An Exoskeleton as a Form of a Path

Sometimes life unfolds in such a way that text becomes the only honest way to record what is happening. Not to justify oneself, not to explain, but precisely to record—to leave a trace in material. That is how the book “Neurophysiology for Dummies” came into being.

Where Life Is Rolling

After the book, there was no sense of relief. Rather, there was silence, in which everything else became audible. The idea of a marathon—around which plans and expectations had been built for a while—began to fall apart. Not dramatically, without loud gestures—it simply became clear that this was not the right vector for now. Perhaps not a cancellation forever, but a pause—a pause that was honest.

Meanwhile, life continued moving in a very material direction. I bought an apartment. Not as a symbol of success, but as a necessity for stability. A place where one can exist w
ithout explanations. Where the walls know more about me than most people do.

A Wheelchair Attachment: Expanding Space

Over time, the wheelchair stopped being a static object. An attachment appeared—a technical extension of body and will. It gave speed, range, and a sense of route. With it, the city became not a set of obstacles, but a map of possibilities. Spontaneity emerged: you can simply go out and ride, without calculating every meter in advance.

The attachment changed not only the mechanics of movement, but also the inner state. A sense of control and autonomy arose—one that is hard to overestimate. This is not about escaping reality, but about engaging in a dialogue with it on equal terms.

Travel as a Form of Thinking

Traveling in a wheelchair is a special way of seeing the world. The road becomes more attentive, slower, deeper. Details come into focus that usually slip by unnoticed: street inclines, surface textures, people’s reactions, the rhythm of space.

Each trip is not only a movement through geography, but a shift of the internal point of assembly. New cities, new routes, new situations teach flexibility and trust in oneself. Travel ceases to be an escape and becomes a mode of presence.

Everyday Joy

Joy in everyday life is not always loud. Sometimes it lies in the fact that the day worked out, the route was passable, the conversation warm, and the body cooperative—as much as possible. These moments do not require heroism, yet it is precisely they that form resilience.

In this sense, the wheelchair disciplines attention: it teaches you to notice the good immediately, without postponing it. Because “later” is an abstraction, while “now” is always concrete.

The Life of a Wheelchair

Over time, the chair accumulates history. Traces of trips, minor breakdowns, modifications, improvements—all of this turns it into a chronicle of life. It knows more routes than many maps, and more pauses than one might think.

The life of a wheelchair is a life in motion, even if that motion outwardly seems limited. It contains dynamics, choice, risk, and the joy of discovery. And in this sense, it is no less full than any other.

The Transformation of the Marathon Idea

The idea of a marathon did not disappear—it changed form. A physical race gave way to intellectual and engineering movement. The focus shifted from muscular endurance to endurance of thought. Thus emerged the idea of an exoskeleton as a continuation of the body—not biological, but constructed.

The exoskeleton became not a compensation for loss, but a new project of movement, in which body and technology negotiate rather than compete.

Neural Network Coding and Models of Movement

Work with movement moved into the space of neural network coding. An interest arose in modeling motion in three-dimensional space, in describing gestures, trajectories, and forces through mathematical structures. Movement became a problem of data representation.

Vector embeddings of an n-dimensional space made it possible to think of the body as a coordinate system rather than a set of limitations. Even if the central nervous system cannot be restored to its original state, it can be bypassed, supplemented, redefined through algorithms and external interfaces.

Creating an exoskeleton in this context is an act of programming movement. Not an attempt to “return things to how they were,” but the creation of a new way of being in space. Code becomes the mediator between intention and action. And in this, an unexpected freedom appears: movement is no longer rigidly tied to biology.

Even a damaged CNS is not a final point. It becomes source data for another architecture—hybrid, distributed, engineered.

Stabilization and Rollback

What also matters is that the body ceased to be exclusively a territory of losses. Multiple sclerosis stabilized. The EDSS score rolled back to six points. This is not a victory in the conventional sense, but a stability on which one can build.

Stabilization created room for planning. Not out of hope, but out of fact: the condition is no longer declining, which means time appears. Time for projects, for technologies, for complex ideas that require not a sprint, but prolonged attention.

Instead of a Conclusion

If this essay speaks about anything at all, it may be about the fact that movement is not always directed upward or forward. Sometimes it turns inward—deeper, into the inverse space of one’s own experience. The book became one form of this movement. The apartment, another. The chair, a third.

Life does not necessarily roll downhill—sometimes it rides. And at this stage, that is enough.