Tag Archives: TED Talk

Janine Shepherd TED Talk: A broken body isn’t a broken person.

6 Dec

Janine Shepherd TED Talk: A broken body isn’t a broken person

Despite this TED Talk by Janine Shepherd being her story of recovery after getting hit by a truck during a training bike ride for the Olympics, it is also an incredibly inspirational story about the power of the human spirit.

Even though my Cerebral Palsy wasn’t something that “happened” to me and rather something I was born with, I can relate to so many of Janine’s feelings that she expresses during her journey of recovery. Despite Janine’s accident, she eventually finds something that allows her to find a new, if not better, dream. In many ways, I can relate to the idea of having a situation allow you to discover something you never thought possible before. No, my Cerebral Palsy is not an “accident,” but through the slow process of learning to accept it (as well as all the emotions that go along with it), I have discovered that I want to help others realize that they too can have dreams despite their disabilities.

Writing is and has always been my dream. Though there was a period of time that I took a step away from it, I came back…as all true writers do. I took a break from it because I realized I was beginning to feel as if I was writing for others instead of myself, which was taking the joy and love out of what I was doing. However, I’ve come back to it…in a much different way, but with so much more gusto. During the years of my surgeries and intense physical therapy, I did write about what I was facing. I came across the original copies of those stories last year when my parents were getting ready to move from my childhood home. As I sat on the bedroom floor of my childhood home, I was transported back into the mind of an 11-year-old girl who was feeling so many different versions of pain, and yet was still able to describe what she was feeling and seeing with uncanny accuracy.

Even though the early stories that I wrote regarding my surgeries lacked the level of understanding that I have uncovered over the last year, they have provided me with a way to remember the details. I often forgot how much we are able to take in during our younger years, and through reading my own life experiences through the eyes of my 11-year-old self, certain details came back to me: details that will do nothing but increase the level of authenticity within my memoir. Yes, the raw truth with which I wrote when I was going through my intense surgeries was hard to take in all in one sitting. However, it was necessary. Reliving it all is honestly what the process of writing my memoir and sharing my story is all about.

Maybe I will share one of those stories with all of you one day. But for now, they are for me. They have provided me with the perspective of my younger self, and there’s something truly special about having that ability. Incorporating the perspective of my younger self with the understanding I have now is just going to make the journey of sharing my story with the world even more powerful.

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TED Talk by Sarah Kay: If I should have a daughter.

2 Dec

Sarah Kay: If I Should Have A Daughter

If I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s gonna call me “Point B,” because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry. So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. “And, baby,” I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times.

You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him.” But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom taught me.

That there’ll be days like this. “There’ll be days like this, my momma said.”

When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the wind in winsome, lose some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things. And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong, but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.