DoubleVision Blog

Dedication: As Mother’s Day approaches, I’d like to dedicate this post to our beautiful mom, Judy. While many people wait to eulogize their loved ones after they’ve passed from this earth, I like the idea of letting people know the impact they’ve made while they’re very much alive and well! And what better way to do this than through story? I love you, mom! Happy Mother’s Day!

I have been lost many times in my life. The first time I can remember feeling truly lost, that is to say to the point of trepidation, I was in 6th grade wandering around the historic district of my hometown in the middle of the night. 

Jenelle and I were at a slumber party, and one of the girls had the brilliant idea to sneak out to go pranking, which basically amounted to a gaggle of girls parading across the nearby college campus, each armed with a roll of toilet paper. We never actually had the chance to T.P any houses, as 10 squealing middle school girls carrying rolls of toilet paper through a well-lit college campus was as sneaky as a teenager sounding a loud alarm as they climb out of the window. 

“What do we have here?” A student security guard asked as we all began to run, dispersing in all directions. “Toilet papering…..how cute!” The guard roared sarcastically. 

I ran and panted and ran some more until I knew was safely away from both the campus and the guard. It was only then that I realized I was all alone. And, as if on cue for the moment, it began to rain. 

Having night blindness, I couldn’t decipher where in the neighborhood I was. I searched frantically for any kind of recognizable landmark in this neighbhorhood that I had grown up in and walked regularly to school in, but the evening sky had transformed it into an unrecognizable world.

Since there was no such thing as a cell phone in 1989, all I could do was walk up and down the streets, tears streaming down my face with the rain, thinking about how very stupid I was to have not kept up with the other girls and how worried I was that my twin, who had also been with us, may also be out there, lost. I wandered the streets for what felt like hours, and slowly the initial terror of realizing I was lost subsided, and I honestly didn’t feel as afraid as one would think.

Reflecting on the scene of my young self wandering the darkness alone at night, I recall a underlying assurance that I wouldn’t be lost forever.

I credit my mom for this, as she raised me with a very counter-cultural view of getting lost. If we were driving somewhere and she didn’t know where we were, which seemed to happen quite often in the years before Google Maps, she would always say, “We’re on an adventure!” If my mom said this when we were running late, which also happened quite a lot with 4 of us girls to wrangle, this phrased irritated me. I didn’t want to be on an adventure. I wanted to be at my destination. On time. 

Fast forward to April 2022, and mom’s words pop into my head as I wander through wooded paths with my guide dog, Roja, trying to find my way to an Earth Day fair where my husband and daughter are waiting for me, and I am very much on an adventure. 

I am proud of Roja for guiding me through busy streets and onto the pathways, but I have just received a call from my husband, who has been watching my little GPS dot on his phone, telling me I should have turned left at the bridge. This would be helpful information except that I remember crossing two bridges. I am fairly certain they were two different bridges, not the same bridge twice. But what if I was just circling? 

I reverse directions and tell Roja to “hop up”, the command given when a dog is distracted, and since there are all kinds of new, delicious smells in the woods, she is very distracted. We’ve been a team long enough, however that she tunes in when she senses I’m distressed or in a hurry, so she becomes highly focused and leads me with stubborn certainty to the left, and it’s only as the tip of my left foot is touching the surface of the bridge that I realize she has led us to the exact right spot. I am tempted to shout to anyone within ear shot “Look what my perfect guide dog just did!” 

But as we exit the bridge she leads me with just as much certainty to a nearby pole and begins licking it. “Hop up, girl!” I redirect, and we are on course again. 

At least I think we are headed in the right direction, but I am not certain. As the path winds, I think about how often in my life I feel uncertain. Did I choose the right career path? Am I parenting my daughters the right way? Should I have avocado toast or steel cut oats for breakfast? 

I ponder these questions and inhale spring air. I think about a good friend who has told me she feels lost in life, and it sinks in how often we as humans encounter this lonely feeling. 

I look down at my gorgeous yellow lab and I think about all of the many pathways she has guided me on, and I feel like dancing. I think about how I’ll probably need to retire her in the next year, and I feel like weeping. I think about my peacemaker mom who taught me to take risks and trust the journey. I think about how very present she is in my life and how, if nature takes its typical course of parents passing before children, I won’t always have her physically with me. The thought shortens my breath, and I have to remind myself to inhale and exhale. And then I hear something from a distance. I realize it is music from the Earth Day festival and a sure sign that I’m on the right path. It makes me think about how we all need little signs from time to time to remind us we are on the right path, just like the shouts of my 6th grade friends as their dramatic search party discovered me wandering the streets back in 1989. I think about how my mom has given me those reminders throughout my life and about how I can pass those reminders on to others. 

So if you’re feeling a little off course today or this week or maybe for quite awhile, know that you are not lost. You are merely on a grand adventure called life, and there are no wrong turns.

