I first realized I was nearsighted when I sucked at little league. What everyone assumed was marked ineptitude on my part was actually me being unable to see the ball until it was practically on top of me. That wasn’t clumsiness, that was fright.
Thus began a lifetime of corrective lenses. First the oh-so-stylish plastic frames that made me look like Roger Ebert, then more fashionable metal ones, then contact lenses. That required getting used to the idea of touching my own eyeballs, and the occasional misadventure when a lens would somehow slip back into the recesses of my eye. But that was worth it for not having those tell-tale dents on either side of my nose. Lasik came along and quickly went out the window as soon as I heard a friend mention how he could smell his corneas burning when he had his done.
I’ve never been hung up on the idea of wearing glasses. I prefer contacts, but I can pull off eyeglasses too. I’ve never felt like “four-eyes” or anything like that. I need things to help me see so I don’t bump into random objects, so what? But on my last visit to the eye doctor, she mentioned a word that made me rethink my entire position on the matter.
And I think she’s right. The lenses that help me see far away are playing absolute hell with my up-close vision. At first I thought it was just my contacts, but I’ve been wearing my glasses for a few months now and i find myself holding books and my phone further and further away. I really noticed it when I caught a glimpse of my phone screen over the top of my glasses. It was like I was seeing in high-def 3D amaz-o-vision. I never knew my phone’s resolution was that good. Now I’m actively mad at my glasses, like they’re denying me something in exchange for letting me, you know, drive and see movies and stuff.
I go back to the eye doctor next week. And I have this feeling the b-word is going to come up again. As in something necessary. I’m going to be old Ben Franklin here. Either that, or my new prescription is going to put the Hubble to shame.