The road to saying you ‘can’ starts with ‘cannot’

After years of putting off driving lessons, I recently decided to get started. Coming home after a period of powerful independence abroad, I craved the freedom to go where I wanted, when I wanted. The driving was easier than I expected and the lesson proceeded well. I soon found that infamous biting point, didn’t jump start and avoided taking out any pedestrians.
All was running smoothly until I hit a rather unexpected obstacle. The sight test.
Glasses have been an integral part of my life since the age of two. Ever since it was discovered that I had strong long-sightedness and a particularly pertinent case of astigmatism, I became used to drawing myself as a child with big, round spectacles. It didn’t bother me because it was what I was used. It was who I was.
As an adult, the first thing I do everyday is to reach for my glasses so I can read the time on my clock when I wake up. I’m so used to coming into the world a little fuzzy each morning that it never really occurs to me that my sight is pretty hazy.
But on the road, with me in the driving seat, it really did. I’d casually mentioned to my instructor that I wore contact lenses at the start of the lesson and so he made of a point of giving me the compulsory sight test. From twenty metres, he asked me to read the number plate of the car ahead.
I strained my eyes, and squinted and squirmed, but it was no good. I had no choice but to say to the instructor, ‘I can’t see’.
A simple a statement as this may be, with no obvious self-deprecation included, it struck me as a painfully honest reveal of vulnerability.
In the society we live in and the circles I mix in, I am so used to putting on a brave front. I courageously step up to challenges and bulldoze my way through difficulties with zealous positivity. Living abroad alone? I’ll learn to adapt! Making friends in new city? It’ll come with time! But seeing a car number plate from twenty metres with poor eyesight? I had no choice but to admit that it just was not possible. I can’t see.
Uttering the word ‘cannot’ is surely harder for the optimists among us who flow through life in a constant stream of ‘can, can, can’. The rupture of realising what I was simply unable to overcome came as a shock.
It wasn’t the inaccuracy of my steering or my gear changes that made me come away from my first driving lesson feeling weak. While the manoeuvres will come with practice, the sight will not. I had to face head-on a difficulty that I cannot change.
But after my initial tear and rant, I had to put myself in check. Difficulties that cannot change are not always such a bad thing. You learn to work around them.
I recalled appreciatively all the incredible sights I’ve seen on my travels. I’ve been fortunate enough to perceive vast mountain ranges, colourful flowers and opulent temples. I’ve watched busy-peopled streets, musicians in concerts and my friends celebrating their successes. None of these would have been possible if it wasn’t for the cleverly cut piece of plastic that sits in front of my eye. I can’t help but marvel this every time I put in my contact lens.
And of course, it could be so much worse. The very fact that I have grown so unaware of my vision prior to my driving lesson shows it’s not holding me back in my daily life. This is why coming across an instance where it did make a difference felt so uncomfortable.
As I relayed these thoughts to a friend recently, she asked me whether I would consider laser eye surgery. Despite my vision causing some upset, I genuinely do not think I would. Not only has my sight defined my identity from goggly-eyed little girl to hazy-morning-eyed adult, but it has given me my character.
When I reached the age of secondary school prom, I decided to give contact lenses a go. This brought an onslaught of futile attempts to wrench a small but spiteful piece of slippery hydrogel onto the surface of my eyeball. I came away bloodshot and beat near to ten times. However, when I finally managed to get my lenses in, it wasn’t just my sight that improved. It was my resilience.
By trying again and again to find a way around my poor vision, I learnt the power of perseverance.
A fortnight after my fateful driving lesson, it dawned on me. My zealous positivity which felt so unpowerful in the face of my poor eyesight, grew out of the dealing with that very difficulty itself. If it wasn’t for the weakness of my eyes, I might never have developed the strength to be an optimist. I came to know that with patience and perseverance, I could face things that were hard.
It was what I cannot do that made me realize what I can.
So as I get back on the road, wearing glasses this time, I’ll be prepared to stall if the issue of my sight comes back into my central vision.
If you’re an optimist like me, do think that your strength came from times when you were vulnerable?
