Trask Avenue

I recently purchased my first pair of prescription sunglasses. For years I avoided getting non-OTC sunglasses out of some hardened notion they were neither cost-effective nor necessary. Since forever my various pairs of Ray-Bans have been stalwart companions, filtering sunlight while I silently cosplayed as a rogue fighter pilot bolstered by a testosterone-fueled nickname.

I only use corrective lens for distance, primarily for non-handheld screens or driving. Well, I don’t wear sunglasses whilst in a darkened room watching a film or, more likely, videos of cats gone wild. My cars have always had a roof which masterfully blocks most light. I occasionally drive directly into the sun’s unforgiving glare, but when that happens the Ray-Bans are fine. I just pop them directly over my eyeglasses until cloud cover or sunset or an unexpected thumpity-thump takes care of it. I may look like a mad scientist with shades upon specs, but it works. It has the added benefit of disarming the road ragers. When someone simultaneously wears multiple eyeglasses, they must be crazy, right? And crazy folks don’t like dealing with their own kind. More than anyone, they understand the risks. Best they move along and focus all that intense energy on the predictable crowd.

I lived this semi-charmed sight life for decades. Non-shaded prescriptions for distance clarity, generic Ray-Bans for brightness mitigation. There was no long-term desire to change. Routine is a seductive narcotic and it affords a substantial deterrent to even considering change. Me and my multiple pairs of eyewear bumbled along with the righteousness of a cultist, blissfully ignoring the obvious in full-throated defense of the bewildering.

The temptation to reject something simply “because” is alluring, isn’t it? People advised me for years about a better way, but I always shut them down with no consideration. My feelings insisted their logic be damned. It is far more comforting to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we always have rather than slashing through the thicket in search of a new path. Each time I replied, “No, I’m fine with doing it my way” a little hit of adrenaline would burst forth and further mess with my psyche. Dopamine is dope, so I ignored what was in my self-interest to experience the fleeting sensation brought by rejecting suggestions from people who care about me. That’s weird.

It was especially odd since I knew in my secret heart the two glasses solution was dubious. But once you plant the spike of blind certainty in the ground it is hard to pull out. I suspect I could have lived with puzzled looks from strangers until it no longer mattered. But what eventually opened the curtains was my realization how irrefutably wasteful using two doohickeys was when one would work just as well. (People told me this regularly, but once you reframe something as your own not only does it seem more legit, it feels better and thus becomes easier to accept.) Like a pebble in a shoe, the wasteful angle could not be ignored – and it set off an internal revolution that would be noteworthy if not so insular, unmemorable, and insignificant. Suffice to say it was a messy affair filled with accusations, betrayals, and hair-pulling usually reserved for your more salacious reality shows. I emerged victorious against myself, complete with a revisionist tale skillfully justifying my past behavior (“I was financially prudent!”) while defending my new position (“I can see clearly and protect my eyes from the sun – and I don’t need to be driving to do it!”). Now whenever I step out donning the new shades, I revel in my cleverness for adopting the suggestions of others as if they originated with me. This may be delusional, but at least it is my delusion.