Sometimes bad eyesight is a blessing.

    A friend and I enjoy walking through a local cemetery together a few times a week, whenever our schedules and the weather allow. I often share things from recent podcasts that resonate with me, while she frequently updates me on her goals, aspirations, and intentions.

    One day recently, as we turned a corner, my friend pointed out a heron on the cemetery lawn. Just as she drew my attention to it, the heron began to take flight. It took me a moment to spot it, but when I did, I was captivated by the sight of its fully extended wings in stark contrast against the backdrop of the blue sky through the gaps in the trees. We paused our walk, savoring the moment and appreciating the heron's beauty.

    Unexpectedly, my friend let out a groan, expressing her disgust. Startled by her sudden reaction, the magic of the moment quickly dissipated. Confused, I asked her what had happened, only to learn that as the graceful bird ascended into the sky, it also relieved itself of its bowels. While my friend, with her quick mind and excellent vision, had initially brought the heron to my attention with excitement, the detritus it left behind soured her experience.

    However, here's the intriguing part—I had no idea!

    I laughed in that moment of realization. Suddenly it occurred to me that so much of the bliss of my experiences stems from my ability to overlook, discard, or just plain not see certain details. Thanks to my less-than-perfect vision (even with prescription sunglasses) I experienced a somewhat distorted yet marvelous version of the encounter. I was able to focus solely on the majesty of the heron's flight, immersing myself in the singular moment as it soared against the sky, slipping between the gaps of the trees atop the hill before us. I didn't notice the shitty part. And realizing that our experiences of the moment had been so different, made me think to note it on my phone to revisit the thought later. I experienced a confirming revelation at that moment. Perhaps it was just a bit of good luck that I couldn't discern the (ahem) crappy details, but it also highlighted an aspect of my nature for which I'm fortunate. I am in many ways blessed but poor eyesight and a soft memory might be underrated among them. 

    Thanks to my poor memory, I don't hold grudges for very long, against myself or others,  because whatever reason I might have to begrudge them doesn't linger in me with any great strength. I don't relive painful details because often I don't see them or have let them go. I'm just not giving undue importance to or trying to record the frequent but insignificant stuff of life. Now, there are certainly moments where I can recall in painful clarity when I have been hurt or caused hurt in someone I cared about. Those moments are thankfully few and far between and I'm grateful for those lessons. Still, I believe I'm a generally happier person for not seeing all the little slights and barbs that I know others feel deeply daily.  

    Working through the writing of this post, I'm considering the power of framing and storytelling. The unique power of a good story is often derived from a deliberate selection and arrangement of details, crafting narratives that captivate and impart meaning. Like finding a story in the experience of my hazy recollections and imperfect vision allowing me to appreciate the heron's flight. There is a potency in both selective foci and selective unfocusing, where the inclusion and omission of details both hold significance. In our own lives, the stories we tell ourselves and others shape our shared perspectives and experiences.

    While I cannot deny that my friend's attentiveness to details serves her well, personally, I choose to embrace my hazy recollections and less-than-perfect vision because allowing a wee bit of bird droppings to unravel a magical moment does not strike me as a fair trade-off.