By Mary Anderson

Sometimes I have to bite my tongue and not speak. The other day I was sitting near the trail having a late-day snack. A big guy a bit younger than I am came down the trail and excitedly told me he had just seen a moose. I could have replied, “Yeah, I saw it too,” or “I’ve seen at least ten since I started this hike.” Even more dramatically, I could have told him about the three times I was charged by moose. But what purpose would any of that had? I would have deflated his bubble of joy.

It’s the same when hikers tell me about the five-day trip they are on. I don’t have to make their trip seem like less by telling them I am out for four months. So I bite my tongue and say little.

I believe wanting to share joy is a human need. I also believe we often get our sense of selves caught up in what we do. I used to identify myself by my physical prowess. Then i had a number of injuries that left me unable to walk for a time and needing help to go to the bathroom. I learned to reimagine myself, realizing that I am not my body. Thinking of all my friends who have lived their entire lives in wheelchairs helped. I learned that who I was, was not really connected with what I was able to do. This helped in a lot of ways. I became less judgmental of both myself and others.

Now, when I first meet someone, instead of asking what they do, I ask them to tell me about their passions. I feel this tells me more about a person and avoids the embarrassment of having to say “I’m unemployed” or “I’m on disability.” I want to learn about the core of a person, which is seldom the same as what they do.

Thinking this way has helped me cultivate a sense of inner acceptance. I can be happy with my day if I was able to find something to enjoy, even if I did not accomplish much by society’s standards. And if I managed to bite my tongue to help someone stay in their bubble of happiness a bit longer, then I would say my day was well spent.