I love it:
You keep walking for a few more weeks. Or a month. Or a year. Or for decades. But your walking is not a smooth, confident stride in which you strike your heel to the ground and lift off with your toes. It’s marred with frightful balance and pain issues. Every step is hesitant and carefully placed. Often, your arms do most of your walking, grasping onto canes, crutches, doorways and walls. You can walk. It’s told to you as if it is the most terrific thing on the face of the planet. Walking is better than world peace. It’s better than sunshine and rainbows and leprechauns. It’s better than winning the lottery. It’s far better than being wheelchair-dependent.
A smooth roll through life is improper. Immoral. It’s in the leagues of Satan. To voluntarily choose to use a wheelchair is as bad as going up to Lord Voldechair and asking to be branded with the Dark Mark. Every day must be a fight to keep one’s soul cleansed. The only solution for a cleansed soul is to walk. Left foot then right foot. Or even right then left. But they must be feet striking the ground. Always.