WHAT IF IT’S ALL TAKEN AWAY?

Wisdom from Josh, Part I

Last night, I went to visit Josh Reed, a friend of a friend. He previously occupied his time in many ways, including being a power lifter, massage therapist, and physical therapy assistant. He also loved his motorcycle.

On November 13 2019, he got into a motorcycle accident that resulted in an amputated leg, plus other major injuries on both arms/hands and elsewhere. Josh has been documenting his progress and mental state in a very real and raw way on his Instagram page: www.instagram.com/jdreed87.

Because I’m most comfortable talking with people at deeper levels, I walked into the rehab center, (asked permission and) hugged him, and told him the short story of my recovery from suicidal depression. I wanted him to know I was interested in being honest and that I’m not one for small talk. (Understatement.) I explained how I let myself write after I realized that all I’d ever wanted to do in my life was be a writer, and how now I was so happy to be a writer.

Josh corrected me. “You are a person who writes, not a writer.”

I started to argue with him. Defining myself as a writer was a major part of my recovery, and I’d finally allowed myself to have a say in who I am and what I do.

But as Josh pointed out: Who are you if you can’t write? Who are you if it’s all taken away?

Damn, boy. This floored me. Here I was thinking I’d progressed in a major way in the process of self-actualization, and with one question he hit me with the realization that I wasn’t even close.

I thought I’d connected with others and myself at the deepest level, but I have so many levels of depth to go.

I love that I have so many more levels to excavate, and I want to write about it.

“Who are you if it’s all taken away?”

At some point last night, I told him that he’s catnip for a writer, and what I meant by that was that he has so much to share with his humble, but alive attitude. His stories of recovery. His resilience.

His generosity in sharing his stories with you. While he argues it’s for him—and it very well may be—he’s also helping others, and it’s powerful.

Even a few minutes talking with Josh makes it obvious that he’s been stripped of his identity—although through therapy and prosthetics, assuredly some of that will change in time. His body will heal itself given enough time, no matter what his attitude.

He told me he’s not only not the person he was ten years ago, he’s not the person he was two months ago. He’s lost significant weight (maybe 30% of his previous body weight), and is celebrating basic bodily function victories.

Like taking a shower.

So. Who is a power lifter who currently can’t lift 600 pounds?

He’s someone who will do it someday.

Who is a massage therapist with phantom pain in the amputated part of his body?

He’s someone who connects even more with the body.

Who is a physical therapy assistant who has had twelve surgeries?

Someone on the receiving end of such therapy who can help his patients when he gets back to work.

What does this all mean? A lot.

Josh has real stories to share. Real wisdom. He’s “been there.”

I want to write more about his spirit and wisdom, but for now, let’s just say it’s obvious that his definition of himself has changed. The only word I can find to define him is that he’s Josh—humble, determined, in pain, joking, crying, suffering, optimistic, and being very, very honest with himself and us. But that’s me talking from outside of him. I’m not even sure he has a self-definition, and I’m not sure he needs one. But I do know that his self-identity has changed at a very deep level.

And he’s helping me to change mine.