My road came to an unexpected halt on November 9, 2010.

I was bicycling to work that morning when a garbage truck drove into a Philadelphia bike lane. I was in that bike lane.

Trauma surgeons saved my life, but they had to amputate my left leg above the knee. The accident changed my body and health forever.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

For more than a decade, that journey has become my way of moving through the world.

I am a person with ability and disability. I travel in the space between. These are my postcards.

Tuesday, August 12, 2025

Expect the Unexpected

Hello from Mile 13,890 at Jefferson University!

After sharing my story with these wonderful first-year medical students, the unexpected happened.

I almost fell.

Almost -- because a quick-thinking young woman in a brand-new white coat stepped in and caught me.

I stumbled backwards onto my prosthetic leg, and for some reason it buckled.  With a microprocessor knee like mine, that doesn't usually happen.  I stumble sometimes, but I expect it to catch me.

This time, something went wrong. 

I didn't expect the unexpected. I lost my balance and couldn't regain it.  

I was in free fall.  

It felt dramatic.  
And long.

Then that student grabbed my arm.  

And what we all thought was about to happen... didn't.

It must have looked like some kind of "trust" game.  I wobbled -- nearly toppled -- and she caught me, and we laughed it off.  

We went on talking.  The class ended.  The students filed out.   

Only now, hours later, my mind dwells on what could have happened.

I could have hit my head on the nearby desk.
I could have landed on my newly rehabbed shoulder.
I could have damaged my right leg.
I could have sustained a serious injury like when I fell in 2023.
I could have ended up in the hospital.

Day to day, I am a confident walker.  I focus on footwork, but more times than not, I forget how vulnerable I am -- how one false move, one slip of balance, one lapse in concentration could lead to months of immobility.

A PT friend once told me, "walking is a series of controlled falls."  

Not just for amputees, he meant, but for all humans.  It's what happens when we walk upright.  If our bodies work correctly, we take biomechanics for granted.

After today, I've got a new spin on this idea.

I think LIFE is a series of controlled falls.

Most of the time, it goes as planned.  How often do we drive to work?  Cross a street?  Arrive home safely?  

But in the unexpected moments, everything can change.  (That's pretty much the gist of my journey.)

So... Did you stay off the ground today?

Yes?  Consider it a win. :)

Heartfelt thanks to this wonderful group -- and especially to the student who hopped into action. Your future patients will appreciate your instinct and quick reflexes.  

I know I do!

Welcome to Jefferson, Class of 2029!  You're already making a difference.

Walk on,
Rebecca

Saturday, August 9, 2025

Capturing A Moment in Time

The desire to capture a moment in time has always been part of my nature...

So began my college essay, typed on a typewriter, back when there was no such thing as a Universal App, only blanks to fill in on dozens of pages, carefully unstapled and imperfectly aligned under the paper bail.  

(I looked it up -- that's the name of that silver roller bar!)

My dad photocopied the applications at his office so I could do rough drafts.  Because once you started typing, the pressure was on.  There was no going back.

Greetings from 1987, where everything was analog.  

Except maybe the VCR.

Ten years before that -- on my 8th birthday -- I got an instamatic camera with 4 flashcubes and a roll of film scrolled up like a tiny Torah.  

Cue the Fotomat envelopes -- every 12 or 24 snaps -- stuffed and sealed and mailed at my dad's office.  

Like magic, my photos "came back."

Me, at 8 years old, with pigtails, standing in front of a brick wall at recess.
They were trendy, really --
Squared edges and faded hues,
decades before Instagram!

By the end of 8th grade, I'd earned enough babysitting money to buy myself a real camera.  

35 millimeter.  $199.  Ordered from New York City through the mail!

For 2 decades, that Nikon FG dangled around my neck.

My 3 siblings and I at an old water pump.  I'm working the pump with a big camera case hanging around my neck.
It was almost as big as I was!

Fast forward many more years and miles.

Now, like most people, I carry a do-it-all iPhone, but my desire to capture a moment in time is still firmly grounded.  

In analog.

I'm a collector of moments.  The kind you can hold in your hands.

Just ask my travel buddies, who roll their eyes at the growing pile of sugar packets, candy wrappers, napkins, ticket stubs, brochures, and receipts on every trip we take.  

I can't help it.  

To me, "found souvenirs" capture the journey better than any keychain or magnet!

But what do you do with all that stuff once you get home?

At Mile 13,853, I try making a zine.

My desk full of papers, scissors, and glue.  It's a mess.
What's a zine?
A handmade magazine of storytelling + collage,
two of my favorite things!

I learned about zine-making at a workshop at Elfreth's Alley, in my neighborhood.  

But my memory of zines stretches back much farther.

