What Are You Looking At?
I have very poor eyesight. In fact, I'm myopic. Or myopic plus. So when I recently determined I would have Lasik, after years of hesitance or fear or straight up refusal to allow even the most skilled surgeon to take a stab -- literally -- at my cornea, a generous doctor (who performs pro bono cataract procedures in Ethiopia every summer) informed me, nicely but firmly, that I was not a candidate. I am what they call hyper-myopic. My sight is beyond Lasik correction.
There is, Dr. Nice Guy mentioned while removing a brochure from the pile on his desk next to the framed picture of him and a smiling cataract surgery patient, an option, a refractive surgery that entails folding a lens -- like a taco, he said -- and inserting it behind my iris. But I'm too young to opt for the procedure yet, so I'll have to wait. Damnit. In the meantime I'll continue to order boxes of six pairs of contact lenses that I change every two weeks and confront, or at least deal with, the insecurity of wearing glasses in public when my eyes are too dry to or too tired to be subjected to the silicone hydrogel.
I've lived with poor eyesight for over thirty years, which is a very long time. It doesn't seem right or fair that a little girl needed to wear coke bottle glasses as she was discovering math or music or boys, or that an adult can't finally, after years of consideration, correct her vision. This is the 21st century, after all. But as a very wise person once said, or at least printed on a refrigerator magnet that I purchased last month in a specialty shop in Brugges, When Life Doesn't Go Right, Turn Left.
And so I'm turning. In many ways. Preparing for something, hoping for something, working toward something even if that something isn't what I initially desired. Because people change, circumstances change, jobs and families change. And we turn.
Turning didn't initially thrill me, probably because I've been stuck, for the last few years, cradling the misunderstanding of the profound desire and even more profound need to turn. And there exists no rule book, no hand book, no procedural guide to turning, really. Sure, I no longer found much joy in what I was doing, but I could handle it; I had responsibilities. But then I went to Taiwan and began to wonder what was next. And then I returned to Taiwan feeling a step closer to that transition. And then I met Dr. Nice Guy, and the metaphor of waiting to see was too obvious for an English instructor to ignore. So now, as I reflect on the opportunities and the growth that turning can offer, I get a little excited. And fearful. And sometimes sleepy (avoidance tactic, I know). And then I become excited again. Because what greater feeling can we have than accomplishing something new? Learning, exploring, producing, giving, loving?
Today I have a plan. I've made goals, lists, a time-line. I've explored what I want and what I'm currently doing to achieve those goals. I've also looked, a little abashedly, at what I'm doing to impede that achievement, what I will say no to, what I will refuse.
The first step may be uncomfortable but will surely be fulfilling: I'll commit to my plan for that glasses-toting little girl who was sometimes embarrassed by the coke bottles but always thirsting for knowledge. She's got this. Left signal, full turn.
There is, Dr. Nice Guy mentioned while removing a brochure from the pile on his desk next to the framed picture of him and a smiling cataract surgery patient, an option, a refractive surgery that entails folding a lens -- like a taco, he said -- and inserting it behind my iris. But I'm too young to opt for the procedure yet, so I'll have to wait. Damnit. In the meantime I'll continue to order boxes of six pairs of contact lenses that I change every two weeks and confront, or at least deal with, the insecurity of wearing glasses in public when my eyes are too dry to or too tired to be subjected to the silicone hydrogel.
I've lived with poor eyesight for over thirty years, which is a very long time. It doesn't seem right or fair that a little girl needed to wear coke bottle glasses as she was discovering math or music or boys, or that an adult can't finally, after years of consideration, correct her vision. This is the 21st century, after all. But as a very wise person once said, or at least printed on a refrigerator magnet that I purchased last month in a specialty shop in Brugges, When Life Doesn't Go Right, Turn Left.
And so I'm turning. In many ways. Preparing for something, hoping for something, working toward something even if that something isn't what I initially desired. Because people change, circumstances change, jobs and families change. And we turn.
Turning didn't initially thrill me, probably because I've been stuck, for the last few years, cradling the misunderstanding of the profound desire and even more profound need to turn. And there exists no rule book, no hand book, no procedural guide to turning, really. Sure, I no longer found much joy in what I was doing, but I could handle it; I had responsibilities. But then I went to Taiwan and began to wonder what was next. And then I returned to Taiwan feeling a step closer to that transition. And then I met Dr. Nice Guy, and the metaphor of waiting to see was too obvious for an English instructor to ignore. So now, as I reflect on the opportunities and the growth that turning can offer, I get a little excited. And fearful. And sometimes sleepy (avoidance tactic, I know). And then I become excited again. Because what greater feeling can we have than accomplishing something new? Learning, exploring, producing, giving, loving?
Today I have a plan. I've made goals, lists, a time-line. I've explored what I want and what I'm currently doing to achieve those goals. I've also looked, a little abashedly, at what I'm doing to impede that achievement, what I will say no to, what I will refuse.
The first step may be uncomfortable but will surely be fulfilling: I'll commit to my plan for that glasses-toting little girl who was sometimes embarrassed by the coke bottles but always thirsting for knowledge. She's got this. Left signal, full turn.
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| Reflection |
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