November Goal Expanded

Learning to Rely on My Cane: A November Goal

My November goal of learning to rely on my cane is still in its early stages. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I can fully adjust to using it. The sound of the cane rubbing against the cement feels rough on my mind, a constant reminder of the change I’m adapting to. The truth is, I really only need the cane in the dark, but even that has been an adjustment.

Then there are the bumps and bruises—small reminders of what happens when I rush. Perhaps they could be avoided if I simply slowed down and focused on honing in on my surroundings. But patience is not my strongest trait, especially when it comes to myself.

This journey is teaching me that I need to be kinder to myself. Learning to rely on my cane isn’t just about mastering its use; it’s about accepting the process, the adjustments, and the time it takes to find confidence. I’m trying to remind myself that progress isn’t always perfect, and that’s okay.

For now, I’ll take it one step at a time, with my cane in hand for those dark moments and a little more patience.

Lost in plain Sight

Finding What’s Right in Front of Me: A Story of Adjusting to Life Without Peripheral Vision

There are days when I swear my keys have vanished into thin air. I put them down just a moment ago, right on the table. I know they’re there, yet somehow, when I look, I just can’t see them.

That’s life when you have no peripheral vision. You start to realize how much you rely on those edges of sight. For me, those edges no longer exist. The world I see is limited to what’s directly in front of me. Everything outside that range is a mystery, hidden from view unless I intentionally turn my head to look. But if I don’t remember where I put something, it’s like it’s disappeared from my world entirely.

It took me a while to catch on to what was happening. At first, I thought I was just getting forgetful. I’d set down my coffee cup or my phone, get distracted, and then spend the next ten minutes searching high and low for it. Friends and family would tell me, “It’s right there!” as if it was just magically invisible to me. And, well, it sort of was.

One day, after what felt like the hundredth round of hide-and-seek with my keys, I realized that I needed a solution. My keys weren’t vanishing. I was simply putting them down and walking away, unable to find them later because they were lost in those edges of my vision.

I started experimenting with “drop zones”—specific spots where I’d place certain items, like my keys, my phone, or my glasses. I started small, creating a small “landing pad” by the front door where I could always set down my keys. After