Blind Date

The Sunday of Labor Day weekend, hubby and I took a little day trip. I could not recall the last time I’d been out of town, and we hadn’t done anything even remotely resembling “summer vacation.” The weather was perfect. We grabbed sandwiches at Subway and headed down the highway to Spruce Woods Provincial Park, which we hadn’t visited in over a decade.

Before starting out on what turned into a lovely hike, we stopped to use the washrooms. I’d never given much thought to how, when you pull open the door of a washroom—or any room you’ve never entered—you must “get your bearings” before doing anything else. Before I had a chance to do so, however, the door slammed shut behind me and I found myself in utter darkness. Had the bulbs burned out? Did someone blow a breaker? Why was there no window?

I thought I heard something. “Is anyone else in here?” I called.

No response.

I groped around, finding nothing but air. I managed to turn myself around, and when I finally felt the cool metal of the door, I realized how unobservant I am. Had the handle been on the right or left? Was it the kind you turn? Had I pulled or pushed? I hadn’t taken note of any of those things.

For the life of me, I could not find the handle! Maybe they’d installed one of those doors with a handle only on the outside and from the inside, you merely pushed. But then why didn’t it budge when I pushed? Had I dropped into some weird science fiction story where the door handle disappears and locks you in? I started banging on the door, knowing hubby had opted to wait on the bench outside with our water bottles. I called his name. I haven’t felt such a persistent “get me outta here” feeling since high school Algebra class.

About the same time hubby reached the door (wondering what on earth was wrong with me), I found the handle, turned it, and pulled. I should have pushed. Good grief.

When the door finally opened, sunlight flooded the room and a light switch appeared on the wall beside me—right where one might expect to find a light switch if one was expecting to need a light switch.

When I completed what I’d come for and turned to leave, I noticed a sign on the inside of the door: “To save energy, please turn off lights when you leave.” Wouldn’t a warning on the outside be a good idea? Frustrated and humiliated, I left the light on to spare the next person. While taking my turn on the bench with the water bottles, some other women came along. I suddenly wished I’d obeyed the sign, so I could determine whether I was the only one dopey enough to panic. Not until the next day did it dawn on me that my cell phone was in my backpack and would have provided a perfect flashlight. Duh.

The whole ordeal, though it took mere seconds, helped me realize how much I take my sight for granted. Last year I interviewed Gene McKenzie for a three-part series you may remember. He told me blindness can be exhausting because you must engage your brain in so many extra ways, not only utilizing your other senses but your observation skills and your memory, since your eyes can no longer tell you what’s what. Nothing like a teensy dose of personal experience to help me “see” what he meant.

That series about Gene, Lessons from a Blind Man, is in the running for a Word Guild Award. The winner will be announced tomorrow, September 25th, in a virtual ceremony from Toronto. If it wins, I’ll owe Gene even more gratitude.

For my vision, I owe my Creator gratitude every day of my life.

 

The Psychology of Eyewear

Do you have something in your life you’re convinced you need, but which you might actually be better off without?

We’re all familiar with the idea of mind over matter and how our brains play an incredibly important part in the well-being of our bodies. Pain can actually decrease with a placebo or by merely telling the patient a pain-killer is coming. The psychological hurdles that a withdrawing drug addict must leap can be far greater than the physical. If our brains are convinced we need something, our bodies have an uncanny way of cooperating with the conviction.

Apparently, this applies to our eyes as well.

For the last eight years, any observant co-worker could easily do a Terrie impersonation simply by changing their glasses every time they leave their desk, then switching back again when they sit down. Over and over, 14 times a day. And the really sad part is, both pair are bifocals: one pair for driving distance on top and reading on the bottom, the other pair for computer distance on top and reading on the bottom. The coating on both pair is wearing off, making them appear smudged and scratched. They are no longer improving my outlook on life.

So off to the optometrist I go. He checks me over thoroughly and floors me by announcing that I could actually drive without glasses if I wanted to. No kidding? With my weaker right eye covered, he showed me how I could actually see slightly better with my naked left eye than I could with the glasses I’ve been wearing!

So why do I feel so much more confident driving with my glasses on?

Then I remembered an incident from a few weeks ago. I’d been driving around town all afternoon running errands when I suddenly noticed I’d been wearing the wrong glasses the entire time! Once I knew it, I freaked out, convinced I would plow into somebody. Before I noticed, I had done fine.

“So is it just psychological?” I asked the eye doc.

“It certainly can be,” he told me. “Like a security blanket.”

Well, this news helped me choose the kind of glasses to buy and saved me the cost of a second pair. Without having to worry about driving lenses, I could focus on one pair that would work best for the bulk of my time. They’re called “office” progressives, where the largest part of the lens will be for computer distance, a smaller bottom portion for reading, and a still smaller portion at the top so I can look across a large room and clearly see who’s there—even with my weaker right eye. If this goes like I hope, I could complete my entire shift at the office without changing glasses once! 

The next day, I marched down to MPI and sure enough, passed their eye test without glasses. They removed the “corrective lenses required” restriction from my license on the spot. Then I dutifully put my glasses back on and drove away. 

Which didn’t dawn on me until hours later when I sat down to write this post. 

The new glasses should be ready in a week. Actually parting with my security blanket glasses might take a smidge longer.

A Glimpse through the Gap

My backyard neighbours have temporarily removed a portion of the privacy fence between our properties in order to put up a new garage. The gap in the fence enables me to see directly into their yard from my kitchen window. Not that I’m a snoop or anything. Just sayin.’

As long as the fence stood uninterrupted, all I could see over the top was a clothesline, a few bird feeders, and the squirrels who use them. I had no idea the yard was actually a gorgeous, park-like work of art! We are clearly getting the better end of this deal.

Now, while I’m washing dishes, instead of feasting my eyes on my own pathetic attempt at a garden and a boring white fence, I can pretend the other man’s greener grass is an extension of our own. By focusing just a little further away, my whole perspective changes. Since the gap, I’ve also spoken more to the neighbours and met a sweet, 17-year old cat I never knew lived there. 

I think I’ll miss the gap when the work is completed. Maybe privacy is overrated.

What lovely views do we miss because we allow fences to block our vision? Fences come in many forms. Anxiety, illness, grudges, loss, and strained relationships can create a fence between what we’re looking at and what we could be looking at. We’re so focused on the problem, it becomes a barrier to our vision. For example, if you are stressed out over money troubles and you learned you were going to inherit a million dollars next month, your focus would change, even though your bills remained unpaid in the moment. Am I right? 

For me, struggling with daily physical pain shortens my sight incredibly. Sometimes all I can see is the here and now. This highly unattractive fence makes me think negative thoughts. This hurts. I don’t like it. I don’t want to live like this. It’s hopeless. I can’t cope.

But when I choose to focus on something better, even if it’s farther away and all I have to peer through is a tiny knot hole, the fence blurs and begins to diminish. I realize a greater truth exists on the other side of the fence. A future worthy of joyful anticipation awaits. I possess reasons to remain thankful and glad. 

You can find one of these knot hole promises in the first chapter of Peter’s first epistle:

“Now we live with great expectation, and we have a priceless inheritance—an inheritance that is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And through your faith, God is protecting you by his power until you receive this salvation, which is ready to be revealed on the last day for all to see.

So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.”

By focusing just a little further away, your whole perspective changes.