glasses – Karen Creamer Author, Coach, Speaker

I love to go to the ocean. I go every day that I possibly can, rain or shine, summer or winter. Even if I only have 1 hour…hell, even if I only 5 minutes, I go.

One thing that I don’t often do, however, is swim in it. It’s not that I don’t want to (I do!), or that I am a wimp about how cold the Maine ocean water is (I am! But I go in any way!). It’s because I’m nearsighted.

Stupid reason not to go in? Maybe. If I am with others, it’s not so bad. I can take off my glasses and fear not: there are people other than me nearby with a stake in my well-being. I can be reasonably certain that I will make it back from the ocean, back to my glasses and thereby restoring my vision, within a reasonable time frame. When I am by myself, well, let’s just say that there are no guarantees.

But for the first time this year, I gave it a shot. I took off my glasses and put them in the case. I put the case into the bright pink beach bag that I brought with me. I positioned my chair so that it was right next to the stairs I took to get down to the beach. I took note of landmarks near my chair (2 large hotel/motel buildings). I walked a bee-line straight into the water. I continually checked my landmarks as best as I could while I was swimming.

When I was finished swimming and attempted to retrace my bee-line, I felt my confidence slipping as I neared where I thought I had left my things, but no bright pink bag was in sight. I was getting nervous…what would I do? I mentally rehearsed my opening line: “Excuse me-I know this is going to sound odd, but I’m lost…”

It was unnecessary after all. I suddenly saw my pink bag…2 people had put up their umbrella and placed their chairs directly in front of my spot.

Really? Really?

The next day I ordered some prescription swim goggles.

I got my first pair of (many, many) glasses when I was twelve years old. I was playing tag in my grandmother’s yard (with a friend-who-was-a-boy) and so of course not only was I running around like a nut, I was also distracted. So first I was chasing Scotty, trying to tag him, and the next thing I knew I was on my butt in the grass, holding my mouth, bleeding.

I said, “Oh, crap!”

Scotty said, “Oh, bye!”

He left quickly.

What the hell happened? I had somehow managed to smash my mouth into the front of my father’s car, which was parked on the grass where we were playing. To my horror, as I went into the house to tell my mother what happened, I realized that I had shards of…what, tooth? Tooth! Shards of tooth were in my mouth! Not only had I gotten a fat lip from my “car crash”, but I’d also broken my front tooth.

My parents were more annoyed than sympathetic (this was gonna cost them). We didn’t have dental insurance so the fix was minimal (“I’ll just file it down so the sharp point from the tooth doesn’t puncture her tongue,” the dentist offered cheerfully). Worse than this was that the cause of the crash. I hadn’t crashed into the car because I was clumsy (well, not just because of that), as was first thought, but because I couldn’t see how close I was to it.

I was nearsighted.

The state provided my glasses. I had no choice about which frame I got since there was only one option: the lovely cat’s eyes that you see pictured above. Although my dad tried to be upbeat about it, there was really not one bit of excitement involved.

So, I’d lost half a tooth, but hey, I gained a pair of glasses soon thereafter.

Yay.