Life Without Limits (20 page)

Of course, you know where that led—to politics. I summoned the courage to run for the school captain—which was the presidency of the entire student body of twelve hundred kids at MacGregor State School, which was like a combined junior high and high school and one of the largest schools in Queensland.

Not only was I the first physically disabled kid to run for school captain, I was running against one of the best athletes in the school’s history—Matthew McKay, who is now a famous soccer player in Australia. My teacher, Mrs. Hurley, encouraged me to run after I was surprised to be nominated by my classmates. I ran on a platform of diversity and multiculturalism, and my campaign promise was to hold wheelchair races on school sports day.

I won in a landslide (sorry Matthew). My mum still has a clip from the
Courier-Mail
newspaper, which featured a big photograph and story with a headline hailing me as “Captain Courageous.”

The same newspaper quoted me as saying: “All wheelchair kids, I reckon, should just give everything a go.”

My boyhood slogan may not be as recognized as Nike’s “Just Do It!” but it served me well. You will fail because you are human. You will fall because the path is rough. But know that your failures too are part of the gift of life, so put them to their highest use. Don’t stop, mate. Give everything a go!

I
was twelve years old when my family moved from Australia to the United States. I was scared out of my wits to be starting all over in a place where I had no friends. On the plane to our new country, my brother and little sister and I practiced our American accents so we wouldn’t be teased when we talked to our new schoolmates.

I couldn’t do anything about my unusual body, but I figured I could fix my foreign accent. Later I learned that most Americans love Australian accents.
Crocodile Dundee
had been a big hit just a few years earlier. By trying to sound like my classmates, I missed out on all sorts of opportunities to impress girls.

This was the first major change in my life, and trying to sound American wasn’t the only mistake I made. My new school was Lindero Canyon Middle School, which is in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains not far from where I live today. It was a wonderful school but I struggled there at first. It’s hard for any kid to move away from where he’s grown up, switch schools, and make new friends. Along with the usual hurdles of being new, I didn’t look like a “normal” kid. I was the only student in a wheelchair, and the only one with a teacher’s aide. Most teens worry that they’ll be made fun of if they have a pimple. Imagine my concern.

I’d already fought to be accepted back in Australia, in my first school in Melbourne and then again when we moved to the Brisbane area. It took so much energy to convince my classmates that I was cool enough to hang out with. Now I was forced to begin anew.

Sometimes when we go through transitions, we aren’t aware of the impact they have on us. Stress, doubt, and even depression commonly result from being moved or thrown out of your comfort zone, however easy the transition is. You may have a strong sense of purpose, high hopes, strong faith, a powerful sense of self-worth, a positive attitude, the courage to face your fears, and the ability to bounce back from failures. But if you fall apart when faced with the inevitable changes that life brings, you will never move forward.

We often resist change, but really, who would want a life without it? Some of our greatest experiences, growth, and rewards come to us as the result of moving to a new place, switching jobs, following a different course of study, or moving into a better relationship.

Our lives are a progression from childhood through adolescence and adulthood into our senior years. To not change would be impossible and deadly dull. Sometimes we have to be patient. We can’t always control or even influence change, and the changes that we want may not happen when we want them to.

There are two major types of change that tend to challenge us and disrupt our day-to-day lives. The first happens to us. The second happens within us. We can’t control the first, but we can and should control the second.

I had no say in my parents’ decision to move to the United States, any more than I did about being born without arms or legs. They were beyond my influence. But just as with my disability, I had the power to determine how I would deal with the move to the United States. I came to accept it and to dedicate myself to making the best of it.

You have that same ability to deal with unwanted or unexpected changes in your life. Often you can be blindsided by rapid and unexpected shifts in your circumstances—a loved one dies, a job is lost, an illness strikes, an accident occurs—so that you may not
recognize at first that a major life-changing event is under way. Your first step in mastering an unwanted or sudden alteration is to be alert to them and quick to recognize that you are about to enter a new phase, for better or worse. Just being aware of that reduces the stress. Keep in mind thoughts like
Okay, this is all new. It will seem a bit strange. I will need to stay calm, not panic, and be patient. I know it will all work out for the best
.

When we moved to the United States, I had plenty of time to think about all the ways our lives were changing, yet at some moments I felt overwhelmed and disoriented. Sometimes I felt like screaming, “I just want to go back home to my real life!”

Sorry to say, mate, but you will probably have those moments too. I look back on mine now and see the humor in them, especially since now I love living in California. Hopefully you’ll be able to laugh at yourself one day just as I did. You should understand that frustrations and anger are natural emotions when going through a major transition. Give yourself some slack and time to adjust. It helps to prepare yourself for unexpected jolts now and then. It’s like moving to a new city: you have to give yourself time to find your way, get acclimated, and discover where you fit in.

Culture shock set in early and often during my first few weeks in America. In fact, on the very first day of school I had a bit of a panic when the entire class stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. We didn’t do anything like that in Australia. I felt like I’d walked into a club that I didn’t belong to.

Then one day all the alarms went off and the teachers told us to get under our desks! I thought aliens were attacking, but it was just a disaster drill for earthquakes.
Earthquakes?

Of course I got the usual nervous glances, rude questions, and odd comments about my lack of limbs. I could not believe how
curious American middle-school kids were about how I managed in the restroom. I prayed for an earthquake, just to stop the endless interrogations about my toilet tactics.

I had to adjust also to the constant shuffle from class to class. Back in Australia all my subjects were taught in one room. We didn’t move around all day like kangaroos in the outback. At Lindero Canyon Middle School, it seemed like all we did was hop from one classroom to the next.

