The Rise and Fall of Glasses Mike

Whenever I start to run out of contact lenses, I flirt with the idea of wearing my glasses. This rarely lasts for more than a few days as I invariably come to the same conclusions. 

Glasses Mike, despite his air of erudition, is simply less comfortable than his counterpart. The thick rims irritate his ears and weigh heavily upon his levantine bridge. 

Perhaps most importantly, I cannot see as well as I can with contacts— especially at night. Traffic signals become as dying stars, Union Square a blinding constellation around which oncoming traffic or an approaching acquaintance are but strange apparitions. 

There’s a compulsion to treat common afflictions as routine because they’re handily managed by modern technology. Consider, however, the extraordinarily complex manufacturing and supply infrastructure necessary to deliver those two little discs of disposable plastic into your eyes.

If it all went down real bad, I seriously doubt that you’d get your biannual shipment of contacts. They are a vicious combination of disposable, custom, and technologically advanced. You might be able to get a pair of glasses or two in exchange for a half set of human teeth, but if that’s where we’re at, not being able to read the street signs falls well into my unifying theory of “you’ve got other problems.” 

Maybe there is, was, or will be a world in which the absolute clarity we’ve come to expect is not necessary. I can’t afford for my vision to be anything other than perfectly clear because I have to dodge traffic, know where people are to make faces at them, and read menus at sandwich places. 

But I then have no choice but to see the faces they make back at me. 

A long time ago I got a text from someone that went something like “hey, this is [REDACTED], we met at that thing yesterday. I got your number from my friend– I felt like we kept making eye contact. Do you want to grab a drink this week?” We had been at the beach and I had lost my contacts in the surf hours before; I wasn’t making eye contact with anyone because I couldn’t see six inches in front of my face. She saw a coy flirtation across a long table while I was trying to figure out which salsa was the spicy one. 

When everything presents itself with equal clarity, it can become impossible to determine what is truly significant. Glasses Mike is a liability, but he is unburdened. He can’t really see what’s around him, but only what emerges from the blur to present itself. 

In that way, there is some mercy in the blur.

There are indignities everywhere for those with eyes to see them. But if I pop out my lenses and make a home in the blur, I might just miss a few cathedrals.