For a heart-stopping moment or two this morning, I found myself crouched at the edge of my desk chair, leaning with my nose scant inches from laptop screen, staring at the blur of letters and images on the screen. In other words, I'd become like the half-blind, benevolent principal I taught how to use Xtree Gold and Directory Freedom (file managers on DOS) who could barely see the screen, angling his head to read the screen.
Worse, these incoherent reminisces, brought on by the thought I left my prescription reading glasses at work, made me feel a bit novel, as if embarking on a new journey, one that I don't know firsthand but have heard often enough in dark tales to pretend to know well enough--that tale of the old and blind who must venture outside their door.
It's a feeling I've had from time to time since I entered what my daughter calls "middle age," which is a label I've had since my late 30s. I don't yet have all the other troubles that pop up with age--whatever those are--but I feel at the edge of the precipice. With so much happening this weekend, a few books to review and write feedback on, preparation for upcoming workshops and conferences, not to mention Conversations about where to bloom or not where you are (which makes me think of a tree groping for a light it cannot see, only feel on rough skin and tender filaments that grasp the fundament), not having my reading glasses seems all catastrophe.
Then, with the startlement of memory returned by the fickle file manager that is my mind, I remember...only moments before sitting in my chair, I'd stowed my reading glasses in my travel bag for today's journeys.
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Everything posted on Miguel Guhlin's blogs/wikis are his personal opinion and do not necessarily represent the views of his employer(s) or its clients. Read Full Disclosure