I take pleasure in turning off lights with my nose.
And in opening doors with my toes.
I do these sorts of things when I’m carrying more than I reasonably should, and they give me a smug sort of feeling: Look! I’ve made an extra hand! I’ve saved a trip up and down the stairs! I’ve got a sort of pragmatic, balance-y prowess.
These are spots of pleasure in the day, before I walk ever-so-tentatively across the darkened room and – slowly – down the stairs, awkwardly trying to stop something sliding off a pile, or a mug from falling off my finger, or from under my armpit.
Or before I step on a piece of Lego, hop on reflex, scatter paper everywhere, drop a mug, and spend the next half hour tidying up the chaos (and possibly putting a plaster on a new cut on my foot).
I will not stop making my toes earn their keep from time to time… it makes me feel alive.
But I am slowly learning that often (more often than not?) it’s better and quicker to make two trips than try to do one trip at 120 percent of my carrying capacity.