So last night Eric and I took the kids to The Christmas Train (not it's official name, but we're not in an office, are we? BOOM. Outsmart, From Me To You). The train goes through a series of light displays for about 10 minutes or so, and manages to amuse us every year, even though it means waiting 40 minutes in the cold to see what is in most of your front yards. That's maybe too cynical. It's pretty cool, and they even set up one of those fake snow blower things, which is a huge deal in these parts, even if it is just soap. Christmas Train. You're pretty dope.
I've noticed a major difference in what I can see since the first time I came, about four years ago. The light displays are still fun to look at, but more in a kaleidoscope of colors kind of way, instead of seeing the shapes and forms my kid talks about seeing. I enjoy it, even if it still scares me to walk in a dark, crowded park to get to the ride. The best part for me is when we go through the lighted tunnel, because my eyes don't get tired from having to scan. It just happens, all around me. Trrrrrrippyyyyyyy.
I've made it a priority to do things like this for myself. To not let my limited sight stand in the way of the experience has become a Mission Statement of sorts. It's why I still go to Disneyland, even if the rides aren't nearly as visually exciting as I remember. It's why I still want to travel to other countries, even if I don't get my breath taken away by the landscapes. It's why I still go on walks with my kids, and watch movies in the theater. I'm maybe not Using As Directed, but I enjoy the experience I do have, and I'm not ready to give all of that up. From what I've been told by others who have lost their sight, I don't really have to. It's different, but different doesn't mean bad.
Seriously, you guys, don't cheat yourself out of something just because you might experience it differently than others. Attend the opera, even if you don't understand Italian. Get a manicure even if your nails are short. Sign up for the half-marathon, even if you come in behind the 70-year-old woman with the walker (true story, but don't worry sis, I won't call you out on it). It's worth it, the Doing of Things.
Susie Sunshine, signing off.