I was born optimistic. But it wasn't unbridled optimism: Rather it was optimism based on looking good ways to proceed.
From the earliest age, I could see easy ways to improve on what the adults nearby me were ignoring. Take selecting a driving route, for instance. Most citizen naturally went the same way they had gone before whenever the mood struck them.
Plan your route with a map and pick a time when others are not driving, and the same trip can go faster and easier. Once you know the real conditions, be flexible. Don't sit stalled on the freeway when the way road is wide open.
More importantly, I noticed that when you do things effortlessly, your potential of life improves as well. But there was a challenge to my optimism; it was minuscule to improvements that I could facilely see.
There was an irony about my potential to see good ways to accomplish things: I easily couldn't see much unless something was a few inches from my face. I was legally blind but no one noticed it.
Here's a funny example: Whenever our house visited my great grandparents, I wouldn't put their binoculars down. I wanted to use those wonderfully adjustable lenses nonstop because I could see at a length so much good with them.
I was, however, puzzled, by the way that others always had to readjust the binoculars so much after I used them. What could that be about? Here was an early lesson that something else is going on worth investigating if others take a dissimilar approach.
In fourth grade a teacher observed me squinting close to the blackboard in the middle of assignments and taking notes like mad. She sent me to the nurse's office where I failed to be able to identify the big E at the top of the eye chart.
A quick trip to the optometrist soon left me sporting glasses that seemed a mile thick and with length vision that still wasn't very good. I favorite binoculars.
My mum promised me, based on her sunny optimism, that I wouldn't have to wear those awful glasses all of my life. She was sure that something good would come along.
She taught me an prominent lesson about the value of optimism a year later when she determinedly arranged for me to come to be one of the first children to wear taste lenses. Each time I put on my taste lenses for the next 50 years, I re-experienced the miracle and joy of being able to see clearly at a length all the time.
That daily recognition that good solutions could transform lives in miraculous ways led me to seek out how to help others who couldn't yet see the opportunities in front of them.
One day after about a year with taste lenses, my mom told me that someday I wouldn't have to wear the lenses any more. I couldn't figure out why she was telling me that. I loved my taste lenses! What could be better?
Of course, 50 years later with the benefits from cataract surgery, I have excellent vision without any glasses. Now, wasn't that worth the wait? My mother's optimism paid off!
Copyright 2008 Donald W. Mitchell, All rights Reserved
Squint Surgery Children:Inspiration For Nearsighted Optimists