For the last couple years, I’ve had a very hard time driving at night. Everything was glaring and horrible. I couldn’t read the street signs and it got so bad that I didn’t go anywhere at night if I hadn’t been there numerous times already. I couldn’t read the street signs before it was too late for me to make the turn I had been looking for.
I knew I couldn’t really see but yet I did nothing to fix it. Except bitch about it. But in the end, bitching didn’t help me see. All bitching really did was get friends to volunteer to drive when we carpooled. Probably due to a fear of dying while I was at the wheel. And while I did not get into any accidents, I did have the opportunity to frequently drive around the suburbs and wonder “Where the hell am I?”
But in December, my dear sweet husband poked me in the eye. Hard. Like bleeding hard. Like I had a headache for a week hard. Like if I thought signs were blurry before I had no idea how bad it could be hard. Like it is impossible to look sexy when one eye is red hard.
After several years of complaining, I finally made it to the eye doctor. I always had a reason why I couldn’t go. I wasn’t paying for vision coverage. My health insurance wouldn’t cover it. I didn’t have enough money. I didn’t have enough time. I made an appointment right after I graduated from college but then the office had a power outage seconds before I was called back and then I never rescheduled my appointment. It would take a poke in the eye.
And of course, Brian had poked me hard enough (by this time I was more prone to use the phrase “brutally stabbed me in the eye with his finger”) that the doctor could not perform an eye exam, he could only make sure my eye wasn’t damaged. Two weeks later, I made it back for my first real eye exam since the nurse’s office in elementary school. And two weeks after that, I had my very first pair of glasses. Which make me look very smart and very sexy, thank you very much.
And then, I could see what was right in front of my face.
It turns out my vision was no where near as bad as I thought it was. I only have a slight astigmatism in both eyes. It can be corrected with glasses. It is not a big deal.
But my frustration and my inability to act until something was really wrong made it a big deal.
Bitching is really just a lot easier than actually getting up and doing. Doing take effort. Doing takes desire. Doing takes a decision.
Bitching just takes your motivation. And who really needed that motivation anyway?
Bitching also robs you of your dreams. When you are too busy complaining about what you don’t have, what you don’t want, what everyone else has, you have no time or energy left to dream and then take the necessary steps to achieve those dreams. The negativity sucks your ability to achieve and leaves you with nothingness.
Glasses for my face somehow turned into glasses for my soul.
Rebecca said...
1I have a hard time doing those small things. “My frustration and my inability to act until something was really wrong made it a big deal.” love that quote. Totally true.
02/8/09 2:39 PM | Comment Link