Maria’s line from the Sound of Music has often intrigued me, sometimes frustrated me in its seeming naivete, and sometimes has me humbled with it’s truth.
I was running along today listening to a podcast describing a couple’s adventure on a tandem bike. They biked hundred of miles across the country. He was blind, but the description of how they enjoyed their ride together was exquisite.
It got me thinking…wouldn’t it be boring for a blind person to cycle for hours on end across the countryside? After all, looking at creation is one of the joys of cycling. All it would be hours and hours of pedaling. My initial thought: Why bother?
But when one is running, there is time for pondering…and my thoughts drifted back to an experience I’d almost forgotten about. Years ago, when I worked at Misericordia Health Center’s Easy Street, we had clients who were blind and were asking to be prepared to go to a service-dog matching camp. Weeks of grueling work to have owner and dog get to know each other and work together—often they would need some fitness training, and confidence building to get them ready for the arduous program.
In preparation for relating effectively with these clients, the helpful folks at CNIB provided us with some mobility training. The training involved us wearing blindfolds and learning the same sorts of cane use and other strategies that blind people use to navigate the world. It was in January that we were trained, so one day we went to the Health Sciences Center labyrinth of tunnels to get some experience in walking streets with other pedestrians and traffic.
I remember at one point in particular, our instructor (who was behind us letting us do our thing but prepared to help out if we got into trouble) informed me I was to turn left at the next intersection. A fine idea. But how do I find the next intersection? This seemed an unreasonable expectation! She reminded me that we had more than vision to provide cues. Sure enough, when we got to said intersection, I felt a subtle cool breeze kiss my cheek. I don’t think I had ever noticed it during the hundreds of other times I’d been in those tunnels. The sound changed too—just subtley—but with my vision blocked, I was more sensitive to the changes that I had missed for years and suddenly they became very distinct.
I’m grateful for my vision—love seeing the flowers, the green trees, the smiles and crinkled eyes of loved ones. But that day, I saw how when one loses something familiar that has been long relied on, other things take their place. Sensations and feelings and impressions that were valuable and interesting–and would have been missed if I was ambling along in the usual way–through the “door” so to speak. When the door is taken away, the windows can be found–who woulda thunk they were even there? If one is open to the new things, willing to learn new strategies, and be ready to move past the loss of the door, windows open up the world in impressive and exciting ways. Opportunities exist even when conventional avenues close—if we allow ourselves to look and find.
Go—find a window!
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