Let me begin by reiterating that I am not going blind, I will never go blind, and I am currently nowhere near blind.
But my vision is worsening. Slowly, gradually, my vision is becoming more distorted, and more convoluted in my right eye, with symptoms of my Macular Dystrophy continuing to degenerate my macula. (I confirmed it’s not all in my head with my retina specialist in L.A. over the summer— something one must do frequently when one grows up being told by her doctors it is all in her head only to find out they were all wrong all along.)
But what can you do? There’s nothing to be done here. There is still no cure, glasses still don’t help, and letting it get the best of me is still a waste of energy.
I picked up meditation again this summer and I’ve realized that my approach to dealing with my declining vision this time around (in contrast to the last time) has been borrowing the same tools I use to approach my often wandering mind.
As I notice the visual dystrophy in real-time— say a friend’s face is all of sudden a blur— I take note and let it go. The conversation can still continue, no problem. I would even argue that the conversation needs to continue and that it will continue regardless of whether I am sitting there drowning in existential dread or not.
Am I holding my phone a little closer today? noted, onward.
Is the blind spot a little more opaque at the center of my vision right now? noted, onward.
Does sunlight feel a little too bright today? noted, onward.
In the same way mindfulness teaches me to observe our thoughts without judging them, letting them come and go, and adjusting how they make my body feel when needed, I do the same with my eyesight.
I can’t control the degeneration of my macula, but I can control how it affects my mental health, my gusto, my determination, my actions.
My vision is worsening, and so? And so life must go on. Life goes on regardless. And so I will ask for more help when I need it, take jobs that will accommodate my disability, etc.
My vision is worsening and so, focus on my breath, the wind on my face, the sound of the waves, and wait for the pull to catch the next ride.