A friend calls them my Inspector Gadget glasses, because of the way they telescope and fold.
They were not nestled in the neat black case I keep in my pocket, when I opened it after sitting down on the train.
They are, no doubt, sitting on top of the clock radio in my bedroom, where I always keep them at night.
I cannot see up close without my reading glasses.
I cannot read the words on my computer screen or phone.
But as I went through the ritual of opening my laptop, turning on Internet access through my phone, and selecting music, I found that even though my eyes could not see exactly what I was doing, I could feel my way through these familiar actions and complete them accurately without seeing. I knew instinctively where to touch and click, even though I could not perceive the detail.
I thought of how we can live a life of not seeing, not realizing we are not seeing, performing familiar actions day after day by touch and feel.
I am not talking about making coffee with our eyes closed.
I am talking about driving, metaphorically, without thinking.
I am talking about a kind of blindness to what we are actually doing, an inability to see other choices and turns, because our rituals and habits have tied us to the familiar routes.
I am talking about living with our eyes closed to alternative possibilities.
I am talking about choosing not to put on glasses because we are afraid of what we will see.
And afraid of what we will want to do.
When I get into the city, I will buy a new pair of reading glasses.
I'm aware that I can function reasonably well without them, but I'm also aware that I don't want to miss what I can't see without clear vision.
I want to know all my choices.
I don't want to miss anything.
I don't want to miss everything.
