I have been blogging a lot lately about the changes in my life. New job, new trainings, new charity work. I’ve also created new healthy routines, new eating habits, and fun ways to move, like belly dancing and walks to the pond. Lately, I’ve been listening to Johnny Nash’s “I Can See Clearly Now.” Released in 1972, the same year I was born, it feels like the soundtrack to this season of my life. I am seeing the patterns in my life more clearly than ever before.
In contrast, as I was starting to see my life more clearly my actual vision has been getting worse. At first, I blamed it on my new glasses prescription, but I found out recently that it is cataracts.
Today is the day of my cataract surgery. Since the surgeon was already going to replace my natural lens, he recommended a custom lens implant that would also correct my vision. Insurance won’t cover this portion of the procedure, but if all goes well, I could see better than I ever have in my life. I’ve lived with a particularly strong astigmatism for as long as I can remember, so the possibility of experiencing truly clear vision feels a little surreal.
I didn’t know what to think at first. I’ve worn glasses for as long as I can remember, and it took time to get used to the idea. I’ve always identified as the girl with glasses. Somewhere along the way, they became part of my identity. I’ve never seen my own face clearly without them, and that realization surprised me. It also raised an unexpected question: What if I don’t like what I see? Not just in the mirror, but in the absence of something I’ve considered part of myself for so long. It made me realize how easily something can move from being part of our lives to being part of our identity.
I’ve learned a lot lately about toxic identity. It’s what happens when a role, belief, wound, or story becomes fused with your sense of self. Eventually, you stop saying, “This is something I have,” and start saying, “This is who I am.” That’s when letting go feels terrifying, even when the thing you’re holding onto isn’t helping you anymore.
When I was a kid, I would have done anything for this opportunity. After years of being called “four eyes” by classmates, the chance to see clearly without glasses felt like something out of a dream. Even in my twenties, I explored vision-correction surgery, but my prescription put it out of reach. Back then, it simply wasn’t an option. So even though the cost is high, I decided to go ahead with it. After spending most of my life waiting for a chance like this, it felt like an opportunity worth taking.
It will be interesting to see where this leads me. Maybe instead of carrying around those computer glasses, I’ll be carrying a small magnifying glass to read labels at the grocery store. Whatever happens, this journey has already taught me something valuable: we are more than the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Glasses were something I wore, not who I was. Perhaps that’s true of many of the identities we cling to. Sometimes the clearest vision comes not from seeing something new, but from letting go of what was never really us in the first place. As it turns out, while I was celebrating how much more clearly I could see the patterns in my life, I was about to discover that my vision was changing too.”I Can See Clearly Now” wasn’t just the soundtrack to this season of my life. It was also a preview of what was to come.
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