Incomplete College Essay (will repost upon completion)
I am legally blind in my left eye. I don't have the closure of a completely blind eye or the lucky cure of contact lenses. With my eye, I am in the rather hopeless position where I can see through blurs, but I can't fix it with surgery or modern lenses. And every time I have to explain my eye, it takes five minutes that otherwise could be spent having pleasant conversation or friendly yet heated debate. In this place between blurriness and clarity, I have discovered the ability to create a balance between the opposing forces in my life. From this, I have found a freedom solely my own. Though I border along the Zen with the yin yang nature of my commentary, my scales of internal justice prevent me from tipping over into oblivion, all thanks to my cosmically unfair (or is it?) left eye.
My eyes offer me the opportunity to see the big picture first then focus on the details. By simply letting my right eye close and let my left eye do the work, I can see the basic outline of things, getting a feel for the shapes and basics of what's going. But when I need to focus on the details, I simply open my right eye and see the whole project come together. With this ability, I can lead and plan effectively, manage and value responsibility, understand what is happening around me with calm effectiveness, and somehow keep a sane head in a rather insane society.
But I only discovered this skill thanks to a favorite artist of mine, Dale Chihuly. On a restless Sunday last November, after my mom's then-recent diagnosis of cancer, I had to get away from the house. I had spent the whole week tending to my sister's state at the news and working extra hard around the house to make things cheerier with my extremely poor (but highly comical) Jeff Foxworthy and George Bush impressions (which worked fortunately to my understated but effective comedic genius). But after forcing smiles for a week, I needed to get out. Roxanne (my 1998 cherry red Honda CRV with squeaky brakes named after the heroine from Cyrano de Bergerac) and I flew as fast as we could, trying to find a place to relax. Realizing that that I only had a $10 bill in my wallet, my fantasies of a pleasant solitary lunch on Palm Beach Island were murdered and less expensive ideas mulled around. Eventually I ended up choosing a local Cuban tacqueria that my Spanish Honors Society often visited. Tulipan and I reunited with pastries galore. But still, my restlessness refused to depart, even after my stomach's growling ceased. Realizing that my local art museum had Saturday free admission to county residents, I decided to enrich myself culturally at the Norton. After wandering aimlessly around expensive paintings and sculptures created by probably European pompous sounding names, I strolled into the room that quite possibly changed my perspective forever. Above my head was a glass ceiling, and resting above me were beautiful, colorful, vibrant pieces of blown glass blown in the shapes of the sea: eels, fish, sea fans, coral, giant clams, seaweed and all that live in the deep blue.
Mr. Chihuly is a world famous glassblower who is coincidentally blind in his left eye as well. Of course, he's in a similarly strangle-worthy position as well. Back in 1976, he was in an auto accident that robbed him of his sight and his depth perception in his left eye. For those who are not familiar with glassblowing, you need depth perception or you will get horribly burned by molten hot liquid glass. From that fateful accident '76, Dale Chihuly was robbed of his ability to create his own art, currently guiding a team of artists to execute his glorious designs. Notably, many artists have schools or teams to make art to sign their famous names onto, but Chihuly can never make his own art again. The choice that is human's natural right, to do or not to do, was ripped from him. If that isn't a cruel act of God, I don't know what is.
I, however, have depth perception. This is the one small gift that my lack of closure has granted me. I can still function on a normal scale because of my depth perception. I've excelled at sports, can drive a car, and live like a normal person.
My eyes offer me the opportunity to see the big picture first then focus on the details. By simply letting my right eye close and let my left eye do the work, I can see the basic outline of things, getting a feel for the shapes and basics of what's going. But when I need to focus on the details, I simply open my right eye and see the whole project come together. With this ability, I can lead and plan effectively, manage and value responsibility, understand what is happening around me with calm effectiveness, and somehow keep a sane head in a rather insane society.
But I only discovered this skill thanks to a favorite artist of mine, Dale Chihuly. On a restless Sunday last November, after my mom's then-recent diagnosis of cancer, I had to get away from the house. I had spent the whole week tending to my sister's state at the news and working extra hard around the house to make things cheerier with my extremely poor (but highly comical) Jeff Foxworthy and George Bush impressions (which worked fortunately to my understated but effective comedic genius). But after forcing smiles for a week, I needed to get out. Roxanne (my 1998 cherry red Honda CRV with squeaky brakes named after the heroine from Cyrano de Bergerac) and I flew as fast as we could, trying to find a place to relax. