Does Stumbling Disqualify Me from the Presidency?

Mitch Arnold • January 13, 2024

A current political commercial includes a video clip of a politician stumbling while climbing up the stairs to Air Force One. The clip doesn’t mention the stumble, but the clear intended implication is that a president who struggles climbing stairs is unfit for office. Maybe I just don’t understand how important stair-climbing is to the duties of the United States president, but this seems like an insensitive cheap shot from the campaign of someone who purports to be deserving of the office.


Before I step on any toes, I should point out that this post isn’t intended as a political piece. Personally, I don’t care for, and won’t vote for, either of the candidates who appear to be leading the race. My issue is with using a physical handicap as a barometer for competence, and it’s personal.


Though Joe Biden is nearly 30 years older than me, he is much better at climbing stairs than I am. In fact, I don’t know if I could climb the stairs to Air Force One, but I’m sure that if I were president, someone would figure out how to get me on the plane. Sadly, that will almost certainly not happen – not because I don’t want to be president of the United States (I don’t); instead, my handicap would negatively affect my electability. A guy with obvious mobility issues like me wouldn’t have a chance to prove that he was otherwise capable and competent.


Even though a septuagenarian and an octogenarian are leading the race for the nation’s top office, we are a society that equates youth and physical appearance with competence, trust and admiration. We prefer and admire those who seem to “have it all together” over those who have obvious challenges, like the elderly and the handicapped.


Such discrimination is really no one’s fault. We’re all chasing an ideal. We want to appear as young, attractive and successful as possible, because that’s what is constantly modeled in the media and entertainment industry. Because we rarely see the elderly and disabled in key roles, we don’t consider them worthy or capable, but that blinds us to the potential of those we overlook.


Ironically, if we’re lucky, we’re all going to become old, and when we’re old, we’re likely to experience physical challenges. Though the pharmaceutical commercials want us to believe that we’re going to be active and healthy until that day that we topple over into our graves, that’s not reality. It’s much more likely that we’ll face a slow physical regression in our waning years. We’re not going to be any less viable or alive, yet the world around us will start to write us off.


I occasionally experience that, especially when I travel. Riding in my wheelchair with my wife pushing, I see check-in people at the airport, and front desk staff at hotels and restaurants, look right over my head and address my wife, while ignoring me. I get it. Time is often short, and I likely represent an obstacle to smooth check-ins. I’m also pretty sure that most people don’t handle interactions with people like me very well, because they’re unprepared and uncomfortable, and they subconsciously at least, see us as less worthy of their attention.



Don’t be that way. It’s been my experience that some of the most pleasant people you’ll meet are handicapped and/or elderly. Engage with us. Maybe even show a little compassion. We’ll likely reward your effort with a smile and maybe even inject a little optimism into your day. Most of all, don’t view our challenges as an indication of our competence, especially if you want our vote.

