Bifocals

 

My mother used to say “chin up” to me when I was convinced that I had been wronged. This simple phrase encouraged me to lift my eyes, and in turn, my focus shifted — not always willingly — to see further or deeper. When I was one of the final cuts from the eighth grade basketball team, I was devastated. While I am sure that my mother consoled me, she wasn’t one to let me mope around for too long. She pushed me to see that I wasn’t defined by basketball prowess (or lack thereof); there were other things I did well, and none of those attributes were going to simply evaporate. We are often told to “see the forest through the trees” when our gaze appears too narrow and we seem to be missing the point. But this doesn’t mean that one is more valuable than the other. The trees are important, and they rarely stand alone. With my quivering chin in the air, I learned that neither did I, despite being a scrawny eighth-grader who couldn’t jump or shoot very well.

Last week, our Lower School students had their sensory testing. Throughout the day, I saw students lining up outside one of the faculty rooms eagerly waiting their turns. Some will have “eyes like fighter pilots,” some will not, and a few may even be colorblind — but all will be challenged throughout their lives to embrace the beauty of focus and the balm of perspective that many vantage points can bring.

JWB