Slow Havamal 71

[kylec]

The 71st verse notes that a man with a gimp leg can still ride, a man missing a hand can herd animals, and a deaf man can fight and come out on top. Heck, even blindness is better than death, because the dead can do nothing.

This verse seems tailored for those who suffer an infirmity and proclaim that they’d be better off dead than to live in such a state. Odin disagrees. There’s no doubt that with each wound comes a limitation. The handless man, for example, will never be very good at cat’s cradle. He may struggle as a smith, or a carpenter. But there’s no reason he can’t take up a crook in his other hand and tend to a flock. Every condition eliminates certain options, but it also has the effect of making the choice more plain.

An injury often strikes at what we love most, because that’s the thing we risk with our most vigorous efforts. I had to give up weightlifting and BJJ after surgery for four hernias. At the time, it felt hardly any better than paralysis. But soon I found other things to occupy me in more rewarding ways, including the rabbit holes that led me to writing a series of essays on Havamal. Other times, the handicap comes with birth. Someone doesn’t so much lose an ability as they’re eliminated from contention beforehand. That may be easier in some regards, as they never have to entertain a hope that’s dashed.

In truth, we’re all born with more limitations than we realize. No matter what I may have believed, I never had a shot to play in the NFL due to the fact that I’m not big and athletic—and my school didn’t even have a football team. Some people can’t deal with social situations or reap the rewards that can come from navigating that scene. Others lack wit, dexterity in the fingers, a talent for languages, or the tireless coordination of a successful business owner.

As we get older, we notice more and more the things that will never happen. The obvious fantasies died long ago. Our childish dreams fell one by one, and many realistic intentions hesitated until the window of opportunity passed. My own inclination is to lament these failings. Why couldn’t I have gotten it together when I had the chance? But like the limping man, I’ve merely encountered an obstacle that redirects me to travel distances by horse instead of foot, and to hobble around the house when I arrive.

Life isn’t over when new limitations arise, or as we mark the old ones that stood since the beginning. The open channels, made fewer, also become more apparent. With some creativity, we may still arrive at a destination by a circuitous route. Or we may have to give it up, accept our new position, and redirect our energies. However bleak it looks, people are remarkably capable of accommodating themselves to a situation. As long as we live, there remains something that calls us to give our best, however humble or unlikely it may be. After all, a one-handed, one-legged deaf man who missed his last shot to become a boat captain and a contestant on Jeopardy can still find his way. He starts by noticing what he can do, and doing that. The smallest and the nearest things will take him, stitch by stitch, to the next, and though he may not yet know where he’s heading, it’ll probably have a much nicer view than the view from the gallows of despair.