If this post comes across as being inspired by my medical issues, it’s because it is. But don’t worry, I won’t bore you with an “organ recital.” It’s about seeing more clearly.
If it comes across as “pointed” at anyone other than myself, be assured that I had no one but me in mind as I wrote it. I needed the reminder for me, not for you. So… that said…
I’ve been thinking about my recent journey through cataract surgery, lens adjustments, and impending epiretinal membrane surgery. And yes, I actually know what that means now. One thing about lifelong learning is that the older we get, the more medical terminology we learn.
The more I’ve thought about it, the more I see my eye journey as a superb metaphor for lifelong learning. If you’ve never had the chance to ponder this, bless your heart. You will now.
My ChatGPT agent, who can be wrong but usually isn’t, says cataracts are one of the things we all deal with sooner or later. We don’t all experience them the same way, but if a person lives long enough, some degree of clouding in our eyes’ natural lenses will almost always develop. Of course not everyone lives long enough or develops enough clouding to require treatment. For what it’s worth, I hope you live long enough to require treatment. I have.
It’s not just about clarity. By the time we’re in our 40’s almost all of us experience some degree of lens hardening. We squint and resist glasses as long as we can, but eventually we need the glasses to extend our range of vision. We try to dress them up and pretend that those huge pink frames are just a fashion statement to keep us from looking older, but “everyone knows….”.
If you are an astute reader, you already know where I’m going with this. On the other hand, you could be an astute reader and not have a clue. My thinking is sometimes fuzzier than my vision, but indulge me and read on.
As we age, isn’t it rather common to let our thinking get a little less clear and a little less flexible? Our experiences become our lenses and if we never change the lenses, eventually everything new gets interpreted through the same old assumptions, increasingly clouded and inflexible.
Who among us hasn’t had an ancient relative who seemed to have made up their mind about nearly everything forty years ago and took great pride in never changing their opinion? “Once a… always a…” Now I am the ancient relative. Whaaaaat?
Here’s the thing with cataracts and thinking: They get less clear and less flexible without us realizing it for a while. Like the mythological frog in the slowly heating pot of water,* we get progressively worse off and don’t realize it until too late. As with eyes and ideas, we defensively swear we are right long after “everyone else” knows we’re going over a cliff. I mean, really, there’s no other explanation for someone paying a hundred grand to bring over a fantastic lover from Russia or Kenya. Right?
There’s a technical term for the gradual decline I can’t see in myself: “creeping normalcy,” although a less technical term might be the “What the heck do you think you’re doing” syndrome.
The problem with that is that in order to correct a problem, first I have to recognize the problem.
Fortunately there are skilled doctors out there who tell us when our cataracts are limiting our vision to the point of being a problem. If we’re willing, they can fix the problem with a simple surgery that breaks up the old lenses, sucks them out, and inserts new ones. “Huh!” we grumble as our sight instantly improves. “Maybe the kids were right!” Not that we’d ever say that to them.
Unfortunately, there aren’t so many skilled doctors out there who tell us when our mental acuity is getting cloudy and inflexible and is limiting our thinking to the point of being a problem. People might notice, and talk behind our backs, or might try to gently nudge us in the direction of some actual facts. They might connive to protect the last will and testament from ill-considered edits, but by and large we aren’t good at letting someone know their thinking has gotten so cloudy and rigid that they are a danger to themselves and others. On the flip side, I’m not so good at paying attention when someone tries to do just that.
As marvelous as this metaphor is, it has a flaw. With our eyes, change is welcome even if we have to overcome our reluctance to having our lenses broken up and sucked out . The results are personal and immediately visible, so to speak. We can see the improvement, so to speak. I’ve had no hesitation about saying to anyone who will listen, “I can see so much better now. The whole world looks different.”
For our thoughts/beliefs/opinions, it’s much harder. Change is less welcome and the benefits not so clear. Just like cataract surgery, we have to want it. Unlike cataract surgery, we are less likely to want it and the results aren’t so immediate. I’m not nearly as likely to run out of the room after a conversation or a class telling everyone who will listen, “I can see things so much more clearly now. I was wrong. The whole world looks different.”
So here is where I bring this home, for those of you who have been wondering if I ever would. Learning something new always changes how we see the world, including ourselves. Sometimes it does so drastically. Other times not so much, but it always changes us.
I believe it is impossible to say, “I want to keep learning, but I don’t want to see things differently.” If learning doesn’t change how I see things, I’m not learning. I’m simply a bystander enjoying the show. It would be like saying to my ophthalmologist, “I want you to tell me all about my problematic vision, but I don’t plan to do anything about it.”
You know who understands this really well? I mean, a lot of people do, but I just read about how the Taliban prohibits girls from going to secondary school or beyond. They know that a good education is one of the most powerful weapons anyone has ever had. It offers new lenses. The Taliban doesn’t want girls to see more clearly at any age.
You know who else understands this really well? Lifelong learners. They say bring it on. Tell me more. Clarify my thinking. Make my mind more flexible. Challenge me. Help me see the world through different lenses. Give me, every day, something that I have never thought about. Give me a chance to ponder how that changes things.
A class introduces an idea we hadn’t considered. Travel puts us in a place where our way of doing things is very clearly not the only way. A conversation with someone whose life has taken a completely different path can make us pause and think: “Well, I never looked at it that way before.”
It’s time to register for our fall term. I’m always inclined to register for courses that are something I know I will like. But here’s the hard truth: I often end up learning more from the courses that don’t look interesting to me or I expect to disagree with. They offer unexpected lenses through which I see the world more clearly and think about it more deeply.
So here’s my encouragement for all of us: By all means, enjoy courses this term that are right up your alley. But once in a while, attend one that isn’t. You just might discover a whole new world, bright and colorful.
*The frog story is a myth, but it’s been around a long time because it’s such a great metaphor for creeping normalcy. The truth is a frog dropped into boiling water will boil, and a frog sitting in a pan of water that’s getting hot knows enough to get out.
