that being here right now is.
Take care. Thank you for listening. Today is no ordinary day.
