Flashy Floaty (Silly) Owie

I've had ocassion in the last few weeks to run into people who have not seen me in a while and inquire as to how my eyes are doing. It's interesting primarily because I have finally gotten to the point where I do not think about my eyes all the time every day. I have kind of forgotten - at least in small to largish spurts throughout the day - that anything ever happened, that I could have gone blind, that there is still the possibility my left retina could detach some time in the future, that this is the reason (though not the sole reason) Andy and I feel another pregnancy would be a bad idea.

Yet, those worries are not entirely erased due to an increase in severe headaches for the last 2-3 weeks. I'm not sure if it's my new contacts or something to be worried about with my eyes... or maybe just spending too much time in front of the computer. Hard to say.

What I can say is that I've noticed something in the wake of this event, which is my own ego and vanity. Despite the headaches and a sneaking suspicion my new lens is too overcorrected for astigmatism (the optometrist said it shouldn't matter), I have continued to wear them somewhat stubbornly because I feel more like myself with them in.

I'm not sure I can explain what that means, exactly. Just that the self I imagine... the self I am used to... the pre-pregnancy and pre-retinal-detachment self... the 20 pounds thinner, strong, sexy, independent, unafraid self... she has contacts. She can wear sunglasses and does not feel hidden behind thick, heavy lenses that smack of middle school and years long forgotten.

So... here I am somewhere between legitimate practicality and downright vanity. My eyes are bad, my glasses are heavy, and they give me headaches to wear them. But so do the contacts at this moment, and the only reason I persist in wearing them in spite of a gut-based sense they are slightly "off" is ego, ego, ego.

I wish I had a wise lesson or enlightened insight to share as a result of all this thinking. But perhaps my awareness of frailty and imperfection is enough. Maybe there's purpose in recognition and solidarity as we acknowledge our faults - or collective strength in saying them aloud - whatever the context might be.

Ego, Egads! (an embarrassing confession)

I am struggling with envy of late. Envy and ego swirled together like a hard candy found in cupboards of little old ladies who still dress up on Sunday.

I spoke with my brother the other day, and he told me about all the amazing things he's doing, how well the show is going, how much he loves Sydney, etc. And don't get me wrong... I LOOOOVE my brother and I am so, so, so very proud of him for pushing toward his dreams with full strength and actually reaching them. It's amazing.

But there is a part of me, every single time, that starts to jabber away about how I gave up... about how my life is not exciting or filled with trips to other countries or amazing, beautiful dreamlike creativity. About how Andy and I struggle to make ends meet even though we're in our mid-30s and we still express discontentment and extreme confusion as to what we want to be when we grow up.

And we are still not sure if we have grown up, or are grown ups.
(I suppose if you have to ponder and ask, then the answer is no.)

I miss my artistic life, but I also remember how bad the fit was when we finally left and went in search of a new direction in order to fashion a different life. But I often feel my family is more impressed with his successes than mine, and I often wonder what would have happened if I had been more confident and less apologetic in my pursuit of an artistic career.

And so here I am, struggling to live in the now, except that the now contains jealousy and self-upbraiding... and a small little whisper of failure in the back of the throat and the pit of the stomach.

I don't know many people who have achieved their dream. My brother is one, which makes him incredibly special (and it helps that he's generous, funny, easygoing, and insatiably curious to boot). I think much of my dis-ease comes from not entirely knowing what my dream is.

So today I wander, a little lost, and still quite grateful - but doggedly looking for an answer to a question I still don't know how to ask.