This is a way you can be

(access)

There is more than one antidote to despair. You can cling to beauty like a buoy. You can seek out laughter.

But, nothing rescues me from despondency quite like kindness.

A few blocks from our new house, tucked in a garage to the side of an old warehouse, is a small bouldering gym. In late September, while on an evening walk, K and I saw the garage open and paused to look. Inside, a dozen adults were climbing, resting, and sipping from water bottles. K’s eyes lit up, and she asked if we could stay for a bit to observe.

One by one, they stepped outside to meet us. They were kind but not pushy. They explained that the gym is collectively owned and said that K was welcome back anytime. There wasn’t a ramp to the inside, but they said that I could park myself outside the garage, and someone would teach K about climbing.

The gym is open whenever a supervisor can attend, and they update their schedule on a shared calendar. We visited a day or two later and a couple was there. They welcomed K, helped her find the best shoes for her feet, and deferred to her pace and communication preferences. (We later found out that one of them is one of the top climbers in Ontario.)

We went again and met two more climbers. They, too, displayed a profound level of acceptance, gentleness, and kindness. Between the two visits, the supervisors had added new holds they thought K might like.

On our fifth visit, one of the directors mentioned that the board had met and they would be building a ramp so that I could join K inside. They measured my wheelchair and asked about my specific needs.

On another visit, it started to rain so one climber constructed a tent so I could watch from outside and stay dry.

On Halloween, K decided to skip our neighborhood parade and instead went to the gym dressed like a tiger.

The morning after the election, K and I went again. A young college-aged couple was there. One of them spent two hours googling silly animals with K while I repaired some buttons on her tiger costume. Another climber helped me squeeze the button-making device when my grip strength wasn’t strong enough.

Another climber, a geologist, brought K a box of crystals.

I bought K a pair of climbing shoes, but they aren’t comfortable so the gym found another pair and set them aside, saved for her visits.

Another climber has started to teach K acro-yoga.

One time, a climber was visiting from out of town. He saw that I was cold and gave me his jacket to cover my legs.

They have all taught K about problem-solving, resting after effort, and the etiquette of waiting.

We have a babysitter for a few hours a week, and the board met, without my knowing or asking, and said that they would only charge us half for our babysitter’s climbing pass.

The gym is quiet. People talk some but mostly just climb and encourage and rest. The conversations are about climbing challenges. There is a larger gym in this city, but I’ve learned that this smaller one attracts the more elite and serious climbers.

I am in awe that this group of devoted climbers has welcomed us in this way.

An existing ecosystem was confronted with a change: a disabled mom, a kid who had never climbed, and they made absolutely no effort to maintain the status quo. They adjusted their policies and built a ramp. They added me to the group chat.

This kind of place exists. This is a way you can be in the world. This is a way groups can act. This is an option.

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Pre-order Unfit Parent here.

Where I spend my time.

Talking, again. I loved this one.