Small Victories

If you looked through my eyes, you'd start to cry. And not stop. I have the least amount of vision possible: a small, dark periscope-view with no peripheral awareness. A physical limitation like this can plunge one into emotional despair. 

And yet... I'm not giving up. Buoyed by unfounded optimism and innate grit I push forward. Today, for example I achieved something I initially believed was beyond my ability.

After handing my beloved motorcycles to friends I'm now trying to sell my two cars. (A beautiful red convertible [2021 Mazda Miata] and sporty hatchback [2013 Fiat Abarth].) Obviously it'll be easier to sell them if they're clean, not dirty, but the cars haven't been driven in a year and have a thick layer of dust from storage.

I contemplated washing them. I quickly concluded I lack sufficient eyesight for that task. But then... today... I felt strong. Powerful. Irrationally exuberant. So I thought, "Why not try? What's the worst that can happen? I fail?" So I endeavored to wash my cars.

One thing you need to know to stand in my shoes is that everything -- everything -- is three times harder and takes three times longer than it used to. Activities now require searching for objects sitting in front of my face, misjudging and correcting distances from my hand to destinations, and cleaning up inevitable messes. At first these added burdens were dispiriting but I developed patience and fortitude. I gradually adopted a mental attitude of moving slowly and deliberately while expecting frequent frustrations.

Washing my cars wasn't easy. A job that used to take one hour expanded to three. Assembling materials, lugging our hose up from the basement, searching for a damn water-nozzle that mischievously hid itself on my workbench all complicated the project. Multi-step jobs like this are more easily abandoned than completed.

But I wanted it done. So I persevered and waded through cold pools of effort and annoyance. There were a few surprising bright spots like being reminded of the sinuous curves of my sporty vehicles whose bodies I'd lovingly handled in the past and feeling muscle-memory from those experiences. I instinctively knew when and where to move closer, deeper and probe the curved surfaces with my wet fingers and soapy sponge. 

Eventually I emerged from the driveway with two clean automobiles and a sweaty t-shirt. Best of all was feeling accomplished. I performed a task that might have defeated others in my condition.

And good news -- I didn't accidentally wash my neighbor's car. :)