Tuesday, February 27, 2018

The shame of getting old

Last night I had to introduce my chosen film, PERSONA, on the stage of cinema one in the Edinburgh Filmhouse.

It's the third time I've had to do it, and each time I've been scared of the little curving set of steps that leads up to the stage.

Yesterday I felt worse than before, for some reason, and had a real moment of fear once my speech was over and I had to go down them again.

I thought: "I'm going to fall down", and hesitated a moment.

Which was just as well, because I had time to realise I had somehow got the microphone cable tangled up in my ankle.

And it made me fall, but because I had second's warning I was able to save myself, just about, and catch onto a seat on the front row and stop myself hitting the ground.

And then i went back to my seat, feeling embarrassed because everyone had seen me falling, and so my clumsiness had become a spectacle. And furious with myself for not asking for help.

Which I could so easily have done. And they would have ben glad to help, too.

And I'm struck, yet again, by how pervasive is the sense of shame involved simply being even just a little disabled. And the sense of shame involved in the completely natural act of getting old...
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