I like words. If you know me personally, you know I like speaking words. You’ll listen to me talk for hours about everything and anything. If you don’t know me personally, you’ll still know that I like to write words. I like to read words too. The Greeks call it logolepsy, which by direct definition means I have an obsession to obtain words.

Two years ago I was diagnosed with posterior subcapsular  cataracts, which is hilarious being I am a teen—not a senior citizen. My optometrist told me they were nothing to worry about and that he would keep an “eye” on them—no pun intended.

Ten months ago, I woke up one morning, suddenly unable to see an object two feet in front of me. Long story short, the cataracts are a pretty big deal now. I have been legally blind for six plus months.

The months in-between then and now I have come to know eighteen-point font—on my computer and phone—, 3.50 reading glasses and also what wearing contacts combined with glasses, is like. I also have had to ask multiple people for help reading signs, menus, and basically anything that is less than “huge ass font,” pardon my French.

Words have been anything but easy lately.

Luckily, Apple has designed their products with helpful “zoom” techniques. Thank. The. Lord.

I haven’t been able to write words, read words, or learn words. I Love (with a capital L) writing and reading yet it’s been the most difficult task because of my less-than-stellar eyes.

I have been called “Benjamin Button.” I have had people joke, “Where is your ‘seeing-eye’ dog?” I have bumped into many, many poles, clothing racks, and people. It has been a journey to say the least.

I have been waiting patiently for this new perspective that awaits me. I have been seeing with 20/350 vision for a long, gruelling, fuzzy ten plus months.

With my eyes, I have recently explored a different country and culture with my subpar lenses—you’ll hear about it in posts to come. I tried this new culture’s food without fully taking in what it looks like—which is probably a good thing. I have met new people, saw foreign places, practised new beliefs. I have listened to elders talk about their lives during war and peace, hate and love. I have sung the night away. I have cried while listening to stories, podcasts, or real humans. I have laughed, at comedic radio or young boys being “young boys.” I have missed out on seeing foreign places and people. I have been thrown off a raft while being towed by a boat. I have driven a boat—without running into anything. I have (tried) to write. I have (struggled) to read. I have done everything possible, but I haven’t fully been able to take in the full picture. I haven’t been able to capture the full experience.

But readers, despite not seeing everything fully, I have loved it all the more. I have been taught a valuable life lesson in this past year.

Even though, it’s been—more than—tough, I have finally come to terms with my condition. Maybe it’s because I am finally scheduled for surgery on Monday, or maybe it’s because I’ve grown used to not having full ability of one sense, I’m not sure.

What I am sure is, even though I haven’t been able to read words or write stories like how I used to be able to so effortlessly, I’ve been able to hear them. I’ve been able to listen. I’ve been able to take more in than I’ve been able to before. I think that’s why I lost my sight in the first place.

I needed to learn how to listen and listen well. I needed to open my ears more than I opened my mouth. I needed to hear the words said to me, not just continue to re-reading them. I learned having patience in myself and others is important. I learned words can be found in more than one place—not just in books, on paper, or on my phone—but they can be found in places you never expected… the hearts of others. The most important words I have come to know are the ones that have been spoken to me, the ones that have been shown in gestures by people.

“Seeing isn’t believing?”

True. I have witnessed that.

“You were given two ears and only one mouth?”

That can’t be a coincidence.

“Wisdom is the reward you get for a lifetime of listening?”

Amen.

While out of the country, I learned that listening to spoken words can be much more powerful than written words. Being present—hearing—is more important than what you have to say.

The Chinese have two different perspectives on thunder and lightning. Unlike Americans, they believe the phenomena are two separate matters entirely—they do not go hand in hand. They call lightning 火花 (Scintilla), meaning a small spark, tiny; a barely visible trace. They call thunder 雷 (Tonitrua), which translates to loud, louder than sound itself; something volcanic.

If you ask me, those definitions represent two different marvels of the world. To me, the Chinese describe thunder to be so much more powerful. You can always hear thunder, but sometimes you don’t always see lightning.

My new perspective begins on Monday—dark to light if you will. Even though I’ll be able to read and write words (without strain), I suppose I’ll always listen for the thunder first.

 

Darkness,

Uptown Maven