In Defence of Blurry Vision

 I’m an advocate for blurry vision.

That may sound like a plea for imperfection. It may sound like I’m championing something that is inherently suboptimal. To the detractors of my statement, let me ask you: What’s so nice about crystal-clear?

I’ve made analysis my selling point. I notice details that stick out; constantly searching for flaws in others’ hard work. "For the love of a god, end this run-on sentence!" "This is not a proper noun and thus should not be capitalized." "Why do you insist on not using an Oxford comma?" Semantics, but if they jut out to me they most certainly will to the public. 

I scan, I pore over, I examine detail by detail. And then I do it all over again before I can say “good enough.” Communication, when done correctly, must be transparent. So long as I have my glasses on, or my contacts in, everything I analyze can be made clear. 

Why, then, is there a relief to walk around a city you know inside-and-out without perfect vision? Why do I recommend, nay, implore you to experience details hazily. Why do the details that surround me as I stroll blissfully unaware of the minutia feel invigorating? 

Well, it’s quite simple. For 30 minutes, I don’t have to think about where I am. For 30 minutes of drowsiness, I get to rest my weary eyes, my taxed mind, my omnipresent awareness. For a couple-hundred steps, this city doesn’t look like the place I’ve come to resent for its mundanity. Suddenly, the details no longer matter.

I’m afraid of a car. A certain car. I’m afraid everytime I see a car that looks like the car that causes palpitations in my timid heart. Let’s call it the ghost car. For those glorious, unaware minutes of the day where my glasses lay discarded upon my kitchen table as I lock the door behind me, every car could be the ghost car. Every set of headlights that cut through the dusk as a storm threatens to break overhead could be the lights of the ghost car. Which means that every car has the equal opportunity to not be the ghost car. I can’t tell. 

I’m not blind. I can make out the frames of vehicles and distinguish the unique light spacing of a Jeep as it flies down the street. However, with the unawareness comes acceptance that I don’t have to process that information. It doesn’t matter. It matters as much as the billboard that I pass everyday. I can analyze that billboard, look for errors or strengths when I have my vision bolstered artificially, but my natural sight forces me to neglect its advertising efforts. My natural state resists the pull of attention harvesters. 

I’m privileged to be able to engage in the world this way. Some need to be hyper-aware of their surroundings to keep themselves safe. Some need to know if the person walking towards them is a threat or not. I’m sure the laissez-faire nature of my awareness will strike me when I least expect it. That day wasn’t today, though. 

Today, I get to covet the haze.