top of page
  • Writer's pictureNate Methot

Form Over Function




I was in a hotel lobby in Rochester, New York. It was the spring of 2012, more than eight months after my ALS diagnosis. There were a few steps to get to the front desk, because someone thought the aesthetic improvement outweighed the inconvenience. To accommodate luggage―among other things―they'd installed a motorized lift, a black metal cage to traverse the rise. I approached the stairs pulling my suitcase behind me. I didn’t notice the lift; it didn’t occur to me to seek an alternative route. I climbed those four or five steps like it was a mountain. I thought it’d be easy to drag my rolling suitcase up one step at a time; I figured no one would notice my deliberate pace. The woman at the counter saw what I didn’t and called out to the man she saw struggling with the stairs. “Do you need a hand, sir?” she asked as she’d surely repeated many times before. “I’m OK,” I shot back, as would become more routine in the future. I just wanted to be invisible in that moment; I wanted to be like the others, like I used to. I don’t want to be different; the person I know isn’t different.


137 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Trying and Failing

I've been on dating apps for almost three years, and every now and then I post hopeful episodes, but overall, it's been really fucking hard. My ongoing mantra is to keep trying, but there’s only so mu

Going to Jail Would Definitely Make My Day Worse

The following is an excerpt from my memoir, A Life Derailed: My Journey with ALS. On Wednesday night—eight hours after receiving my ALS diagnosis—I had dinner with three of my closest friends. I thoug

No Big Deal

As I looked up between awkward sips from a plastic straw that was much too big for my little cup of cappuccino, Z said, “So, I’ve never had coffee with a published author!” “Eh, it’s no big deal,” I r

Comments


bottom of page