Joshua Thorin Messer

As of 3:45pm on Friday, August 8, 2008, after 23 years of trials and torments, I am no longer nearsighted. I have been subject to absolute fits of giddiness, glee, and maniacal laughter. I find it quite interesting that to the outside observer, this probably appears commonplace. Thousands of people undergo Lasik or related procedures every day, and have for 20 or more years. So in aggregate, yet another person undergoing a relatively routine procedure of a mere 25 minutes is no big deal.

But on an individual, personal level, it is astounding. Profound. World-shattering. For 2/3 of my life, since before I was fully grown, since before I was really me, I have had the constant companionship of my glasses. So many petty annoyances become monstrous when added up and compounded over such a long time. Having to find them to see the time when waking up. Groping around half-blind in the shower every single day, having to bring bottles to within inches of my eyes to tell if I had shampoo or conditioner. $300 every year for a new pair, assuming I didn’t sit or step on them. The neverending routine of caring for contact lenses (before disposables) like sheperding some absurdly needy and helpless pet.

I think the thing I hated most was forgetting where I put my glasses, because of course my vision was just bad enough that something the size of glasses blended into the haze at something like two feet. It could become farcical, staggering around from one suspect shelf to another, squinting and poking my head right up next to any surface that could be “hiding” my stupid glasses. Of course, in my forgetfulness, this was a perfect opportunity to sit or step on them.

I don’t even want to discuss the social implications of being a 12 year old with glasses. Instant dork. Bad enough I liked to read. Even worse to read fantasy and science fiction, comic books. Add in moving every single year—always the new kid—and it just makes me unhappy to remember it.

And now, I can see. Without apparatus. Of course, the healing is just beginning, and the sight is still too new, I haven’t really absorbed it. But I’m happy. Really, really, happy. So happy I can’t contain it, I’ll suddenly notice or remember that I’m not wearing glasses or contacts and I’ll be so filled with glee that I literally jump up and down and clap. This is not like me. I’m much more a wry grin sort of fellow, usually. Suddenly I’m Buffy, purely, genuinely happy, without reserve or irony, without criticism or scorn. And it is good.