Vision Check

 

This eye chart hangs in the main entry/exit point of my house. It was originally hung as a functional joke when we were homeschooling and were talking once about things homeschool kids may miss out on by not going to more traditional schools. After everyone's vision was tested, I decided to leave it hanging because the memory of our eye test day made me smile. 

Over time, it became a symbolic reminder to me to check my metaphorical vision--both when leaving and when entering my house. I want to always ask myself: How am I seeing the world? How am I seeing the people I share my home with? Am I looking for the good? Am I letting any bias blur my vision? What can I do to improve my vision, inward and outward? 

Much later, I bought myself a beautiful bouquet of roses and decided to dry them once they were past their prime. There just happened to be a screw in the wall right above the eye chart, so I hung them there without much thought. Fairly recently, an admirer sent me some gorgeous flowers, and when they were beyond their display value, I plucked a couple of roses out of the bunch in order to preserve the memory of such a sweet gesture. Since I had kind of already set a precedent of hanging flowers to dry around the eye chart, I tied the newer ones onto one of the tacks holding it up. The whole scene became sort of artistic, and I have found that I love to look at it every day as I enter and exit my home. 

Not long ago, someone was at my house and saw the eye chart, which prompted questions, as you might expect. As I explained its presence and newfound purpose as a reminder to check my symbolic vision, I caught myself paying closer attention to the roses, and the symbolism became even deeper. 

When I pause to "check my vision," I see the big bunch of flowers I bought for myself, and I'm reminded how important it is to love myself well. When I do that, my vision is clearer and I can show up in the world as my very best self. And showing up as my truest, most authentic, best self, is not only a gift to myself but a gift to the whole rest of the world. 

A glance at the chart also allows me to see the smaller cluster of flowers, which reminds me that I do not have to do life completely on my own (which sometimes tends to be my default MO). There are people who care for me and can add beauty to my life. This bundle is smaller and hangs a little lower because I will never find true fulfillment and happiness in another person or group of people, no matter how wonderful they are. While others can contribute to positive experiences for me, peace and joy and love really and truly come only from within. The relationship I have with myself will always set the tone for every other relationship I ever have. And keeping this in mind also contributes to better vision for me. 

One thing both sets of roses have in common is thorns, and I did get poked a few times while tying up the roses to dry. Whether I'm examining myself and trying to learn how to love myself well or interacting with my fellow humans, I will experience some discomfort. But growing through that discomfort is what allows my vision to be refined so I can see what's truly beautiful. 

Without the roses, the eye chart hanging on my wall seemed a bit dull, in addition to just being weird (though privately entertaining for me). But when the roses, with their many thorns and their beautiful symbolism, were added to the eye chart--on a plain Jane wall, in the least beautiful room in my house--my vision improved so much more and a lovely work of art was born.  

Connection

My youngest son wants to be a blacksmith when he grows up. He told me a couple of weeks ago that he sure would like to go see a real blacksmith because he had some questions. Over the weekend, we decided to revisit the blacksmith shop that first inspired him, where they do public demonstrations and have some hands-on activities available. He was completely enraptured by the experience. And I learned some very important things from the blacksmith myself. 

First of all, he told us that blacksmiths work mostly by sight. They spend years learning to see when the metal is ready to be removed from the fire and when it is ready to be twisted or hammered or manipulated in some other way. The color of the metal tells them what they need to know, even when there are only small variations in hue. But looks, he said, can be deceiving to the untrained eye. He explained that eyes that don't know what to look for might observe that the metal has gone from glowing red to blackish gray and assume it is cool to the touch. Not true. Steel that looks cool may actually still be somewhere in the neighborhood of 1000 degrees. If a blacksmith wants to ensure the metal is cool, he will dunk it in a bucket of water, which will almost instantaneously take the heat out of it and solidify the work. When the blacksmith mentioned the high temperatures the metal was reaching (and staying at a while after it appeared "cool"), I questioned aloud why he was doing this work without gloves of any kind. He explained that steel is a pretty poor conductor of heat. So if he has a longish rod (maybe two feet or so), he can hold it in his hand and never really feel the heat of the end that had been submerged in the fire. But then he let us in on a little secret that felt truly profound. He said the main reason he didn't wear gloves while working was because he's a craftsman, and in order to make the metal do what he wants and become something useful or beautiful, he not only needs to visually observe it, he needs to be physically connected to it, to feel it. The more insulation he puts between his hand and the metal, the less accurate and precise his work and the more likely he would be to make mistakes. 

Connection has been on my mind a lot lately, and usually when something is rattling around in my head, the Universe shows up with all kinds of lessons on the topic in places I never really even expected to find them. Specifically, I've been pondering human connections. I've been wondering how to create them and how to strengthen them and how to keep them intact. I know connection is something I crave deeply, but it isn't always something I intuitively understand how to produce or maintain. And sometimes it's something I either actively avoid through a myriad of defense mechanisms or something I just don't invest the effort in, either intentionally or unintentionally. The blacksmith helped me understand connection a bit better, I think. 

First of all, I need to see--really see--the people I desire to make a connection with. And since connection isn't a one-way street, I need to feel seen--really seen--as well. I need to learn to recognize the subtle variations in what I see so I'll know whether a relationship is "too hot to handle" or whether it is has "cooled." I need to be able to read how malleable the relationship is and if it is in a place to become something beautiful or if it needs some tweaks. I can only get this kind of connection by investing time and energy and genuine attention. And I can only experience a true connection when the other person is willing to invest to an equal degree. Not only that: to have real connection, I must remove as many insulators as possible so I can truly be in touch with those around me. That means I will have to allow space for people to be vulnerable, and I will have to allow myself to be vulnerable as well. In-person, face-to-face connections will always be the most meaningful because they are by their nature the least insulated. They allow for the most contact as the art of the relationship unfolds. 

Interestingly, a few days before my visit to the blacksmith, I had looked up some Brené Brown quotes for inspiration. She is one of my favorite authors and one seriously wise woman, and on a day when I was feeling a little "blah," I thought she might have some words to help me rise above my limiting mindset. There were a few I added to my collection of quotes, but one really stood out: "To form meaningful connections with others, we must first connect with ourselves." And that little gem was swirling in my head as I exited the blacksmith shop pondering connection. 

I cannot create meaningful connections with other people until I learn to connect with myself. That means I have to stop insulating and distracting and disengaging from myself long enough and often enough to really get in touch with myself. I need to really see myself and understand myself so I can learn what the variations in my colorful emotions mean. There is always the potential to get burned, but the more I learn to trust the process, the easier it will become and the better craftsman I will be. There is a masterpiece inside me waiting to emerge, but I have to be deeply connected with myself so I know when to heat things up or cool things down or put in a twist or take a hammer to it. 

One of my great desires in life is to make meaningful connections with other human beings. In fact, I believe this is absolutely my main purpose in life. It is something I strive for in my home, in my job, in my social circles, and even in everyday activities like grocery shopping. Sometimes those connections come easily, but sometimes they are a struggle. I know now, after several years of learning and growth--and an important reminder in a blacksmith shop--that the first step to making those connections with others is to stop insulating myself from my own experience. I have to be really in touch with it, even when it seems like it might be a little dangerous or uncomfortable. Before I can connect outwardly, I must connect inwardly. That connection will help me create something beautiful of myself, which will help me fulfill my life purpose of making meaningful connections with others.