The Distant and the Near


Today, Liz and I picked up our new glasses. My prescription changed a little, and got a touch stronger. And, like last time, I ended up getting progressive lenses.

Essentially, they’re bifocals – the kind of glasses that old people get. But progressive lenses are us keeping quiet about all that, hiding the line, and just not telling anyone about it.

I’ve struggled with the progressive lenses, as things in the distance were a bit harder to see in focus. With this newer pair, things are much cleared for me at a distance -but all the closer stuff (like looking into a monitor or reading things up close) are blurrier.

I know I can adjust my head, and tilt upwards a bit. Like… old people do. And that’s helped somewhat. But we’ll see how this goes. I know I’m supposed to give it a week, and maybe my eyes will adjust in that time.

All is not lost, if things don’t work out. I could always use this newer pair for driving and things that require distance. And use the other pair for closer work, like coding and whatnot. That just feels like such an old person thing to do, switch between glasses. It’s a little disheartening.

It’s the slow march of time, I know. And no one ever gets away from it. The best way can do is hold it at bay. I was just thinking I’d hold things at bay a little longer.

Though I am wary of the process, it sounds like laser/lasix might be something to finally look into. Liz has suggested it to me for a while now, but I’ve never really given it serious consideration.

Given how bad my eyesight is, I don’t think the procedure will give me instant 20/20 vision. I’m sure I’ll still need glasses. But the prescription won’t be as severe, and perhaps I won’t struggle as much switching between things far and near.

I turned 45 this year, and it mostly went by quietly. There’s a large part of me that still feels like I haven’t dealt with the fact that I turned 40, a long while ago.

[photo via Steven Wright]

Related:
An Eye Exam Leads Me to Acknowledge the Slow March of Time, Bemoan the Frailty of the Body, and Grapple with My Own Mortality
Age, by Kay Ryan
Cleaning Day Off

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