In college, my friend Chip created one.  He wrote the content, patched it together with scissors and glue, and Xeroxed copies the old-school way at Kinko's.

Zines are still self-published and old-school, but it seems they're making a comeback.

Some bookstores have shelves for them.  There's even a Zine Library in Philly.  (Haven't been there yet, but it's on my list!)

I'm a beginner though, so this one's just for me.

I gather up scraps from my April weekend in London, print a few pics, and pull some key words from my journal.  I uncap a glue stick.

In an hour or two, I wrangle them into a pocket-sized reader.  

Have a look!

The first page of a Zine: my plane ticket stub and a photo of me with 2 friends outside "the blue door" from the movie Notting Hill.
Cheerio!

A picture of colorful rowhouses from Notting Hill with labels of places in the neighborhood.
Notting Hill landmarks

A yogurt wrapper from "Gooseberry Fool," a tea wrapper, and a drawing of the bus to Oxford Circus.
Yogurt and buses and tea, oh my!

Food labels: bakewell tart, minted mushy peas, fish and chips, and some receipts from dinner.
Mushy peas?  Yay or nay?
(I say YAY!)

A map of the Tower of London, a picture of a raven, and me standing next to a King's Bodyguard named Yeoman Warden Scott Kelly.
Chatting up one of the
King's bodyguards...

A collage from the Tower of London, including a picture of the Crown Jewels and a note: "Occular Migraine."
...and yes, the Crown Jewels gave me a migraine.  
(Seriously!)

Zines are small but mighty.  

A single page can recount the lifetime journey of a Romanian leather-maker named Yanos, a clever rhyme we learned about the Thames*, and a chance meeting with friend-of-a-friend flight attendant Stacey!

A business card from Yanos the leather-maker, a cartoon of me with my friends on the Thames, and a photo of me with flight attendant Stacey on the return flight.
Small world!

*The end of the rhyme.
It's a joke -- get it? :)

Sure, we need digital to keep up with today's breakneck pace.

But scissors, scraps, and gluesticky fingers bring me back to my old self.

Me, around age 15 standing in front of a vendor cart with my big camera case around my neck.
1980's style!

How do you capture the moments?

Walk on,
Rebecca

Saturday, July 19, 2025

Jar of Stones

Greetings from the Schuylkill Expressway.  

At Mile 13,810, I've never been happier to be speeding toward that Philadelphia skyline.

It's been a tough travel weekend.

I could show you the highlight reel...

Me and my sister, smiling, with tents and vendors in the background across a green lawn.
The Chelsea Flea Market
with the best sister ever!

My two nieces (15, 9) and nephew (13) sitting in the booth of a restaurant.
A wild game of UNO with my favorite threesome.

Me, holding a small black baby goat, whose legs are dangling below my forearm.
A one-pound baby goat named Onyx.

A calm river, showing the reflection of a red brick building, with a string of flags across the water.
And an evening stroll
through sleepy Montpelier.

Those were good moments -- fresh air, farm life, family fun -- and I wouldn't trade them for not going at all. 

My mom and I have done this roadtrip dozens of times.  We've learned to love its rhythm and pick the best rest stops along the way.

But this time felt different.  I was preoccupied; my body, more demanding.  

A lowlight reel unspooled, like static, beneath it all.

Was it the weather?  The food?  The terrain?  Too much time in the car?

It's challenging to manage my health at home and harder away from home.  Always.  

I know this already -- I've learned to expect it -- but this trip was sort of a tipping point.

There were no emergencies, no hospital visits (thank goodness!).  It was just my body being my body.  Disability stuff.  Health stuff.   A bit louder than usual.

You know that analogy of stones in a jar?

It goes like this:

If life is a jar, we should fill it with big stones first -- the most important, most necessary things -- and let the smaller pebbles and grains of sand -- the less important things -- fall in between.

In theory, I like it.  It's about priortizing what's most important. 

It's the reason I drive 8 hours to see my nieces and nephew (even if my body doesn't love the plan).

And there lies my issue.  Or more precisely, my jar...


The biggest stones are difficult to fit.  Some lurk down at the bottom -- taking up space and clogging things up -- and sometimes they grow larger without warning.  

Everything else, no matter how much I love it, gets piled on top.  

And sometimes the jar overflows.

I yearn to move freely -- to be 100% in the moment wherever I am -- to float to the top and leave the distractions of my body behind.  

That's not always easy.

When the Philly skyline comes into view, I am flooded with relief.  It bubbles up and runs down the sides of my jar.  

I let it.

I am just minutes from home -- a place where I can revel in routine, regenerate my body, and (hopefully) recalculate an easier route for the next journey.

Me, smiling in the foreground, with my family (brother, mom, nieces, nephew, sister, brother-in-law, and mother-in-law) standing together in the background.  We're on a street corner in small town Barre, Vermont.
Because yes, of course, I'll take it.
What's in your jar?