I was not handling this major life change very well. I’d always been a good student, but I quickly fell behind in my new school. They had no room in the regular sixth-grade classes so they’d put me in an advanced studies program, but my grades were retreating. Looking back, I can see that I was just stressed out. And why wouldn’t I have been? My whole life had been packed up and transported across the globe.

We didn’t even have our own house anymore. My father was working for Uncle Batta, and we were living with him and his family in their big house until we found our own. I didn’t see much of my parents because they were busy finding work, commuting to work, or looking for a place to live.

I hated it. I was overwhelmed, mentally, emotionally, and physically. So I made like a turtle and withdrew into my shell. During recess and lunch hours, I went off on my own, sometimes hiding behind the bushes near the playground. My favorite hideout, though, was in one of the music rooms overseen by Mr. McKagan, the band and music teacher.

Mr. McKagan, who is still on the staff at Lindero Canyon, is a terrific teacher. He was so popular, he was like a rock star at the school, teaching (I think) eight or nine classes a day. His brother Duff is a legendary bass guitarist who has played with Guns N’ Roses and other top rock bands. That was another strange aspect of moving from Australia to California. I felt like we’d left a perfectly normal family existence and landed in some surreal pop culture
kingdom. We lived just outside Los Angeles and Hollywood, so we were always bumping into movie stars and television stars in the grocery store or at the mall. Half my classmates were aspiring or working actors. After school, I could turn on the television and watch a nice guy from my history class, Jonathan Taylor Thomas, ham it up on the popular television show
Home Improvement
.

My life had been altered in so many ways, I was simply overwhelmed. I’d lost all the confidence I’d worked so hard to build. My Australian classmates had accepted me, but in America I was a stranger in a strange land with a strange accent and an even stranger body. Or at least that’s how I felt. Mr. McKagan saw that I was hiding out in his music rooms, and he tried to encourage me to go out and mix with the other students. But I just couldn’t get motivated.

I was fighting a change I couldn’t control instead of focusing on what I could adjust, my attitude and my actions. Really, I should have known better. I was only twelve years old, but I’d already learned to focus on my abilities instead of my disabilities. I’d accepted my lack of limbs and I’d managed to become a pretty happy and self-sufficient kid. But this move threw me for a loop.

Have you ever noticed that when you enter into one of those major transitional periods in your life, your senses seem heightened? When you go through a bad breakup, doesn’t every movie and television show seem to have a hidden message aimed at you? Don’t all the songs on the radio seem to be about your very own aching heart? Those heightened emotions and senses may be survival tools triggered when you are stressed or thrown into unfamiliar situations. They put you on high alert, and they can be valuable.

I still remember that as distressed as I was about leaving Australia, I always found peace and comfort gazing at the mountains or watching the sun set on the beach in my new environment. I still think California is a beautiful place, but it seemed even more beautiful then.

Whether positive or negative, change can be a powerful and scary experience, which is why your first reaction may be to fight it. When I took business classes in college, I learned that most major corporations have executives who are the designated “change agents.” Their job is to rally reluctant employees behind big transitions, whether it’s a merger, or a new division, or a new way of doing business.

As the president of my own business, I’ve learned that each employee has his or her own way of dealing with new initiatives or alterations in our mission. There will always be a few people who get excited about new experiences, but mostly people resist because they are comfortable with the status quo, or they fear their lives will change for the worse.

Everyone knows nothing stays the same forever, but strangely, when outside events or other people force us out of our comfort zones, we often become fearful and insecure. Sometimes we grow angry and resentful. Even when people are in a bad situation—a violent relationship, a dead-end job, or a dangerous environment—they often refuse to take a new path because they would rather deal with the known than the unknown.

I recently met George, a physical therapist and fitness coach. I told him that I was having a problem with my back and that I needed some exercises to strengthen it but I couldn’t get motivated to work out because I was so busy traveling and running my company. George’s response was classic: “Hey, if you want to deal with that pain getting worse and worse for the rest of your life, good luck to you.”

He mocked me! I felt like giving George a head butt. But then I realized he was motivating me, forcing me to deal with the fact
that if I was not willing to adjust my lifestyle, I would pay the consequences.

He was saying,
Nick, you don’t have to change if you don’t feel like it, but the only person who can help your back feel better is you
.

I was a good example of a bad example with my resistance to a lifestyle adjustment. But people in far worse circumstances resist moves that would greatly improve their lives. Often they are afraid to give up even terrible situations if it means shifting into an unfamiliar situation. And many people refuse to accept responsibility for their own lives. President Barack Obama stressed the importance of personal responsibility when he said, “We are the change we have been waiting for.” But some people fight the tide, even when it threatens to drown them.

For some people, taking responsibility is a lot more daunting than taking a pass. When life deals you a card that ruins your hand and upsets your plans, you can blame the universe, your parents, and the kid who stole your sandwich in the third grade. But in the end, blaming does nothing for you. Taking responsibility is the only way to master the detours and shifting conditions along your life’s path. My experiences have taught me that making a positive change has five necessary stages.

Sadly, we are often slow to recognize the need to make a move. We settle into a routine, even if it isn’t all that comfortable, and we choose inaction over action simply out of laziness or fear. Often it takes something really scary to make us recognize that we need a new plan. My attempted suicide was one such moment for me. I had been hanging on for years, putting on a brave face most of the time, but inside I was haunted by dark thoughts that if I could not change
my body, I’d end my life. When I reached the point where I nearly let myself drown, I recognized it was time to take responsibility for my own happiness.