Seeing through new eyes

A few days ago, my glasses broken. And they refused to be mended. Super glue did not seem so super after its powers proved futile against my split frames. Even a Harry Potter tape job was fruitless. And so, after many attempts at repairs, and after having an order placed with the optometrist for a new pair (I'm hoping they arrive within a few days), I went a day without any visual aids. Fortunately, about 12 hours after discovering my broken frames, I learned that my Dad and I have somewhat similar vision prescriptions. (The next day I learned from the dental hygienist that we also have a similar proclivity to plaque build up behind our front lower teeth as well. Yay for father-daughter commonalities.) So, since then, I've been using a pair of his glasses to make due. It makes reading a special experience and it makes things seen in the bottom of my periphery wave but is otherwise quite satisfactory.

The 12 hours in which I was without glasses was, shall we say, eye-opening. I went about my day as usual, at least to some extent. I spent a few hours going out and visiting people with my parents. I went shopping with my sister at the mall. I went bowling with my family. I checked the mail (it felt like an accomplishment at the time). The world was blurry, but discernible. There was no clarity or detail, but I could perceive what was around me. And it altered the way that I would look at the world.

I realized that there is a difference between looking and seeing (passive) and looking and seeing (active). I always look and see enough to navigate life. But rarely do I really look, and accordingly, I rarely see. As I was walking out to check the mail, I noticed a rose bush. There where blurred shapes with green and pink. I decided that wanted to see it. So I climbed atop the short block wall and walked over to the buds and really saw them. And smelled them. And appreciated them. If I had been wearing my glasses, I would have been content to have just seen them and would have walked past. When in others' homes, I would get close and really look at pictures or a nativity scene or a Christmas ornament. And I would see and appreciate and remember them. And shopping was a new experience.

Being able to look and see is so much more valuable than simply being able to see clearly. It is often so hard to really see, or even to look. I don't know why that is. I often fail to do more than cursorily observe the surface and then forget. I wish to be more mindful.

Anyway, I should get to bed. Reading what I write is a little taxing in these glasses. Oh, but one more insight first. I remember thinking, as I was among many people on that day, that no one was aware of the deficiency of my vision and how it impeded me. No one would have or could have guessed it, because I did not give any indication of it. I wonder what kinds of deficiencies, be they physical or otherwise, are effecting the way others see and interpret and experience the world. And what other such handicaps burden me, and what corrective mechanisms exist to counteract the effects? Its interesting to think about. Perhaps I shall ponder more as I fall asleep. That appeals to me more than visions of sugar plums.

Oh, and merry Christmas. May you see it through spiritual eyes and eyes of gratitude and wonder. I will try to.