Be me. Sitting in the eye doctor’s office, squinting at the blurry letters on the chart and wondering why “E” kept looking like a hieroglyphic symbol for “You’re getting old.” As a spry 46-year-old who still feels 18 inside (except when bending over to pick something up), I wasn’t prepared for the diagnosis that was about to come.
“Well,” said Dr. Spurlock, “it looks like you’re in the beginning stages of developing cataracts. Perfectly normal for middle-aged folks.” He said my eyes had a tinge of yellowing – whatever that means. It doesn’t sound too good.
Middle-aged folks? Did he mean me? I glanced around the room, half- expecting to see a group of people in their sixties nodding sympathetically.
But no, it was just me and my deteriorating eyesight.
“Wait a minute, Doc,” I said, attempting to inject some humor into the moment. “Are you telling me that at 46, I’m already middle-aged?”
He chuckled, probably at my expense. “Yes, indeed. But don’t worry, cataracts are quite common. In about ten years or so, you might need surgery to correct it.”
“Ten years?!” I exclaimed. “That’s plenty of time for someone to invent bionic eyeballs, right?”
Dr. Spurlock smiled. “Who knows? Technology is advancing rapidly. By then, you might be able to zoom in on your favorite TV shows with a blink or see in the dark like a superhero.”
Be me in 10 years. Ironman.
As I left the office, the weight of this new information settled in. Middle-aged with cataracts. How about that. I imagined myself in the future, perhaps with one of those sleek, high-tech bionic eyeballs. I could be the envy of all my friends, effortlessly reading fine print and spotting squirrels miles away.
“Look at that one!” I’d say, while my younger best friend – monsieur Josh Utley – pans around with his squirrel gun. I’d giggle. Mere mortal.
But until then, I guess I’ll have to make do with my trusty reading glasses and shadows around the letters on the TV. Yes, I’m a closed caption kinda guy. My house is just too dang loud. I went to Hamilton in Dallas earlier this summer and was irritated I couldn’t make out all the song lyrics. I’ve been a “kid off my grass” guy with my kids for a long time already.
I had a student ask me my skin care routine this year. Marveling at my “not too bad wrinkles.” Also, I love the seniors who always ask my age and inevitably respond with “wow, you’re older than my parents!”
There’s something to be said for the charm of aging naturally—even if it does come with a side of cataracts. And who knows? Maybe by the time I;m 56, I’ll be ready for that surgery and excited about the prospect of seeing the world with detailed informational breakdowns and dossiers of everyone who crosses my line of view – just like Ironman.
So maybe 56 will bring me those bionic eyeballs. But until then, if you happen to see me squinting at a street sign, just know that I’m not lost—I’m simply recalibrating my middle-aged eyes.
(Josh Beavers is a teacher and a writer.)