Requiem to Soft Edges

Oct 2, 2020

Now that my eyesight has been perfected thanks to cataract surgery, I find that in some obscure ways, I miss my glasses. Months later my hands automatically still reach to take them off and put them on the bedside table last thing at night and reach for them again first thing in the morning.

Even more than the physical habits, there is an associated emotional habit. I think I associate removing them with a signal that it's rest time. Or maybe it's about not being able to have a slowing down step at night and the opposite ramping up step in the morning. Just before sleep comes, even in the semidarkness of the bedroom, I can still see sharp outlines of furniture and clothing in the far corners. And the same thing in the midnight hours and first thing in the morning. It just feels wrong.

I also find that I miss getting a break from seeing everything so highly defined. I was extremely near sighted so although I was grateful for the corrective lenses, my sight was always compromised to some extent. Now, no matter where or when I look, I see everything. I'm not talking about wishing to not see the dust accumulating or sticky fingerprints, it's about the whole sharp picture of everything within scope. Life in general has no soft edges any more.

The loss of the little ritual of cleaning my glasses especially before I left the house in the morning has sometimes made me feel like I've forgotten something important but I can't quite remember what.

Recently as I looked at the full moon, I was astonished at how clearly defined the edges were - as though drawn with a very sharp pencil. I think I miss the soft edges of light that I used to see either wearing or not wearing my old glasses.

It's an unexpected reaction to an amazing privilege but it doesn't mean I'd go back to pre-surgery days! It's just a lesson in dealing with change - a good change - but a change.

[Requiem = Grief expressed in reaction to a loss.]