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LOOKING at life from a wheelchair, while it has its handicaps, is, notwithstanding, an interesting adventure, as any member of the wheel-chair brigade will testify. Obviously, it is the common lot of us who are bound to our chairs to be stared at. In public we feel as conspicuous as the animals in a circus parade, but even so, what one of us would remain sequestered on that account?

One of the most entertaining aspects of our confinement lies in observing the reactions of people toward us. Those of us who are over-sensitive soon become nonchalant and even indifferent to public inspection. Likewise, people who see us frequently realize that we are not peculiar spectacles. They appreciate that the only essential difference is that we depend upon these wheels instead of upon two legs to move us about.

Sometimes the thoughts back of the eyes find expression in words as blunt as, "What's the matter with you?" or "Did you break your leg, dearie?" In reply to such queries, we rehearse briefly our unfortunate histories, not forgetting to include all of the important dates. The innocent curiosity of children almost always finds expression in such frank questions as, "Can't you walk?" "Why not?" "How do you get down the steps?" "Do you sleep in your chair?" "Who puts on your clothes?" Such talk with a six-year-old can be most interesting, to say nothing of amusing.

But all people are curious, outwardly at least. There are the blessed ones who see nothing and say nothing, and the twice-blessed ones who make a joke of the whole matter and treat us just as if we were as normal as themselves.

Our reactions to the varying degrees of interest shown in us are bound to be different. Usually we maintain an attitude of quiet forbearance, occasionally annoyance if the questioning becomes too persistent, but never repugnance or resentment, for after all, people are really kind at heart and are truly anxious to be as helpful as they can. In their efforts to be consoling they recite the history of a husband's cousin's child who had the same trouble and is now able to walk as well as ever. We listen politely (and without pay) to as many case histories as a consulting specialist, but each one has the same ending -- complete recovery, or at least marked improvement. Such recitals are apparently aimed to make us feel that we are strangely stubborn not to try the same method of treatment as is recommended, and sorrowfully our would-be benefactors leave us to our fate.

But far more important than our attitude toward others is our attitude toward ourselves. We cannot afford to indulge in self-pity. Only on rare occasions do we afford ourselves the dubious luxury of feeling sorry for ourselves. Life is too full and interesting to lament at any length over the loss of leg power. If we are deprived of some pleasures, there are always many other inviting pursuits to follow. Finding the next-best thing becomes such a habit that we waste no energy in vain regrets.

Many people fail to appreciate that we can find many interests in life, for on seeing us engaged in some absorbing task, they are wont to remark, "Isn't it fine that there is something you can do to take up your time?" . . . just as if there weren't scores of fascinating things to be done with hands and mind.