Acceptance vs. Resistance

By Mitch Arnold • May 28, 2025
I bought my first and only motorcycle in 1993. It probably wasn’t a good idea then, and it’s a much worse idea now, but that didn’t stop me from recently considering doing it again. I was only 23 years old and still in my invincible era, when I strapped on my helmet and rode off on my own two wheels for the first time. Understandably, a few naysayers shook their heads and voiced their opinions about me endangering a body that was already fraught with challenges; however, like I did often back then, I ignored their concerns, and was able to ride with no problems. To me, the motorcycle represented freedom. I loved being able to enjoy the open road. I even rode it on a thousand-plus mile round-trip journey to Sturgis for the annual motorcycle rally. Getting kind of smug, I began to envision myself as a life-long biker, but two years later, life intervened. I was moving half-way across the country and getting married, so the motorcycle had to go. In fact, I sold it to pay for an engagement ring, promising myself that I would buy another one when I was established and had the finances to do so. Things didn’t work out the way that I had planned. Fatherhood and home ownership ate up my finances and time, and a second motorcycle kept getting pushed down the line of priorities. Meanwhile, despite my best efforts, my body aged more quickly than I had hoped it would. For most of my life, my resistance to my physical limitations has enabled me to get the most out of imperfect body. Tell me that I couldn’t do something, and you could bet that I was going to try, if only to prove to myself that I could. That resistance allowed me to overcome significant challenges and to succeed when success didn’t seem likely. Lately though, as my limitations have grown and my sense of self-preservation has become stronger, I’ve been trending toward acceptance. Both acceptance and resistance are natural responses to change, and change happens to all of us, especially as we age. While resistance can challenge the status quo, sparking innovation and resilience, acceptance often opens the door to growth, fostering a sense of peace and adaptability. That’s where I’m at now, at least most of the time. Still, when my uncle told me that he was selling his motorcycle, those thoughts of acceptance were elbowed aside by thoughts of resistance. I began to rationalize motorcycle ownership and to imagine myself in the seat again, handlebars in my grip. I could now afford the bike of my dreams, and even had a spot in the garage to park it. I didn’t plan to ride it to Sturgis again, but I thought it would be fun to ride it to the gym and on quiet Sunday mornings, like I used to do. When I researched parking a motorcycle in a handicapped space, I should have realized that insanity of the idea, but resistance tamped down logic. My wife, to her credit, let me play those scenarios out in my head and gave me room to dream, knowing that logic would eventually prevail. And, it did. One slip-up on a bike, and I would suddenly and dramatically limit what I could do with the rest of my life. Accepting that reality was important, and I’m happy that I was able to do it.  Being able to accept who I am – all of it, even the limitations – has given me peace and perspective. It’s not always easy to accept limitations and new realities, but it’s crucial if we want to live a life without regret, and I’m finally there.

Live – Love – Repeat

By Mitch Arnold • April 6, 2025
I lost a close friend to cancer last month, and though sadness will always linger, it’s overshadowed by the gratitude I have for his friendship. Yes, his early death seemed unfair, unusually cruel and senseless, but his approach to life, especially during the dire situation of his last months, was nothing short of inspiring. Jamie was only 47, which is about eight years younger than me. He was a husband and father of three young girls who have yet to reach high school. He was also an integral part of a very close and loving family. Because he was one of those guys who made the world a better place everywhere he went, his network of friends was massive. Always a positive and cheerful person, he became even more so after his stage four cancer diagnosis. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when he called me with that crushing news, on a Sunday afternoon, a little more than six months ago. While I was shocked, he was remarkably upbeat. He said that he felt good, and that he had a plan to attack the cancer. “I’ll be OK,” he reassured me, before hanging up. Still, I called him the next day. I had to make sure that he was really OK and to reassure myself that I was doing everything I could do as a friend. “Just pray,” he said, when I asked him if there was any way that I could help. He went on to tell me how he had begun to embrace religion, even before his diagnosis, and that a priest was helping him sort out his emotions and stay positive. Also on his side were all of the people – friends and family alike – who loved him. He said that so many people were praying for him and doing nice things for his family that it was almost overwhelming, but that he appreciated each and every one. He told me that he could feel the effects of all of those prayers, and that it was helping. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to recover, and cancer won, which left many of us sad and searching for answers. My initial emotions were heavy on the frustration and sadness of losing a friend way too early, but the more that I thought about Jamie, the less that I thought about his final battle. Eventually, I focused less on his death and more on his life. Jamie’s time with us was full of life and love, and cancer shined a huge spotlight on that. Even during that challenging time, he was the same cheerful person who was more interested in the people around him than he was of his own struggles. As we gathered to celebrate his life, there were smiles and laughter among the tears. Because he lived so fully and loved so deeply, we all had happy stories to tell and memories to embrace. Jamie showed me many things through our years of friendship. First and foremost, he showed me that it’s important to live every day to its fullest. No matter what he was doing, he was doing it with a smile and genuine enthusiasm. He seized every possible opportunity to enjoy life, even during those hard months at the end. Second, he showed me the power of love. He cared deeply about his friends and family, and he not only said it, but he showed it too. That love was reciprocated, especially when the end was near.  Jamie set a standard that we should all aspire to. If we can treat every day as a gift to be treasured, and seize every opportunity to show love to those around us, we can make the world around us a better place, just like Jamie did.
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