I Can't See! (Good.)

When I was a young stupid person of twenty-four, I flew into Denver Colorado to visit a ski instructor friend. We’d met when I vacationed at Club Med Copper Mountain and stayed pals. She was now a ski instructor at Beaver Creek and invited me to visit. I’d ski by myself during the day (presumably, I’d make friends on the lift), then hook up with her to party at night. Why not? And that part all worked out as planned.
 
[Sidebar: I later quit my job in advertising to go be a comedian at Club Med for two years. Again I say, Why not?]
 
What I hadn’t planned on was becoming cursed at the airport on my way to Denver. Oh yes, I was literally cursed. I’d gone to the ground-transportation counter and started chatting with the woman behind the desk. Remember all the way back to the opening sentence of this blog, your narrator mentioned being a young, stupid person? (Go back and check. I’ll wait.) So, this old, decrepit woman in her mid-50s (see: sarcasim) was bemoaning her poor vision. Ground-Transportation Counter Lady used to see perfectly, but as she got older, her sight declined. I, of course, had to proudly state that my vision was still 20/20. As if being younger than her was both a choice and a skill.
 
Well, Ground-Transportation Counter Lady showed me. She looked me square in the eye. (Who knows what she and her bad vision were actually seeing.) Then she declared, “I curse you. When you turn forty, your vision will just go!”
 
I thought, That’s so sad. Doesn’t she know that I’m choosing to not deteriorate in any way as I get older. I could not possibly fathom why on earth she hadn’t made the same choice I had. Talk about a lack of vision. Whatever. I went along my way, had a monster time with my ski-instructor friend, met some of her pals, enjoyed great skiing, even went out on a couple of dates—all blissfully unaware of my future and the curse hovering in the distance, waiting for the clock to ring 40.
 
Flash forward, and the clock did not ring. It just broke. As predicted, or inflicted, the second I turned 40, my vision turned to crap. It was that fast. One night I could read the fortunes from the cookies of the people sitting across the Chinese restaurant. The next morning no arms would ever be long enough to let me read the print from my book, phone, or pill bottle. (Let’s not discuss that last one.) Who was that gal in the Scooby-Doo cartoons who couldn’t see anything when she lost her glasses? And, of course, she always lost her glasses. Forcing her to get on hands and knees and pat the ground like a blind person. Velma! Fuck, I’m a Velma.
 
I was incredulous. How could this have happened to me? Me!? Didn’t the universe remember that I’d chosen to not deteriorate? This was not part of the contract I’d signed. Then I remembered the alternate contract that rendered my initial contract null and void. The one inflicted upon me as a result of being young and stupid. It was her, that woman at the Denver airport, the Ground-Transportation Counter Lady. Oh, the humanity!
 
After years of self-reflection, I’ve come to realize that it was me. It wasn’t that angry little woman at all. I had brought this weakening upon myself by being so blissfully ignorant to the complexity of the human animal. By not affording her the grace she’d earn from years and decades of dealing with all of the young and stupid me’s that crossed before her on a daily basis while making their way to the slopes. I’d like to find her and tell her: Now I get it. But, of course, that won’t be happening.
 
Still, there is an upside to my now crappy vision. We had friends visiting from out of town. Great, dear, wonderful friends. We wanted to introduce them to our favorite, wonderful people in our latest adopted hometown. After two days and nights partying like we were still young enough to see 20/20, I woke up with a fair amount of caution. What kind of state was I in? What would I see in the mirror?
 
To my surprise, I looked kind of OK, bordering on “I may not even have to brush my hair.” (I don’t actually brush my curly hair once it’s dry or it would get enormous. But you get the point.) I win! I put in my contact lenses, and then caught a glimpse in the mirror of a woman who looked a lot like me gone wrong, and thought, Oh, that’s a little different. My face was giving witness to all of the damage I’d done in the last 48 hours, and I saw all of it. 20/20. But with age comes wisdom. I put my fingers into my eyes and removed my contacts. I was once again a blurred vision of loveliness. Problem solved.

How's your vision?