Every kid is obsessed with something when younger. It comes in phases where interests ebb and flow. Replacing itself with something new every time it fades. I had my mermaid phase, the dragon phase, but my longest lasting phase was my space phase. I knew obscure space facts and was fascinated by the workings of the universe.

I wanted to be an astronaut. I have always been brave and the risks did not scare me. I wanted to experience zero gravity. Freed from one of my worst limits even if only for a time. To move around under my own power. To look back at the earth in all its beauty and say “I have won”.

It would be a joy to be involved with history and the limits of human existence. A direct defiance of what I can and cannot do as a person. I wanted that to be me. To set my own limits.

My parents were quick to shoot down my dream and reorient me to reality. They pointed out my breathing weakness and how incompatible it was with the temporary gravity increase of the rocket as it escaped the atmosphere. That I would suffocate. At first I was stubborn. There had to be a way to get around the problem. Slowly that stubbornness turned to frustration. I could not think of anything. I could not be an astronaut. That could not be me.

My interests have moved on now. New things and within the limits of what I can do. The area slowly shrinks as I lose further strength. New limits put in place as my disability remains untreated. Sometimes though, on a quiet and calm day, you might find me deep in thought. Dreaming about what it would be like to be an astronaut.