I looked longingly at the signs of spring just outside my window. Stepping outside, I could smell the spring fragrances of hyacinth and the banks of daffodils along the tree line. I could see the white dogwood blossoms and hear the songs of birds announcing spring. I knew our community campus was filled with these delights, but I also knew walking any distance would be painful and exhausting. Suddenly inspired by the memory of the electric mobility cart I had borrowed during my broken leg recovery; I asked to borrow it again.  I returned it promptly after my campus tour. I don’t need a cart, I told myself. I can walk where I need, and I use a cane to prevent falling when my knees give out.

Have you, like me, avoided plans to purchase an electric mobility cart in fear that it would be a surrender to aging? Every day I see neighbors with precarious balance struggle to walk. A mobility cart is seen as an aid for “older people” who have forsaken their goal of thousands of steps every day, a surrender to aging.

Inspired by my spring excursion, I rented a mobility cart during a trip to St. Petersburg, FL. Perhaps the number of old folk in Florida makes cart rental normal and easy, because it was. The mobility cart was delivered to our hotel, waiting when we arrived, and picked up after we left.  It was joyous to scoot around the Dali Museum, to venture out for ice cream, to take in a last-minute tour of the American Craft Museum. Freedom from pain, the ease of mobility and the sense of freedom and joy whetted my appetite for more.

Upon my return home, with reservations and trepidation, I asked my health care providers and fitness trainer if I should consider obtaining a cart of my own. I fully expected them to double down on the need for walking as exercise. However, their responses were enthusiastic approvals. Now is the perfect time to get a cart, they counseled. It matters more that you get out, that you have joy and freedom than the exercise provided by your walking. Use the walker to participate in short, focused exercise a couple of days a week. Our occupational therapist was especially enthusiastic, pronouncing it karma that I was ready for a cart at such a perfect time. She immediately lent me a cart until I could buy my own.

A few days after these conversations, I tested positive for COVID, and thus was unable to use the borrowed electric cart. Confined to my home, I realized how much I’d been limiting myself, avoiding outings and social gatherings simply because the physical exertion had become too much. In reflection, I realized that I had been pushing through a lot of pain, ignoring it as I had before knee replacement surgery nearly 20 years ago. I had returned to counting steps, finding the shortest path, avoiding walking whenever possible. Would a mobility cart allow me to visit local attractions, like Longwood Gardens? Could I use a cart for travel? How might a mobility cart make my life better?

I researched mobility carts during my COVID isolation, watching YouTube videos, reading reviews of local vendors and making plans to try out various styles. I learned that trains, planes and cruise ships endeavor to be friendly to mobility carts and the wealthy American elderly travelers who own them. Planes will load mobility carts onto planes at the gate. Amtrak is committed to support of the disabled and can easily handle smaller, lighter mobility carts. The market now includes folding carts, small enough to fit under the bed of a cruise ship and light enough to handle like a carry-on suitcase. Doors to adventure began to open. Could train travel to see my grandchildren be possible again? Was travel still a possibility for me?

As soon as I was COVID free, we bought a “Buzz-around Carry-on.” The very next day, we were at Longwood Gardens with the new foldable cart. We hadn’t been there in years, though we live literally next door. Much to my surprise, there were several of the same model at Longwood; clearly, I was a latecomer in the discovery that mobility carts represented freedom, not surrender.  We spent a beautiful fall day at Longwood Gardens. The colors were brilliant, the odors earthy, the air fresh and clean. It was joyous.

It was also time. Pushing through pain is okay for short intervals of time, not for the rest of my life. Cognitive and physical changes will continue to challenge my aging body. My future joy will be determined more by my discovery of wonder than by my ability to walk thousands of steps each day. The cart isn’t a surrender; it’s an invitation to continue engaging with life, to seek out joy and wonder, even as my aging body changes.