Last August I turned 50. It also coincided with my license renewal and I needed a vision exam. So I went to DMV and waited on all the necessary lines to renew my license. The man at the DMV was in his forties and when he noticed my age he asked Do you were corrective lenses? And I said No. And then he said Contacts are considered corrective lenses. And I said I do not wear contacts. And he said Really? At your age? God I hated that. I was having enough problems dealing with the fact that my forties were over and now this guy just had to remind me that from now on people would keep saying “at your age”. And then he got as close as he could to me physically and stared at my eyeballs to see if I wore contact lenses. But eventually, somewhat disbelievingly, he signed and stamped everything and gave me my temporary license.
I have always been a little bit nearsighted. And even though I had prescription glasses when I was younger for all practical reasons I didn’t need to wear them. If I really needed to see something that far away I would squint. And I think my slight nearsightedness is what has saved me from wearing reading glasses this long. My eyes are self-correcting. I can still thread a needle and put jewelry on other people. I can still read menus in restaurants. I have a pair of reading glasses for when I have super tedious close work to do—but for the most part I only need to wear my glasses an average of once or twice a week.
My neighbor Patty is slim with short blond hair and she has an adorable Westie that she walks several times a day. And it is not unusual for her to stop in front of my house while her dog sniffs around. Sometimes I wave to her from inside my house. Sometimes I go outside to engage in neighborly chit-chat.
The other day my dogs were barking and I looked out my mudroom door and across the street was a slim short haired blond woman walking a cute westie. Oh good—I thought I have been meaning to tell Patty how happy I was with the dog groomer she had recommended. So I put on my Havianas that I keep near the door and I quickly walked down my driveway and called out to her Hey Patty—I just wanted to tell you how much I liked the groomer you recommended to me. She really did a great job with my dogs and…
And then I noticed. The woman was not Patty. This woman was about 20 years older than Patty and about 20 pounds heavier. I did not recognize her at all. She was a total stranger. And this person thought I was aa bit crazy. And I was mortified. And I felt compelled to apologize to her just like a crazy person. And I told this stranger how she looked like my neighbor and my neighbor had the same dog as she and blah blah blah.
Effectively, I gave her way more information than was even remotely necessary. And the woman was polite—but honestly—she didn’t care at all—and realistically—why would she. The woman just wanted to peacefully walk her dog. And I went back into the house.
Now a different person would have thought Gee I better have my eyes checked. A different person would have been concerned with dementia. But denial is a lovely world in which to dwell. And I chose not to think that there wasn’t anything anomalous with my eyesight. What I chose to believe is this: Scientists believe that the brain seeks to compartmentalize information at all times. And the rate at which the brain can put data into finite boxes determines problem solving. It’s the theory that surmises that if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and smells like a duck, it must be a duck—even if it is not. The theory postulates perception is a function of expectation. And I chose to believe that since I expected the woman who resembled Patty to be Patty—it was. Expectation became perception. And that is why I confused the look-alike woman with my neighbor. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was over 50 and my vision was faltering.
When my central air conditioner was not working, during the interim of waiting for it to be fixed, we installed a room air conditioner in my bedroom window. And when it got significantly hotter outside my husband told me that he had switched the air conditioner to high cool and high fan. But when I went upstairs a little while later my bedroom was ridiculously warm. Upon looking at the unit I noticed that both the thermostat and fan had been turned down to low. And I became concerned that my husband was flirting with dementia. But he wasn’t. It was his eyesight. He didn’t see the little arrow on the knob and so the adjustments were backwards. And at no point did it occur to me to explain away that his brain had allowed expectation to be confused with perception. I immediately surmised that since he is over 50 his eyesight is faltering. He needed a stronger prescription. You see that’s the best part of denial. You get to apply it selectively. My husband needs new glasses. And I do not.
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