Verified by 
Key points
- Problem solving skills and approaches can help generate ideas
- The key is empowering disabled people to make the best decisions for themselves
I recently went to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival and it was one of the most joyful experiences of my life. I have wanted to go for all of the 30 years I knew it existed, but it is not an ADA-friendly festival so for the last decade I had assumed it was one of those experiences that someone like me just couldn’t have.
The festival includes all of my favorite things. Telluride itself is ridiculously, transcendently beautiful. It’s a tiny old town at the base of a valley hemmed in by soaring San Juan peaks and crashing waterfalls. The town has soul. It’s a mix of old mining town and new ski mecca that gives that uniquely Colorado vibe of live and let live, dress in your favorite little black dress or your grungiest sweats, eat great food (as long as it’s camping-clean), see nature, and breathe mountain air. The Bluegrass Festival is one of the oldest summer festivals at Telluride; 50 years of gathering to celebrate the pleasure of live music.
My brother and his family have been going every year for 20 years with a group of friends and this year when they invited me (again) to share in their well-orchestrated dance of festival expertise, I wanted to go so badly it hurt worse than my pain. But my habitual pessimist kicked in saying it just wasn’t possible. Recent surgery. Sitting for hours on a lawn chair in a field. Driving time to get there and back. Recovery time to heal from the trip. Costs and expenses.
But then some optimists full of sunshine, namely my boyfriend and my sister-in-law, both shifted into problem-solving mode. I resisted their enthusiasm; it’s a bad habit I have, distrusting people who are trying to help me navigate the world. It’s hard to trust that they really “get” my challenges. But in this case, they both know me and care about me, and they were both so concerned and engaged and persistent and so very, very, excited, my resistance, in the end, proved futile.
The difference between their thoughts and my own? I think of the problems, they focus on solutions. There's a profound difference: “Here’s why I can’t.” And, “How do we make it work?”
For example:
Me: I can’t drive the six hours it takes to get there. It hurts, and the nerve damage in my feet makes it difficult to walk.
Them: Fly. Break up the drive over two days and visit hot springs along the way.
Me: I can’t sit in a lawn chair all day for three or four days, and I can’t bring my wheelchair because it would get stuck in the mud if it rains.
Them: Bring four different chairs and switch between them. Walk around. Only go for a few hours a day.
Me: When I don’t work, I don’t get paid, so I can’t afford the recovery time I’ll need.
Them: Recovery time may not be necessary (see above). Life is short, you just had surgery. Enjoy!
Me: I don’t have the resources.
Them: Let us help.
So, I went. The whole group knew and understood my challenges, and many hands made light work, and lo, I found myself dancing to the music I love in a crowd of happy festivarians under a literal rainbow like the happy ending to a children’s picture book.
There’s a technique on the behavioral side of cognitive-behavioral therapy called problem-solving therapy. It helps people to work through stressful situations, and importantly for me, it helps people with depression and disability learn how to cope. There are multiple steps, including identifying the problem very clearly, imagining multiple solutions, assessing which solution is best, allowing the patient (in the context of therapy) to choose the best solution, and then making a plan for how to get it done.
Of course, my people didn’t solve this problem with me in a clinical setting, or even with this therapeutic approach in mind. And, importantly, they didn’t make any decisions for me. Research shows that when problem-solving comes from a caregiver without consulting with and listening to the disabled person they care for, the acceptance of disability decreases, and health outcomes worsen.1 I was just reflecting on this shift in thinking and happy to discover what we did is backed up by research.
Naturally, there were bumps along the way, and for the record, I did need recovery time (assessment of how it went is an important part of problem-solving therapy). And, I sincerely wish the festival and the town of Telluride would take steps to make ADA accessibility a bigger priority. I did not see a single person there in a wheelchair, and that’s a problem in itself.
Even so, my soul felt healed from being there and doing this glorious thing I thought I couldn’t do. I returned home feeling like a different person who could do literally anything I put my mind to. I can't wait for next year.
References
