Portland Trip Day 1: Dacia's Recap

There was a moment, just before we left, when Tyler and I looked at each other and said, almost in unison: “I’m scared.” Two seasoned travelers, rattled by the idea of our first overnight trip in this new phase of life. In the before-times, uncertainty was an adventure. Now, it feels like something else entirely. But we can’t stay home forever. So we packed every tool and comfort we could think of, sent Tycho off to our amazing dog walkers (now moonlighting as sleep-away camp counselors), and hit the road.

Here are some things I noticed:

• The drive was actually fine. Really. Our seats are comfortable enough, though nine hours in a car is still nine hours. This is my moment to finally teach Althea to drive. Next time, she’ll get her shot at the wheel.
• My attention is split in new ways. I’ve always had my head on a swivel to people, to energy, to vibe. But now I’m clocking infrastructure too: Where’s the accessible parking? Does it have a loading zone—and if so, is it only on the driver’s side? Are there curb cuts? Are the sidewalks even, angled, navigable? And then, of course, there are the cars—drivers with all the awareness of a baby in a bumper car, inching too close, or not seeing us at all.
• The Panic Compliment. Tyler and I have had a quarter century to observe how people receive us. As a mixed-race couple, if we’re in a place where we are a novelty, we’ve experienced everything from warm curiosity to cool confusion, or out-and-out disgust (*cough* New York *cough*). Now add a wheelchair to the dynamic, and it’s like the social algorithm resets. Here’s one example: I’m pushing Tyler on the sidewalk and approach an intersection—we have the light—but there’s a woman on her phone blocking the curb cut. If I were walking alone, I’d go around her and maybe give a look that said, “Ma’am. Really?” But with Tyler in the chair, we can’t just go around. He says a polite “excuse me,” and she jerks out of the way, flustered. Then a strange behavior occurs  . . . a slew of rapid-fire compliments, all aimed at me (?): “I love your glasses!” “Your hair is amazing!” ** turning the corner** “you’re doing greeeaaaatt!” I understand the impulse to soften the moment, to be kind. But it’s also strange, and oddly performative. I’m not mad at these nervous attempts at grace, but they are curious.
• Injuries have a way of drawing out stories. The bartender at our hotel told me about his spinal fracture and traumatic brain injury in 2021. He had to learn to walk again and said there’s no way he could have done that without having his head in the game. “Negative mindset will kill ya,” he said. These unexpected moments of kinship, of shared vulnerability, even in the most casual setting help soften some of the harder edges of the world.
• Hotels: take notes. As Tyler already reported, when we arrived at our hotel, the room wasn’t accessible for him. But rather than make a big deal of it, or even sigh at the thought of figuring out how to accommodate us (at 10pm, no less), the front desk clerk seamlessly found a couple of options for us and took care of it quickly, without drama. Once we confirmed the room was okay, she gave a quick “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I will discuss how we code our accessible rooms with my manager so that this doesn’t happen again.” A+ to Brooklyn at Kimpton.

These are posts are a bit lagged behind Tyler — a lady’s gotta work! But I promise, I’ll have more to report this weekend.