Existing.

I was recently watching an episode of Race for Life and one of the contestants, a man with cerebral palsy, was visiting a small weaving village in India. As he observed the intricate skill of rug making, he found himself in conversation with one of the local workers. It was during this exchange that he shared that he has cerebral palsy. His mother, also present, noted that she had never heard her grown-up son speak those words aloud to anyone before.

The worker’s response was strikingly minimal. He simply acknowledged the task at hand and told him what was needed: to work harder. He didn’t dwell on the man’s condition. He didn’t pity him. He didn’t praise him for his courage. He didn’t even flinch.

The contestant reflected that this was, in fact, the best response he could have received. There was no fanfare, no dramatisation. His disability wasn’t seen as something exceptional or shameful—it just was. He wasn’t “othered.” He was simply seen as another person, part of the community, expected to contribute like everyone else.

This small, seemingly insignificant exchange revealed something profound about how we relate to our perceived limitations—and how others do. In Western culture, where personal struggles are often framed through narratives of “overcoming,” we can become entangled in a subtle expectation that we must constantly rise above, compensate, or explain ourselves. But in that village, there was no story to tell. Just presence, acceptance, and the task ahead.

The Philosophy of Being vs. Overcoming

We often speak of disability through the lens of triumph or tragedy. The language around it can be either intensely inspirational or deeply patronising. Rarely is it neutral.

But in that weaving village, there was no reaction at all—and in that silence, there was a kind of sacred neutrality. The man was not seen as a burden or a hero. He was just seen. The worker’s quiet response stripped away the noise and narratives that so often surround disability. It offered something far more valuable than sympathy: it offered dignity.

This invites us to rethink what it means to be “whole.” Are we whole only when we overcome something? Or are we whole simply because we exist—flawed, capable, vulnerable, resilient?

Countries like India have a way of reflecting back to us the unspoken parts of ourselves. It’s a country that thrives on contradiction, where chaos dances with order, and poverty walks hand in hand with deep, ancient wisdom. When I first set foot in India, it was like touching something primal. On one hand, I felt the warm pull of the motherland. On the other, I was overwhelmed by its unfamiliarity—its dust, its noise, its unpredictability. It was a place that felt both deeply mine and utterly foreign.

And yet, there was a clarity there. A truth.

Clean Lives, Messy Realities

In the West, our lives are often organised, polished, and packaged. We think of ourselves as living differently from others across the globe—more advanced, more comfortable, more evolved. But are we?

Strip away the polish, and human experiences everywhere are fundamentally the same. We all carry pain. We all seek belonging. We all face limitations. And whether it’s cerebral palsy, anxiety, grief, or some invisible burden we carry quietly, we’re all navigating the messy, miraculous business of being human.

What that Indian worker showed, without saying it, is that there’s no “other.” We’re in the same boat. Just rowing on different shores.

Redefining Compassion

True compassion isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always come with grand gestures or carefully crafted words. Sometimes, it looks like a simple nod and an expectation: 

You belong here.

Get on with the work.

And in a world so often obsessed with productivity and perfection, that kind of grounded, unromantic kindness can be healing in ways we don't expect. It’s the kind of compassion that doesn’t isolate us in our differences, but quietly includes us in the fabric of life—just as we are.

So perhaps the philosophy we need isn’t about overcoming disability or any other challenge. Perhaps it’s about dissolving the idea that we need to overcome anything in the first place. Perhaps we need more places, and people, who don’t flinch. Who just see us. Who remind us, simply, that we belong.

"Aham Brahmasmi"