Like every other xennial woman in America, the first thing I reach for every morning is my phone.
I wish it were a journal.
Or a gratitude practice.
Or perhaps a moment of silent reflection while the birds gently wake outside my window.
It is not.
It is my phone.
Shortly thereafter comes the second thing I reach for:
My glasses.
Because apparently around age 43 my body gathered all the departments together for a staff meeting and announced:
“We’re reallocating resources. We’re taking all this seeing nonsense and putting that energy somewhere else.”
Where did the energy go?
Unknown.
The seeing department, however, has experienced significant budget cuts.
For years I survived with readers.
Not just readers.
An entire ecosystem of readers.
There was a pair in my purse.
A pair in the kitchen drawer.
A pair in the car.
A pair in the office.
A pair next to the bed.
Several pairs whose location remains a mystery to this day but will absolutely reappear the next time I move houses. Which is NEVER by the way.
The Amazon reader era was honestly delightful.
They were inexpensive.
They came in twelve-packs.
They were cute.
They made me feel sophisticated and bookish.
Like maybe I was the kind of woman who said things like, “Oh dear, where have I left my spectacles?”
Then one day my eyes said:
“This has been fun but we’re moving on.”
And seemingly overnight I went from cute little readers to full-blown progressive lenses.
No transition period.
No warning shot.
One day I could read menus if I held them far enough away.
The next day I was tilting my head around like a confused flamingo trying to locate the part of the lens that allowed me to see literally anything.
If you know, you know.
So I made an appointment.
The ophthalmologist, who could not have been a day over nineteen and very easily could have been one of my children’s friends, took one look at my suitcase full of Amazon readers and said:
“Let’s put the suitcase away and get you into progressives shall we?”
Excuse me?
Those are old people glasses.
I wasn’t emotionally prepared for old people glasses.
Apparently my eyes were.
He went on:
“You’ll actually want to do this while you’re still relatively young so you can adjust to them and navigate the first few days without risking a fall.”
Without risking a fall.
Sir.
I came in here because restaurant menus had become a group project and now you’re talking to me like I’m one icy sidewalk away from assisted living.
I stared at him.
He was blurry, but still.
He stared back with the confidence of someone who had never thrown out their back sneezing.
Unfortunately, he was right.
The first few weeks with progressive lenses feel less like vision correction and more like participating in an obstacle course.
Stairs become suspicious.
Curbs demand respect.
You discover that there are apparently seventeen different viewing zones built into your lenses and your job is simply to figure out where they all are.
The thing nobody tells you about progressive lenses is that you’re essentially getting three pairs of glasses stacked on top of each other.
I categorize mine as:
- Driving at night
- Netflix viewing
- Reading
Top to bottom.
It’s less “put on glasses and see” and more “locate the correct altitude for the task at hand.”
Need to read a text message?
Chin down.
Watching television?
Neutral head position.
Driving home in the rain at night while questioning every life decision that brought you to this moment?
Eyes up.
It took a few weeks, but eventually your neck develops the muscle memory of a flight attendant checking overhead bins.
Now I reach for my glasses almost as automatically as I reach for my phone.
They’re not a sign that I’m getting old.
They’re evidence that I got here.
Honestly, I think there’s something comforting about these little midlife upgrades.
Reading glasses.
Compression socks.
Magnesium on the nightstand.
The realization that comfort has quietly beaten cool in the rankings.
I’ve spent enough years pretending I could see restaurant menus in dim lighting.
Those years are behind me now.
Please pass the progressive lenses.
Things I Love
My glasses earn a permanent place in this collection because they make my life dramatically easier approximately twelve seconds after I wake up every single morning.
And unlike the readers, I only have one pair to lose at a time.
However, I have become somewhat of a glasses hoarder. A friend turned me on to Zenni and it was over.
Progress.
