Learn it again, Ma'am
I’ve just had a second eye surgery, and as a result, I can’t see beyond the end of my nose.
But maybe I never could.
I thought I could bounce back from any challenge unscathed. That 60-plus could be a liberating time of life. And that my plan was solid: to camp and write and work from the road at beaches. With a big dog and a ukulele.
My eyes—first one and then the other—sprang macular holes. I bought a puppy and a week later sent her back because I was broken and heartsick and unable to attach. I couldn’t heal my eye and also take care of her. My ukulele gathers dust.
But now I see what’s happening: Those tricky Stoic gods tossed me a second surgery because I didn’t learn enough from the first one.
To not see past the end of one's nose is to miss the bigger picture in life. To miss what other people are going through. To miss what there is to be learned.
So, as I heal from my surgery and you heal from whatever pains you, here are a few lessons we all need to learn. Again and again. Over and over. Because we seem to forget.
We’re not alone (as we age). Macular holes occur in about 3 in 1,000 nearsighted people over the age of 55. But 1,000 of 1,000 of us are getting old. Seneca, the great Stoic philosopher, wrote: let us cherish and love old age, for it is full of pleasures if one knows how to use it. He’s also the guy who wrote a book about freedom while serving as a slave. He learned to be his own best company.
There’s beauty in the doldrums. I’ve always preferred to fend for myself than coordinate daily chores with another human. I find routine excruciating. But healing at home—again and again—may finally teach me to find peace in patterns. Every three hours I put a drop in my eye. Twice a day I meditate. The world outside spins without me.
Workarounds bring new joy. Less night driving will slow down the pace of my trips. I’ll make longer stops. Gaze at more stars. With no dog to talk to, maybe I’ll want a human companion. I might spend less time at the computer. Finally move to the beach.
One medical adventure inevitably leads to the next, says William Irvine in his audio talk A Stoic Grows Old. So we need to pace ourselves. Learn to appreciate whatever life brings.
When my mother was in her 60s and 70s and living in Florida, her lack of ambition scared me. She’d set up camp at the beach and spend the day alone. Paint with watercolors when it rained. Read a bit in the evening, or watch TV.
That actually doesn’t sound so bad. Except…
There has to be a way to age peacefully and also see the world. Love more dogs. Love more humans. Be a bad-ass gypsy version of my mother.
Be a bad-ass gypsy version of myself.
