八〇年代，兩岸還互稱匪類（共匪、蔣匪），修微也被冠上「楊大膽」之名，膽大到完全不考慮「後果」。愛情可以橫跨太平洋的空間，愛情可以越過臺灣海峽的圖騰，修微回憶到：「那時不知哪來的勇氣，愛情的力量比瓊瑤小說還要神奇。」結婚時，倆個窮留學生的資產少到不好意思去銀行開帳戶，他們除了在學校當研究助理，老公還要去餐館打工。每晚最高興的是，老公從褲子口袋一把掏出客人給的小費，修微把小費攤在床上，一塊錢、一塊錢開心地數著，那就是幸福，會令羅密歐與茱麗葉羨慕的幸福。

他們的第一張床是從回收廠撿來的床墊，表面凹凸不平的床墊，第一張沙發是路邊別人不要的綠色雙人椅，表面彈簧彈起的雙人椅，雖然小倆口生活拮据、節衣縮食，要讀書、要生活、要存錢、要立業，但甜滋滋地生活著。後來楊大膽和胡大哥（修微的老公）用微薄的「資金」勇敢進入商圈，那時什麼後果都不想，「如果失敗，我們還年輕，還可以重來。」楊大膽現在回想，還真後怕，「為了拼博事業，連孩子都拖到高齡才生，⋯⋯生活中也遇到起起落落的關口，事業上也有浮浮沈沈的挑戰。」

畢業後，他倆創立及經營了兩家電腦公司，她一邊努力地打拼事業，一邊還要忍受因工作極度勞累引發的類風濕性關節炎的痛苦。在馬不停蹄的生活步調下，她每日服食數十顆藥，每四星期還要去醫院打類風濕點滴。長期的病痛導致她手腳逐漸變形，時發的疼痛甚至令她無法起身，但災難似乎還沒有放過這對努力的小夫妻。

二十年前一個突發事件徹底改變了修微的人生。某日，由於一個輕微的連環追撞事件，修微和家人將車停到路邊，檢視車子狀況、交換保險訊息，剎那間一位酒醉駕駛撞入後車，修微的先生被拋至十多呎外，她的兒子也受到波及，所幸兩位無甚大礙，但夾在兩車之間的修微當場血流如注，奄奄一息的修微被直昇機送進附近的一所醫院，醫生當場作出鋸除雙腿的決定，她忍著徹心的痛楚、撐著微弱的意識，堅決地反對，於是她被轉入另一家醫院。

有一次修微回到臺灣，在街頭遇到一位坐著輪椅賣著彩券的陌生女孩，那女孩主動向她問侯：「師姐，妳今天的生意這麼好呀，恭喜妳！」女孩誤認修微也是街頭賣彩劵的同行。同是天涯身障人，命運還是大有差別。這也更加堅定了她的信念，要為其他身障人尋思「出路」。

因緣際會，修微接觸了手搖車並且從台灣進口一台電輔手搖車，這台「台灣之光」不僅讓她能自由地接觸大自然，身體也硬朗不少，更是帶動了當地一些本來不愛騎車的朋友出來騎車。她帶著這台「台灣之光」參加許多美東地區的自行車活動，屢屢成為全場的焦點，外國朋友常被這位堅持手搖完騎的女子感動。

也是機緣，修微不僅在美國搖起三輪手搖車，更是搖向環台灣之旅。2016年11月，她帶領一支20人的車隊回台灣，和台灣的身障手搖車團體，一起以手搖車完成環島壯舉。 2019年9月，她再度帶領華僑和海外友人數十人，和台灣身障團體，一起環騎台灣、澎湖、西嶼和七美島，修微不僅帶華僑和海外友人們騎車遊覽台灣，欣賞台灣的美，更是帶領了一隊海外義工，回台幫助台灣的身障團體達成鐵騎環台灣的夢想。

鐵騎環台海外團隊的隊員，都是在修微的鼓舞感動下紛紛成了騎士、車友、鐵粉，組成了「鐵騎環臺美國團隊」，許多週末在大華府地區不同的單車道施行越野訓練。訓練以逐夢，逐夢以圓夢，圓環島之夢，圓人生之夢。修微讓島內手搖三輪的身障者和海外腳騎二輪的伴騎者一起完成環島追夢之旅。她騎車，駕馭，苦練，馳騁以鼓舞運動，尤其是鼓舞身障者到戶外運動和的帶領海外健全者回台做義工。

