Darkness

Sometimes I walk in the dark.

When my vision went bad, it went fast. At the beginning of 7th grade I tested as 20/20. By the end of 8th grade it was 20/200. I couldn't sit in the back row anymore. I was squinting. I forgot what the world looked like in clarity, in detail--it was all a bit of a blur.

I got contacts, of course. I could see again, the glorious vision of individual leaves instead of green blob-trees. But my vision without help continued to deteriorate. Within another year or so it was 20/400. That's legally blind without correction. (Fortunately, correction works fine for me.)

I was 13. I didn't tell anyone, but I deduced, on my own, that it was just going to keep getting worse. I figured they probably wouldn't tell me, but at this rate I'd be really blind before too long.

So I started practicing. I'd close my eyes and navigate around my room, around my house. I'd find my way around walls and furniture with my hands. I'd pour drinks with my eyes closed, judging by sound or my thumb on the edge when to stop. And at night, often, I'd go through the whole house without turning lights on, testing myself.

I don't know when I started to believe that the worst wouldn't happen. But last night I went to check on Child after all the lights were out, and I realized I still do it. Not for the same reason: just to challenge myself. Have I paid enough attention to where all the toys are, where we left things? Do I remember the sharp jut of the desk here, the chair there?

I collect bruises, sometimes, but I keep trying.

Writing is like walking in the dark, isn't it? Especially for pantsers like me. I don't have an outline, a map, a light. I start with a character in a situation and I follow along. Walk bravely in the darkness to see where it leads me.

I collect bruises, sometimes, but I keep trying.