Episode 14: Plain Eyes

I was diagnosed with visual impairment around the age of six, though they missed the astigmatism the first time. I've been regularly in glasses and contacts ever since. My first pair of glasses were big round pink frames. At the time, the optometry assistants tried in vain to talk Mum out of them--too big for my face, they argued. And when you look at pictures from those days, you see a little girl with BIG glasses. But they were pink, my then favorite color, and I thought they were pretty. Mum chose to err on the side of getting something I would wear as opposed to forcing me into smaller frames.

I went through many pair of frames, including silver ones with ripples in junior high at some point, and somewhere around/during college moved into brown cat's eye frames. I wanted black, but the ever wise optometry assistant Catherine pointed out that brown would be a little less likely to show the bags under the eyes. Considering that was the point I was sleeping an average of 3-4 hours a night, brown it was.

When those frames died the death of snapping in half, I moved into the current frames. Dark-torti cat's eyes. Never quite as extreme as the 1950s look, just a gentle homage the the shape. The eyes have been changing again though and I've bent these frames to heck and back--I fall asleep in my glasses pretty often.

At the recommendation of a coworker, I made an appointment and duly rendered myself up to three ladies for eye examination. This was at least one more person than I was used to, and I'm not counting the receptionist.

First was the optometry assistant who did all sorts of tests, some of which I knew (follow my pen with your eyes) and some I did not (watch the white light and press the buzzer when you see the blurs). The latter test, by the way, totally works on a rhythm that I figured out about halfway through the first eye. I could have just followed the rhythm and scored perfectly but as it is my eyes, I just felt I had the advantage of knowing at when the best point to blink was.

I was handed off then to the optometrist, a young woman close to my own age. She was pretty awesome, I have to say. We joked about people with slight prescriptions and our jealousy of them and she didn't require eye dilation. Considering it was a sunny day and I had to drive home, I was grateful. Next time we'll probably need to and I'll try to remember to pack an extra person in the car. Blasted lack of decent public transportation.

Finally I was handed off to someone to help me pick out frames. Seriously, this woman's entire job yesterday was to help me find frames and tell me how much it would be for everything once I had. I'm used to smaller shops where that person is also doing the phones and other tasks, this was a little overwhelming. But as it meant she would also go look and bring me frames to try while I peered myopically at myself, it was kind of handy.

And it was an experience:

First, as I mingled amongst the eye pieces, she came out and called for me by a permutation of my name that I abhor. I didn't realize she was talking to me--I never answer to that. It was only the second time that I turned around and asked (in the "do you mean REAL NAME?" sort of way) if she meant me. On this auspicious footing we began.

They had a wide, lovely selection of frames in various shades, shapes, sizes, colors and decor. You could see she was ready to show me blue, super-square, Swarovski crystal laden, thick and heavily floral templed frames. And then I probably really destroyed her day: I told her what I wanted. I indicated my face and said "I want a new version of these."

I then further disillusioned her, telling her I seriously disliked the heavy decorated temple look and that I wasn't up for bling. All this in that blithe no-nonsense voice that indicated handing me the 'fabulous' orange frames with just two crystals in each corner would be a bad idea.

Ultimately I ended up with slightly smaller, slightly more square, dark brown torti frames that have a slight homage to cat's eyes. Final results in 7-10 days.

Episode 13: Keeping on That Learning Curve

Some lessons, it seems, come with a little pain. Things I've learned of late:

• It's a bad idea to do yoga in the morning and then go dancing in 3" heels that night. Apparently doing squats in those heels means your quads suddenly have a wrenching pain that makes it difficult to continue dancing.
  
• If you don't stretch every hour or two over the weekend following said quad pain incident, the muscles tighten up and it really hurts to move.
  
• I have to write out more comprehensive to do lists and add stuff to them regularly. Otherwise I realize at 8:30 p.m. on Sunday that I have something due Monday morning that isn't started yet.
  
• My pangs of homesickness are cyclical. If I can make it a week productively working towards my future, I can settle back into the here and present well enough to not resent having to get out of bed every day.
  

