Swimming

I spend twenty minutes every morning freewriting before the daily onslaught of startup work and college. My only rules for freewriting are that I don’t stop writing and that I don’t erase. Here is one of my (revised) freewrites that I found surprisingly helpful for my thinking.

 

Walking back from a morning swim without contacts is an interesting experience. I’m tired but content, wearing short swim trunks that reveal the whites of my thighs. I’m passing people in the gym and weight room, in the dining hall, and even on the stairwell up to my dorm. But I can hardly see them. My lack of contacts obscures the details from me. And in this part of my daily routine, that might be a good thing.

For some weird reason, I used to think that others judged me as I walked back from my morning swims. “Look at those short shorts.” “You don’t even swim, yet you get up at 8am to do so? Why?” These are obviously exaggerated, but I used to think that others were thinking these things; even I was sometimes thinking along these lines, so they had to be!

As it turns out, when I take off my contacts, I become oblivious to any judgment from the passerby. I only see a big fuzzy picture, without the nuances of people’s slight eyebrow raises that would imply judgment. I can’t even see if I know the people I pass, and I end up not caring about how many human blobs appear on my path. But for some reason, I still hear the criticisms. Where are they coming from? Then I realize that the voices are just me.

Now it’s not exactly a mind-blowing revelation that my insecurities often stem from my own attitudes rather than others’ judgments. Rather, what I find more interesting here is that I can learn new things from the same daily experiences by viewing them in less detail. Occasionally, taking off my contacts opens my eyes to the bigger picture and filters out noise that obscures underlying truth.

In general, I wonder what I could learn by running my life without contacts. How comfortable would I feel to let the details fall away and only see the big picture? Would this new perspective help me focus on greater vision in my life philosophy, and put me above day-to-day vicissitudes?

What would it be like to see only a big green-brown mass instead of a tree? To be surrounded by a mahogany space rather than a dining hall filled with ornate chairs and tables? Maybe details help me form stories and rationalize. Take the dining hall. How were these chairs designed? With a slight natural back arc, maybe the designer thought to support good posture. The chairs are wooden, yet light enough to be moved around, perhaps for the sake of intermingling. The tables part along a central walkway through which I can rush to class or stroll and catch up with everyone I know. The tables seat eight; maybe that’s the optimal amount of people for a nice dinner conversation?

Are these the details – the stories – I would miss by shedding contacts and a closer examination? Would I learn more or have clearer direction if I missed these random details and focused on the bigger picture? Of the random and coincidental details I’ve noticed already, of course I appreciate the stories behind them. But now that I’ve understood them, can I wrap them up in a nice black box since I know the lower level implementation?

Maybe that’s how vision, both figurative and literal, should proceed. Upon first sight, I study the fine details, then abstract them away and leave a fuzzy picture in my mind. Then every so often I put on my contacts and refocus these fuzzy pictures, as I gain more life perspective that helps me reinterpret the updated details.

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