So, it was probably inevitable that I would write about my latest adventure. On Friday, I had laser vision correction.
As I sit here watching television with complete clarity, it's still hard for me to believe that I am not wearing glasses or contacts. The vision in my eyes truly was corrected. Certainly having one's vision corrected is at once miraculous, but at the same time routine these days.
But, as easy as it has become to have our vision corrected, sometimes, the way we each look at the world is so unique, that we are unable to change the way we see it, even if the way we see it is potentially harmful to ourselves or others. Other times, we have great fortune, and people show us a new way of both looking at, and seeing things.
I turn forty in six days. For the last two months, my husband of nearly sixteen years, plotted and schemed secretly with family and friends to surprise me with a weekend away. I was waylaid by the gesture. Everyone I work with was involved in the secret. My sister was an active plotter. Several friends assisted Jeph in his scheming. Even my grandma was involved in keeping the secret--though the other conspirators would agree, she nearly blew it.
I think a lot of my friends. I care about their struggles and triumphs and always want to do anything I can for any one of them. I know they care about me too, but I never saw them as people who would work so hard to ensure that such a special surprise would come off without a single hitch. I couldn't see that they cared so much. My vision of them has been corrected.
As this master plan came together, my grandmother, who nearly blew the whole thing, revealed to me that she had recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure and was on the road to having a long list of additional testing done. I happen to have a fairly young grandmother who has never been seriously ill. As she struggled not to blow Jeph's surprise, she only managed to make me concerned about her health. For the first time in my life, I saw that she won't be around forever.
Sadly, there are people in my family who were born taking advantage of my grandmother's generosity and love--people who will barely lift a finger to help her with anything and who live in her house rent free and contributing nothing. In my eyes, they are the most unforgivable kind of parasites; in hers they are grandchildren.
I started to consider what might happen if something did happen to her, and I didn't like that vision. I think it's always hard to love someone, especially a family member who has worked so hard throughout their life, be taken advantage of. It's hard to see those people rant, rave and be unpleasant, or even to be just plain antisocial. It's hard to understand how the people we love don't see these people in the same way we do, and the difference in vision can frequently drive wedges between us and those we worry about.
As much as we often see others in different ways, we probably even more frequently see ourselves differently than others do.
In the same way I couldn't see that my friends cared enough about me to help pull off a fabulous surprise, I didn't see myself as someone worthy of that kind of gift. A friend I care very dearly for recently shocked me when she shared that when discussing her child's future if something happened to her and her husband, Jeph and I came up as possible guardians. I could never have imagined that in looking at me, she would see someone worthy of that kind of responsibility. I've always thought of myself as one of her friends, but kind of on her periphery.
I write this blog about once a week, but I only occasionally get any feedback. Sometimes that bothers me. It's because I can't believe it's any good, or that anyone has even seen it if nobody says anything. Sometimes I think it's a lot like the radio signals we send to outer space trying to make contact with whomever else might be out there. Who even knows if I make contact? But as much as I often think that, sometimes someone will express being so moved by something I've written that it makes up for all the times I hear nothing. So I continue, whether I receive any feedback or not.
Sometimes we realize that something we deal with everyday takes on new meaning when we are going through an event ourselves. As this holiday weekend rolls on, one of my friends is grieving the loss of one of her beloved dogs. She's a fairly pragmatic person who works in an emergency veterinary hospital. She sees a lot of hopeless cases. It's not unusual for her to be forced to accept loss multiple times a shift. There isn't time to dwell. It's hard to remember the pain when you have to move so quickly, and gallows humor often ensues. There often is talk of a patient who is trying to "go to the light" and this kind of thing. Nobody means anything hurtful by it, it's just what you do to get through. When you're the one saying goodbye to your furry child, there is a moment of clarity. In those moments, you see what it feels like to be that hopeless case's parent, and it is only natural to come unglued when someone is trying to "get through" as you are losing a best friend. I see the strength in this person every time I am around her. I love her and wish there was never a time I would have to see her dealing with such a loss.
Christmas means different things to different people. For true believers, it's a time to celebrate the birth of their lord and savior. For others, it's different.
I recently was listening to an interview with a soldier who got to return from Iraq this holiday season. He was asked what Christmas was like for him last year. He and his friends had a small tree that they decorated, but they were working. There was nothing special going on that day for him. He saw Christmas as just another day.
One of my friends is working this entire weekend and struggling with health issues and some personal challenges. She isn't able to spend any time with family or friends, and the load she's been carrying around is weighing her down during a time that for most of us is joyful. For her, she sees this weekend as a reminder of things she wishes were different.
I'm not one of those true believers. As I talked with a friend yesterday about what Christmas means to me, I was comforted not to be the only non-believer. We both "celebrate," but we long to celebrate something different. Gatherings of people we truly care about, and the opportunity to do nice things for them is what Christmas means for us. We see the joyous spirit of the season and want to amplify that, even though the religious spirit of the holiday means little to us.
We won't all ever see things with the same eyes. Some security systems are set up to use retinal scans in order to achieve access. Our eyes are like our fingerprints. My guess is that like our eyes and our fingerprints, we also have our very own visions. Sometimes, we learn that the way we saw something in the past was wrong. Sometimes, we learn that we can see things others can't. Sometimes, no matter how much help we have from other people, we can never see things the way they truly are.
Of the times of the year I could have had the vision in my eyes corrected, perhaps this time of year only gives me shades of drab brown and gray to look at when I go to the window. I know when the spring comes, I will be rewarded with shades of green and flowers every color of the rainbow. I don't feel cheated by the drabness of the season though. For me, having some of my other vision issues corrected has been just as bright as that green flickering light I focused on Friday.
As this holiday weekend and this year draw to a close, I hope we all get to see the world we are hoping for, and I hope we have the vision to achieve it.
When I Look at the World--U2
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