The other day my coworker approached me in my cubicle with a Lysol bottle and paper towels in hand. I thought she was coming to wipe down my desk, which is actually pretty tidy, but she had her sight set on something else: my wheelchair. Apparently it was filthy. And frankly I hadn’t cared to notice.

But me not caring about the cleanliness of my chair is actually counter to how I feel about how I present myself. You see, I’m very particular about how my nurse does my hair, the clothes I wear each day, and even how I’m positioned in my chair (I call it the alpha male stance). But as for my chair itself, it’s just a chair. That’s not to say I’m not extremely grateful to have it and that it’s not an essential part of my life, but as long as it does what I need it to do and I don’t contract any STDs by sitting in it, I don’t think much about it. And as you’d probably expect, I don’t want you to think much about it either.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m not trying to downplay my chair, but I also am not trying to draw attention to it either. So no, I don’t think I’d ever get rims on the tires, or colored lights underneath the chair, or even a cup holder which would actually come in handy. My point is that I want people to see me for me and my chair as just a chair. It disables my limits by helping me get around, but it doesn’t define me. Maybe the filth on it does a little; I’ll work on it.