Seeing more clearly

Getting glasses and thinking about vision

I wear glasses now. After a lifetime of being told I have perfect vision, it’s an adjustment. One optician commented on how unusually round my eyeballs were. Most, and many healthy eyes, are slightly rugby ball shaped, so I was told this was a special find. He seemed very excited about it and showed the images to a student who let out a gasp. No one has ever gasped at my eyeball before or since. Another practitioner offered me the option of stopping the test early because there was nothing to explore that hadn’t already been shown to be ideal. So, more than having no problems with my vision, I was actively celebrated for how brilliant it was. My eyes were overachieving.

Why would an overachiever question their vision? I put the fuzz down to chronic fatigue for a few months. I also have a job that puts me in front of a computer a couple of days a week, so naturally my eyes would be more tired in those days right? And it wasn’t blurry. Just a little bit harder work, some days. I didn’t overthink it until I spotted a regular visitor - a feathered friend who lives nearby - and, for once, I couldn’t make the tips of his wings focus. I felt myself crane my neck forward and squint. I booked an appointment.

Are you familiar with the temptation to ‘win’ at your eye test? A not so distant relative of the desire to ‘complete therapy’, I think. A or B? I knew the ‘right’ answer, but it wouldn’t be true this time. I knew within the first few tests that something had changed. I braced myself. “I do think we can make a difference for you with a prescription” he said. “I can see these will be your first glasses and that might bring up feelings or questions. Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Having never worn anything on my face, I bought two, cheap frames to dip my toe in. One subtle, one statement. One ‘Oh, hi. Nice to meet you.’ One ‘Yeah, I definitely work in the arts.’ I considered this to be what an action research approach might look like in this case; start small, ask questions, wear the failures, let the process be iterative. My first ever pair arrived an hour before meeting an old friend for dinner and a gig. The first walk felt like being underwater. The change was subtle and nauseating. I swayed a little. “You’re looking at me funny - are they terrible?” I asked. “No! It’s just not like looking at the person I’ve known for thirteen years.” he said. I took my new eyes straight into a darkened room with a stage and a spotlight. The artist emerged at the top of the stairs and yelled the first tune to the rafters, a cappella. She was totally crisp, the rest of the room was hazy. It’s hard to know what was my new lenses and what just was. I decide just to take it all in.

A couple of months on, the way I feel without glasses is exactly the way I felt in those early days getting to know them: Subtle sway and discombobulation. A gentle sea sickness on land. The modes have switched - I guess I’m now accustomed to a new clarity. I notice my neck pain reduce, presumably from craning less and leaning back more. Softer muscles. Gentler engagement. Working less hard in some invisible ways frees up capacity for other things. Like reading. Constant lens cleaning. Looking at the creases more intricately.

This word ‘vision’ comes up a lot in the worlds I inhabit. In the realms of charitable objectives and organisational infrastructure, being clear on your vision is a prerequisite for starting. In the land of audits, how clearly the vision is communicated is a point for scoring. Politicians pitch their visions for a ‘better world’. I choose which vision gets my vote. In this workshop we will co-create a shared vision. Tell me your vision for this exhibition. What’s your vision for that? A steadfast and robust vision is considered somewhat synonymous with resilience in a tumultuous funding and delivery landscape. To question it is to potentially show fault or, God forbid, slow down. I see the phrase ‘updated vision’ at the top of the PDF file and wonder what that means. There’s no test: A or B? But could there be? What’s an annual review if it’s not about putting another lens on the page to see what shows up?

I trust bodies. I trust their chatter and occasional wisdom, so I accept the risk of this sounding cheesy or trite. I got glasses and it made me think about vision more broadly - Sure. It’s a leap. But I’ve been struck by the process, which is about supporting the function of a key body part, and it’s simplicity. How unsensational it has been. This is the most simply and directly I have been seen and supported in a change in my health and bodily function - that shouldn’t be striking but it is. I have written about the social and personal impact of bodies not being believed, and others have written reams about the years many people wait for diagnoses and support for access needs. But it turns out specs are in a category of their own. Around 59% of the UK population wear glasses, and in countries where the numbers are lower this is put down to reduced eye care rather than less need. I’ve joined the masses. People who need support with their vision are, it turns out, not the minority. It is, in fact, such a common and accepted thing to need help with, there are loads of well practiced pathways to support new vision. It’s not even a big deal. Changing how you see the world isn’t even a big deal. Taking the time to make the alterations is considered necessary and to not do so would feel uncaring towards yourself.

What if visions changed as vision does? What if as the wider body shifts, advances in maturity or experience, it was understood that the edges may blur and what was certain may become less so? What if it was the most standard experience - to pause, consider, update, respond? Support for the seasickness stage? Tools and community knowledge, free and accessible? Here’s an example of a potentially marginalising experience that’s gone mainstream. Fashion, even. I’m fascinated. I’m in the river of it with new labels, now: A person who got glasses in an afternoon but continues to live with scrappily understood chronic illness. A person who regularly collaborates in generative spaces with too much urgency and is also occasionally asked to proof read and re-approve a vision written three years ago with no urgency at all. The contradictions feel plain. I’m thinking about infrastructure, resourcing; what the ‘vision tests’ look like for more than just eyes and how cultures go about normalising some things and not others. I also just ordered my first pair of prescription sunglasses. Maybe I’ll write a part two on what this all looks like with a dose of added sunshine.

The first try on. Phone propped on my windowsill. Sent to my partner to introduce him to my new specs.