My chin rested in the optical machine. The doctor had me read from the eye chart and puffed air into my eye. I, a glasses virgin, waited with trepidation for his diagnosis.
Over the last few years, I had taken to squirreling away reader glasses in every corner of the house. I had complained indignantly that the font in restaurant menus was too small. But now, I was tired of tolerating my world as a blur.
“You have presbyopia,” the doctor pronounced. “Basically,” he continued, “you have old eyes.” He explained that the lens of an aging eye loses its flexibility, making it harder to focus on close objects. Gulp.
Now I get yet another personal opportunity to embrace the aging process, another chance to surrender to change, to welcome impermanence, to greet the dawn of a new era. If 2 eyes are great, I’m thinking that 4 eyes might be even better.