…she said with amazing eyes only an optometrist could pull off.
The other day I was getting my eyes in a strict effort to tackle any of those life impurities that seem to sneak in and out without being noticed. The optometrist said to me that, “You have a little astigmatism but nothing to worry about”. In fact, she continued, “Have you ever worn glasses?”
“Yeah, I did at one point in time but I gave them up cold turkey because I felt my eyes were getting worse”, I murmured.
She smiled and told me to sit back while she removed the Borg-style contraption off my face.
“You didn’t quit cold turkey, you just got used to the blur”, she said poetically.
For a moment, I was speechless, and for those who know me well enough, this is quite the impossibility. In an instant, I felt like 1) my victory over my failing sense to see well was in fact an illusion, and 2) what do you mean I’m getting used to the blur??
Then it hit me, what other blurry segments of my life am I getting used to? What else have I “delusioned” myself into thinking is one way but in fact is another? How much of this blur is simply acceptable? How do I gauge in either direction?
So, I left the optometrist with an unique understanding and a few more questions in not only in my physical ability to see the things in front of me, but also the realization that perhaps I’m emotionally seeing certain parts of my life in a blurred state. Perhaps I need to divest some more time in understanding what I’m truly seeing in myself and in the ones who love and care for me.
20/20 is such a relative term anyway.
…was often heard around my house by my grandmother upon waking up.
She spoke in smooth riddles, and expected many of us visitors to decipher and encode her meanings, word connections, and concocted at any given notice. She even walked with a twist and a thump that made you want to follow her around every bend, dancing in between her shadows and asking permission to see more.
She was a dancer in a former life, and a laymaker in this present one. She doubts all but carefully gives new meaning to the words I am when the mood find her.
It’s the nature of who she is that carries the world in its orbital place. It’s also a guessing game she plays with life that makes us question her place.
“You got a little cat butter in your eye boy…”, she would say as I pulled at the past night’s tug to lure me back to sleep.
She always knew the ins and outs of what could bother you, and when you stepped too far off the ledge, she whispered you back with a true quickness.
It was in these moments that I found clarity in knowing my time on this Earth will be worthwhile, feeling, and in tune with the pace of every other person around me.
We’re almost there my friend.
We really are.
You just wait.
So, we’re at it again.
Playing it by ear and letting the cards fall where they may; or at the very least, letting the weather pattern choose our mood for the day, for sake of any part of that moody day ruining our year.
When I was younger, I used to dream all the time. I would play over and over in my mind the irrelevancies of how I saw the world. In my world, race would not characterize the forced image of how we see each other. Friendships would start from the very basic need to be friends, vice the fact that you and I are simply sharing the same space, at the same time, and with no exit for either one of us.
See, in my world, playing it by ear isn’t just a notion of whatever whatever, but rather a need to have element be themselves without the pigments we humans often insert without permission.
Loose. Free. Naked. Unfiltered.
It is in this method that I have learned to know you, and eventually the ability to completely love you.
with a Capital
in a stretching
part of the
just as tall
I do, so