Walk on,
Rebecca

P.S. While writing this postcard, I heard the latest episode of Kate Bowler's podcast, 'Everything Happens.'  It spoke to me.  If your jar is feeling a bit too full this summer, perhaps it'll speak to you too.  Listen here.

Friday, July 4, 2025

A Postcard from Above

 Happy 4th from Mile 13,790... 

My balcony table, with a wicker chair beyond.  On the table is my laptop, a yellow notebook, a glass water bottle, a mason jar with plant clippings, and a glass of water.  There are flowers in the flowerbox, and a sky and low buildings beyond.
... 3 stories up!

A couple passes on the sidewalk below.

My friends and I call them "The Nines."

They're in freshly-pressed whites -- she, a collared dress; he, a tee with dark jeans -- and matching straw hats.  They look good, as always.  

Dressed to the.... Well, you get the idea. :)

A blue Prius drives by, then a red Accord.  Both have the soft hum of electric engines which I've heard are just a sound effect for safety, yet always unnerve me.  They sound sneaky, like the breath of Darth Vader.

To the south, an airplane buzzes toward the airport.
To the north, a train rumbles over the Ben Franklin Bridge.

I'm up here on my balcony perch, observing it all.

I could venture out, explore the festivities.  

And maybe I should, but I know what my body needs.  

Tomorrow I'm driving to Virginia to see my friend Amy.  And Rule #1 of Adaptive Travel (at least for me) is "Pace yourself."

So I watch from above as icy Starbucks drinks bob along the sidewalk below.

"Aaah-oooo!"  A loud sneeze echoes off the buildings, so forceful it drops the "ch" all together.

"Daddy, you scared me!" says a small voice.

It belongs to a girl in a one-piece sunsuit, the kind I grew up wearing in the 70's.  It's blue and white gingham, buttoned at the shoulders, with red roses sprinked across the crinkly fabric.  She skips ahead to take her dad's hand.  

Cars clink over the manhole cover.
Bikes pass silently in the bikelane.

I watch people walk.  Always.

There are long legs,
bow legs,
short shorts,
swishy sundresses,
Crocs,
Birkenstocks, 
Hokas.

Me?

I watch from above with one shoe off and one shoe on.  (The prosthetic foot doesn't get hot!)

Since early this morning, I've been thinking about people, here and around the world, who don't have independence -- or won't in the days ahead.  

I often feel my own independence is tied to ability -- or disability.

But that's really just a small part of it.

Independence is like quality of life.  It's the freedom to make our own decisions, to write and speak and live in peace, to maximize our health, to safely access what we need.

Today, from up here, I'm grateful to have it all.

Balcony view of my prosthetic leg wearing a white sneaker crossed over my real leg, barefoot with pink toenail polish.  They are propped on a wicker chair with a green cushion.
Happy 4th!
Walk on,
Rebecca

Sunday, June 29, 2025

Sunflowers

Hello from Mile Marker 13,772 at Substack!

I feel like a stranger in a strange land here, but lucky for me, I've got a wondeful guide.  Fellow writer Gabrielle Kaplan-Mayer has a beautiful Substack called Journey with the Seasons, and she asked me if I'd write a guest post.

At her Summer Solstice Writing Circle last week, a 4-minute prompt planted the seed for this story.  I'm so grateful to share it with you.

Some walks shine brighter with time.  To me, this is one of them.  

Just click on the sunflowers below. :)

Thanks for walking (and reading) with me!
Rebecca

My first Substack piece! Thank you so much @Gabrielle Ariella Kaplan-Mayer for planting the seed for this story and spreading its light!

- Rebecca Levenberg

Read on Substack

Wednesday, May 28, 2025

Adaptive Travel Tip: Take a friend

I used to travel solo.

Now I rarely travel on my own.

This might be the biggest change to my travel habits since acquiring my disability...

Friday, May 2, 2025

Adaptive Travel Tip: Consider cultures close to home

You don't have to go far.

On my "Alive Day" each year, I like to focus on being present and grateful for... well, being alive.

I always want to do something special and out of the ordinary, but that's a bittersweet time of year for me, and often my energy is in short supply.

So where do you go when you're feeling drained -- and only have a few hours? ...

Adaptive Travel Tip: Choose "right-size" adventures

Travel isn't one-size-fits-all.

I don't know about you, but travel pushes my body into overload.

I walk more than usual, eat different foods, get less rest, carry more than my share of emergency supplies (see this tip!), and -- like even the most able-bodied traveler -- face weather and time changes.

Keeping pace, while keeping my body on an even keel, can be challenging!

Luckily, travel comes in many sizes...