其實修微是不適合長時間曝曬在太陽下的。她每四星期得去打類風濕點滴，醫生唯一的囑咐就是不要長曬太陽，因為此點滴的「附贈產品」就是皮膚癌。她也怕熱，但為了騎車，她裹著全身，以防「附贈產品」，熱，不透風，也得忍著，再加上重達10磅的義肢和黏在腿上的硒膠套，全身早已濕透。她會自嘲，每次騎車都打扮成「恐怖份子」，在美國極引人側目。雖然有這些限制、副作用、及引人眼球，修微做足準備，往夢想前進，她吶喊：「手搖車環世界，我們來了！」

As an only child with a father more at work than at home and a handicapped mother, I was left bearing the family’s responsibilities after the accident. At age seven, when most parents have qualms about letting their children use the microwave, I made and carried hot dishes to my mother upstairs. Making dumplings became my niche and sanitizing bathrooms my expertise. I became a wheelchair expert at eight, often surprising bystanders when I lifted a wheelchair as big as I out of the car trunk. Many a time I gazed out the window and saw my friends beckoning me, but I declined their entreaties, knowing that the person who has always been my provider needed my assistance. As I sat at her bedside, I did not yet perceive the litany of ways this accident would modify my mindset in these formative years.

One of my strongest memories of my mother’s recovery was the resolve she put into regaining the use of her left leg, the leg she said she was “blessed” to still have even though it was replaced with a metal joint. Everyday, she tried, albeit with great pain, to bend her leg a few more degrees than the day before. When she finally reached ninety degrees, she immediately made a list of places to visit. When I was a child, my mother insisted on implanting in me a sense of curiosity about the world, and thus she planned to travel halfway around the globe to the sweltering and rugged Silk Road, even when she did not yet own a prosthesis. During our excursion, my mother’s missing limb inevitably attracted curious, often even shocked, looks. At first, I was offended by their insensitivity, but my mother, obviously unconcerned, implored me to listen to the tour guide. I remember once she even showed a group of children her prosthesis when she caught their inquisitive stares. Witnessing this, I realized that adversity is an icicle meant at times to be shattered with an impenetrable and unbending spirit, and at other times melted with a warm and accepting heart. Since then, I have packed more muscle behind my kicks in Taekwondo and more gusto in every bowstroke on my violin – activities that now meant more than just a way to pass the afternoon. Every day I spend with her is a dose of the perseverance and enthusiasm that buttresses me in my music, studies, and leadership.

They say that actions speak louder than words, but being physically restricted, my mother speaks words that are as powerful as her actions. At a dinner party or an auditorium, her voice evokes attentive silence or raucous laughter. In these years since the accident, the confidence of her rhetoric found its way through my actions and words. Whether it be the stentorian voice required for leading drumline rehearsals or the suave and convincing language for my speech contests, from my mother I have developed a natural inclination to be seen, heard, and followed.

Through accounts of her recuperation, she tells people that being handicapped is a blessing, and that while being disabled implies an irreversible loss of function, being handicapped means an opportunity to discover new abilities. Even though she sits below everyone else in the room, she is a beacon of light for many, because she believes that her injury is really a hidden lesson for her to learn and to teach. Seeking to parallel her devotion with my actions, I became the president of Operation Fly, began to board the Metro every Saturday afternoon to teach computers to low-income families in DC, and joined honor societies at school to tutor my peers.

A decade has passed since the accident, and the lessons that I have learned from my mother since that day have accumulated to become my goals for the future. Even though my responsibilities at home and my other pursuits at times collide, I have become increasingly organized to capitalize on every minute of the day. Leveraging the knowledge I have attained of the world and also my ability to lead, I have vowed to use my educational opportunities to the fullest, just as my mother has used her disability to her advantage. Most importantly, I have realized that the most unwanted and unexciting things in life are often the most educational and edifying in the end, and that the largest of accomplishments is often achieved through the smallest of degrees. Beneath every action that I perform lies the spirit of my mother – the vivacious woman who created her own legs to walk and taught me that a gain can indeed sprout from a loss.