Vision

I had a optometrist appointment in my old neighborhood, Cobble Hill, yesterday. Dr. Poran dilated my eyes and put yellow dye in them as part of the exam.

It is the definition of stupid to have a repeated experience and not prepare for its repercussions. I forget to bring my glasses to these exams each year, and then have to make my way home in NYC practically blind.

I made arrangements to meet friends who live in the neighborhood for dinner after my exam. We had a nice long meal at Luluc, so my eyes had some opportunity to improve.

Then, two of us decided to buy a bottle of wine and surprise a couple of mutual friends who opened Robert Henry Vintage in nearby Park Slope. We have seen little of these dear friends since they began their venture. They are now bound to babysit their shop rather than socialize.

My friend helped guide me to the subway and then I led her to the store. It was a neighborhood unfamiliar to her, and it was an interesting experience to lead her there while asking her to identify landmarks for me.

I had difficulty crossing the street because street lights and car lights looked the same unless a car was in motion. I would not have been able to see a bicyclist until it was a few feet from me.

All lights gained volume. Christmas lights seemed particularly rich. What must have been a meager strand of lights strung on a tree seemed like a thick garland of twinkles, each bulb emitting a starry snowflake the size of my splayed palm.

We had a very long visit with our friends. It surprised all of us when we discovered it was after 1am.

My eyes were still dilated. I asked my friend to walk with me back to the subway because it was still difficult to see. She kindly obliged and disembarked at the Bergan station.

As I rode alone to 23rd Street, I thought about a couple of friends who have impaired vision. One has blurry sight that cannot be corrected. He wears very special lenses and can read with a text inches from his eyes, but he will never see well enough to operate a car.

He once told me that his blurry vision made him more open to experiences. It is impossible for him to make presumptions about people based on looks. His approach is friendly to all. He thinks this has led to enriching encounters that probably would not have happened otherwise.

I could tell from the posture of some people on the train at 2am that some of them were probably homeless. Based on the conversations I heard, some were young people returning home late after parties or clubbing. I am not sure about the rest.

As I walked home, I appreciated the crosswalks on 23rd and the avenues that are equipped for the blind. These are standard in Amsterdam. They emit beeping sounds to signal when it is OK to cross the street safely.

A couple of rats scurried across my path. At first I thought they were black plastic bags blowing in the wind.

As I passed people I couldn't see, I wondered whether they were nodding and smiling at me. One person said hello. I wondered whether my oblivious expression confused or engaged them.

The world seems altered when one can't see it. It makes me realize how my estimation of what is around me is based on the faulty apparatus used to evaluate it.