I just have to figure out what makes me productive towards my future.

Off to work on my to do list.

Episode 12: Can't Say What I Want to Say

This is the fourth time I've tried to write this blog post.

The essentials?

A. Emails and blog posts don't take physical space in our homes to save them, allowing us to save more of them.

B. It is easier to read, find and save my online words or find them easily through an online search.

A + B = I feel like my hands are tied and my voice is muted. There are times I can't say what I really want to say--I'm self editing on the off chance that what I type will come back to haunt me in the future. It's not just professional, usually it's personal. Cards and stationary end up in the recycling bin--the thought retained but the object passed on and the exact phrases often forgotten. But online words can last and are so much more searchable. Do I anticipate my words being thrown back in my face? No, but I am more inclined to take out and save for phone or in person something edgier. I know, I might be being recorded then too. If y'all are really that focused on getting me on record, I'm not sure of a good way around that.

But, ultimately, this is why I still keep an offline journal and am considering a codicil to my will that says those have to be taken out and burned.

Episode 11: Ask for Help

It's one of those paradigms that I'm in a profession that is very much query based--and yet I have a difficult time asking for assistance.

Some things are easy: I've often asked male roommates to open jars or reach something up high if I didn't feel like climbing on the counters. I have a selection of people who are often asked to edit and review pieces for me. One of my best friends is a nurse and I solicit her opinion frequently on health news I see and discussions on good health in general for me. (Note--eat more vegetables)

Others, not so much. I have a strong sense, for whatever reason, of "you should be able to figure this out for yourself." It crosses into my most active hobby and especially my work. Even when I know I need help, and know help is available, there are times I try to be a wonder woman. I'm working on getting better at figuring out when to ask for help, but it's a slow process.

I reached out to a friend today, asking for help. We're going on 5 years of knowing each other, and even once have met in person, and he was the right person to ask. I'm undertaking a new project and it's in an area he knows. But writing that email was hard. Not because I didn't think he'd help--I had a response in nearly seconds offering full and cheerful assistance--but because it's me and I feel like I should be able to do this on my own.

Silly me. Vaa reminded me this morning that I can't do it alone, that I'm supposed to reach out to others. Sharing burdens and helping is part of friendship. And part of what I do is knowing where to get answers, rather than what answers are. Asking for help to get from where to what, that too is a part of friendship and self-development.

So now I charge forth, trying to figure out who best to ask and trying to get over the ridiculous stigma that friends and professional contacts will look down on me for asking questions.

Episode 10: Rocking Out in My Chair

It's taken a while, but my coworkers have started to figure out that if I'm unresponsive I'm not ignoring them, I just have headphones in. The shared office space is pretty noisy and if I need to concentrate, it's time to zone out. It was a lot easier a couple of jobs ago. There, my manager (next cube behind me) just chucked soft stuff at me to get my attention. When a foam heart goes flying past your range of vision....

I have a playlist on YouTube and a reasonably well honed library at Last.fm for when I'm tuning in, zoning out, and rocking on. A fair amount of it is top 40, scoffed upon by "real music lovers" but Beyonce is good for wiggling through an afternoon of data entry. Dance music in particular helps me concentrate, something about a nice steady bass beat. I'm sure it looks odd from the back--chair dancing usually does when you can't hear the music.

Which is probably why people stare at me strangely when I'm driving, isn't it?

Episode 9: Express Yourself

Make yours here.

Episode 8: The Mirror

My bathroom has a huge mirror in it. Over the vanity, it's about five feet wide and three feet tall. The corners are a bit of a nuisance to clean but it's nice having a large mirror. The only other mirror in my apartment is a small (one foot w by two feet tall) face mirror in my bedroom that I rarely use besides when fussing with my jewelry.

My personal self image each day is therefore dependent on this bathroom mirror. I may glance in the mirror at work while washing my hands, but that's primarily to see if anything is out of place or if my hair has decided to take on a life of it's own. Occasionally it has. But my bathroom mirror is where I preen, look at my body critically, and remind myself that more yoga and pilates would be a good idea. Maybe some aerobics too.