April is often an unpredictable month with budding tulips followed by a fresh blanket of snow. I notice my moods seem to mirror the twists and turns of these weather patterns as I grieve the recent loss of my beloved furry family member, Wrigley.

While the grief of Wrigley’s death is new, the unpredictable nature of grief feels familiar. The ongoing adjustment to slowly losing vision has shown me that no one feeling is final. Grief becomes both an expected and unexpected experience.

In many ways, April feels like a metaphor for life, reminding us that change is always in the air. With change comes loss, with loss comes grief. We long for what has been lost. This is indeed the human condition.

In my work as a grief counselor, I know that grief comes in waves. In my experience as a grieving human, I have felt the push and pull of these waves. Although grief is part of the human condition, the way we each grieve differs. There is no “right way” to experience grief.

As April comes to a close, I am grateful for what this season teaches us about change. I find myself simply sitting with what arises, moving with and through each emotion. These feelings can be uncomfortable, so it is tempting to resist them, but as Sadhguru says, “if we resist change, we resist life.”

“We are total badass mountain women!” I called to my aunt Beth as she turned to watch me triumphantly lift one clunky snow shoe over a thick log blocking the trail, my second foot coming in for a shaky landing beside it. We both laughed, knowing we probably looked nothing like badasses trudging our way through tattered trails layered up in winter gear like mummies. But sometimes internal feelings are more important than the external reality.

If you’ve never been snow shoeing, picture wearing giant flippers over your boots, only the flipper parts aren’t floppy or malleable and are located in reverse, trailing behind your boots like slight paperweights with deep grooves that dig into the snow to keep you from sliding. It amounts to quite the workout, as you must lift your giant, backwards clown feet up high in order to avoid the snow shoe attaching to random branches, and when walking slim paths in which one foot is placed narrowly in front of the next, a snow shoer must take extra care not to step on the back of their own snow shoe, thus tripping oneself. And yes, I know these details from several failed attempts at badassery.

Continue reading “Midwinter Break Musings on Badassery, Vulnerability and Strength” →

 

Listen now – “Emotional Adjustment to Vision Loss: Twin Perspectives – Hadley Presents”

We recently had the pleasure of sitting down with Marc and Ricky from Hadley for a conversation about our ongoing journeys adjusting to vision loss. We share experiences from as far back as our original diagnosis all the way to the present as we dive into some of our favorite topics surrounding emotional healing and disability.

If you haven’t checked out Hadley’s podcast before, it’s full of engaging discussion and tips. We’ve also recently discovered Hadley’s resources and courses. Stay tuned for future posts on courses we’ve found helpful. Feel free to comment on anything we discussed  below, or email us at mail@doublevisionblog.com.

As Joy and I collaborated about blog post ideas for 2022, I came across a meaningful story from one of our favorite authors, Elizabeth Gilbert. I noticed a physical shift within my body as the story unfolded, a release of tension and a renewed sense of hope. It was exactly what I needed at the start to another year filled with uncertainties. Sharing this story with our readers in hopes that 2022 brings fresh opportunity to illuminate your world.

“Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated with one another, with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom.”Folks,” he said, “I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here is what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight, just leave them with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I will open the window and throw your troubles in the water.”
It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who had been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?
Oh, he was serious.

Continue reading “You Are the Light” →

I’m hot. My face. My throat. My chest. The heat seems to be traveling down my body. Or maybe up? It’s hard to source because the heat is consuming me. Everyone is waiting. I feel their eyes through the computer screen. They are waiting for me to click a button. And I can’t find the button. My mind knows exactly where to click, and it should take two seconds. But my eyes aren’t cooperating. It’s taking two minutes and counting. It feels like two hours.

“Joy, if you go to Participants, all you have to do is click on the arrow next to the ‘More’ button, and arrow down to ‘Make Host.” Then, I’ll be able to share my screen,” my Regional Coordinator says as if I’ve new, as if I don’t run virtual meetings regularly five days a week.

“Yep, I’m working on it,” I say like responding to someone who asked me to take two simple steps toward them as I stand still, staring at them.

“You can also just right click on the box where my face is.” My RC sounds stressed, probably regretting making me begin the meeting, so that I could lead us in a relaxing mindfulness exercise. I thought she was going to make me “Co-host”, but for whatever reason, she clicked on “Make Host,” and now the only way to continue with the dozens of slides she needs to share within a tight timeframe is for me to click a button.

My RC is unaware that what can be a simple walk to the corner, to me sometimes feels like a hike up Mount Fuji. I manage to drag my giant mouse icon to the “More” button arrow, and I arrow down to “Make Host.” I sense relief. Then as I move slightly off-course, the drop-down options disappear. I nearly reached the mountaintop and it feels as if someone has whisked me back to the base.

Continue reading “Working With Heat” →