The Beauty in Blindness

I am an insomniac. According to my mother, I’ve been one since I was a child. Generally, it’s not a case of being unable to stay asleep that’s the problem Getting the mind to calm enough to allow for sleep is the issue. Taking night classes that are interesting is a guarantee that midnight will no longer be my ‘oh, crap’ bedtime. It’s going to become 1:00 a.m., or later. Earlier?

Last night, however, I did try to force myself to go to bed by 12:30 a.m. I should know better. If my brain hasn’t slowed down enough to sleep, all I end up doing is tossing and turning and following the meandering paths of whatever thoughts pop into my head. One of last night’s thoughts was: if I have lasik surgery, I won’t see the beauty in the blindness anymore.

I am not blind, as it is traditionally defined. I can see. My vision is easily corrected with glasses or contact lenses. But without that assistance, I would be deemed legally blind. When I was sixteen, I asked my optometrist, “How bad am I?” His response was a little startling. “You don’t want to know.” Without glasses or contacts, I could generally manage to live in my own home, unassisted. I wouldn’t be able to watch television. Reading would be manageable, even if my nose would almost be touching the page. I would not be able to cross the street, or drive. My job options would be limited.

But I still hesitate over getting lasik surgery. Why? Because there is a beauty in blindness that would be lost. Perhaps someone who was completely blind and did not know color or shape as perceived by those who are visually unimpaired would miss the extra depth their other senses provide to compensate for the lack of sight. Music may be beautiful for them since they have to concentrate on sound so much, and they hear more in the music than those of us distracted by the visual stimulation. Is Tim McGraw as talented to a blind person as he is to a sighted person, when they can’t see the appeal of his physical appearance?

For me, the beauty I think I would miss would be the lights. With corrected vision, a street lamp is just a street lamp. A point of brightness on a dark night, that sheds light. When I take off my glasses, however, that street light becomes a thing of beauty. It becomes a living entity, a being of crystalline and delicate wonder. It expands and contracts, fine lines of light radiating out, surrounded by the background darkness. It’s outer edge is spiked, and curving looks connect each radiating spoke. It’s magical and mystical and utterly beautiful – well beyond my skill to describe accurately. Christmas time and the lights on the tree make a far more festive gathering of these fairy globes.

Without my glasses I cannot see the stars. The moon is a vague, roundish blur to me. A person’s face is a smudge, and oncoming cars blend with the background until they’re almost fatally close. Peripheral vision is non-existent, and applying make-up is awkward, if not impossible. Contacts correct the weaknesses of glasses, but bring their own host of problems. They get dry. God help you if you have an eyelash or dust get into your eye. Rewetting drops wash away eyeshadow and can cause mascara to smear.

Without my glasses, or contacts, I see the beauty in a street light.

About the blog title...

I've been a bit of a gypsy for the last 16 years or so. It's a running joke among my friends, especially since my philosophy on moving is, "If it doesn't fit in the car, it doesn't go." Even my mother won't write my address down in pen. :) Once, in a moment of anger, my sister accused me of having no home.

In my many wanderings, I've found that 'home' isn't a physical place. It's people. Home are the friends you make, the family that you're tied to by blood, and the family that you choose as you move through life. The world is my home, because the world holds the people that mean the most to me, scattered to the four winds and almost never within a reasonable geographical distance.

A couple of years ago, I came across the song that had the blog title's line in it. It seemed apt in describing me. Don't be puzzled if you don't recognize the song or the artist. Neither are mainstream! :) But just in case you're curious, here are the lyrics:

"A Gypsy's Home"
lyrics and vocals by Heather Alexander

Don't tell a gypsy she has no home,
For the land is mine wherever I roam.
To a single place I may not return,
For a gypsy's home is where the heart will burn.

For the road is wide and the sky is tall,
And before I die I will see it all.
Yes, the road is wide and the sky is tall
And before I die I will see it all.

Don't tell a gypsy she has no heart
Though my eyes are dry when we needs must part.
For the gift of love I will give you free.
It will last forever between you and me.

For the road is wide and the sky is tall,
And before I die I will see it all.
Yes, the road is wide and the sky is tall
And before I die I will see it all.

Don't tell a gypsy she has no soul
Though my path will tread where the heathen's stroll.
If you walk a day that is bright and fair,
When you kiss the wind you will find me there.

For the road is wide and the sky is tall,
And before I die I will see it all.
Yes, the road is wide and the sky is tall
And before I die I will see it all.

Semester Beginnings and Blogs

Each semester that begins brings a range of emotions. Uncertainty. How does this instructor grade? How demanding will she be? Will it be an easy class, or a hard one? How much time will it take? What if I don't understand the material? Eagerness. It's a chance to learn something new. It's a beginning, which always has its own rush of energy and enthusiasm. It's an opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Annoyance. Textbooks are outrageously expensive. it's such a rush and bother to get everything lined up and ready for that first day. It's a hassle, and time missed at work, getting all those minute details taken care of during operating hours - which are the same hours you're at work.

I both hate and love the first day of class. I hate it because there's so much that has to be done, so much to get ready for. I love it because it's interesting to see what I'll be learning, what challenges I'll need to meet over the next four months.

One of those challenges is starting a blog. I'm not a good blogger. For many years now, several of my friends have tried to get me to blog on livejournal.com. I've had an account here for quite a while. My blogging, however, has been erratic. I have this mental resistance to the idea. So many people seem to use it as the one-stop update for all their friends, and so friendships devolve from daily or weekly conversations on the phone or via IM to a generalized form letter posted in a blog. The immediacy and intimacy of a one-on-one conversation is removed and the connection with the friend starts to fade. There's no longer anything special about the friendship; you begin to feel you're just one of many and your relationship means nothing more to the blogger than any of their other friendships do.

This isn't the case. Your head will tell you it's not true. But emotions seldom listen to logic.

Blogging is efficient and convenient. For this class, it should be quite interesting since none of us know each other. But I can't say I would recommend it as a way to keep friendships alive and thriving. :)