Directly above my right pupil, just an eyelash or two toward my nose, there’s a small opaque circle. The only people who can see it are me and the ophthalmologist. Eight short days ago, that tiny vague spot was like the fabled thorn in a lion’s paw, causing me all kinds of discomfort.
Thanks to antibiotic drops, the corneal ulcer is fading in size and memory, but it’s not gone…yet.
When I saw the doctor last Friday, he said I could start wearing contacts again next Tuesday—that’s two days ago.
I’m hesitant to insert the little blue miracle discs into my eyes even though I’ve used contact lenses for thirty years. Over that time, I can count on my fingers and one foot’s worth of toes how many days I’ve worn glasses. The spectacle arms pinch me behind the ears, the glass is always smudged, and they make me look…old.
So why haven’t I pulled the foil seals on the packages holding my -4.00 and-3.00 dailies yet?
What if wearing contacts aggravates my eye?
A big part of me says, You’ve adjusted to a new normal—don’t chance it. You don’t want that pain again.
Another part says, You’ll never know if you don’t try.
In the bathroom mirror, I watch as the tiny scar shrinks day by day.
Soon, I’ll find the courage for contact lenses again.
To move forward, do we have to accept our scars, and leap?
In The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathan Haidt, I read about the Adaptation Principle. Did you know that lottery winners and those who become paralyzed return to baseline levels of happiness within a year?
The author offers a Happiness Formula:
Happiness = Biological Setpoint + Conditions (age, wealth, gender, etc…) + Voluntary Activities
Yes, and I’ll add more.
Happiness is letting go, an attitude, a state of mind.
I love the man who hates not nor exults, who mourns not nor desires…who is the same to friend and foe, [the same] whether he be respected or despised, the same in heat and cold, in pleasure and in pain, who has put away attachment and remains unmoved by praise or blame…contented by whatever comes his way.
Now that’s what I’m hoping to find in myself—with, or without my contacts.