I'd lived in this apartment for about six months before I went home for a visit. I stayed with my sister, who, at the time, had a similarly large mirror in her bathroom (and a window---jealousy of that natural daylight in the bath). As I got ready to hop in the shower I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

It was a surprise. I looked a lot thinner in her mirror. I also knew she had a new mirror--which meant my bathroom mirror was warped. (And no, siblings don't like it when you pop out of the shower, towel wrapped asking "Do I really look this thin?")

Visitors to my apartment have agreed that the bathroom mirror is slightly warped. A couple suggested I replace it, something I don't plan to do as I'm renting here and that's a BIG chunk of mirror.

What surprised me the most was how much it had affected my self perceived body image. I saw myself as heavier and a little shorter every morning, and without thinking about it had changed my idea about myself. I was surprised to find out I weighed the same, surely I'd put on weight, I looked heavier, right? No, clothes weren't fitting too differently but the image was there in my head. I don't own a bathroom scale, so I couldn't verify the image with a number.

I need to get another mirror, something full length so I can see my shoes and lower limbs, but until I get myself over to Lowes or Home Depot or Wal-mart, I have my bathroom mirror. And I have to keep reminding myself that what's in the mirror isn't 100% correct. It's harder to shake than I'd like, especially when there's not immediate comparison to show a proper body image.

You and I've spoken about moving forward and changing our images (professionally, personally, etc). I challenge you this week to consider if your mirror is warped and if you need a new mirror in your bathroom--physical or mental.

Maybe that will give us the new/correct/refreshed perspective we're looking for.

Episode 7: Nature Sparkles

I'm finishing up my taxes, which has almost as much appeal as the dentist appointment did last week. Granted, no one is shoving sharp objects in and around my teeth with the guarantee of drawing blood and the strong possibility of me gagging, but it's a close second.

I did my taxes in late February once I got the paperwork from all the necessary places (the list just keeps growing!). But I owe money this year, which hurts even as it is a good sign that I'm doing well with my freelance work. So today I'm reading through the numbers again and prepping the checks to go into the mail. Yippee.

Just now though I stopped for a minute to take a look at my amaryllis. A gift from a woman whose twins I taught as infants, she probably doesn't remember me. I remember only that her first name was unusual and that we only used part of it, calling her Belle.

The amaryllis has been a stubborn plant. It didn't like the house I was living it at the time, refusing to bloom because of the smokers that were polluting it's lungs and mine. It objected to my next apartment for reasons unknown. Then I moved again and it got a place of, not honor, but at least lots of sunlight in the big front window. Finally, it condescended to bloom with rich salmon-colored flowers.

Promptly thereafter it went back to growing nice lush leaves and ignoring my entreaties to bloom again. It survived, with much complaining, the most recent move and sulked in a corner of the living room. No, it didn't want to go outside; no, it didn't want to live in the bedroom. I had every intention of dragging the bulb out of the dirt and leaving it in the hall closet over the winter, but ultimately just hacked the leaves off and stopped watering for a few months.

Now, it's spring again and I started watering. Leaves started coming up. It was nice to see green but I wasn't optimistic. We'd been this leafy route before. And then---a bud. Two actually. I had to turn the amaryllis daily as it leaned towards the sun, trying to keep it from veering too strongly one way or another.

And the salmon colored flowers returned. Two of them, rich and vibrant in hue, soft in texture. And a third bud appeared, an extra credit perhaps for giving the amaryllis some time to rest over the winter?

I stepped away from my computer to admire the third flower, the last remaining as the others have shriveled and been consigned to the garbage can. And then I noticed. The flower petals sparkle. With the rich morning sun, there's a glow of glitter far more delicate than any artifice can create, glistening over the colors. It will be futile, I know, to try and capture it on camera, though I'll try, at least for the flower's sake.

It's amazing what display nature puts on for us and I remind you today to look around.

Nature sparkles!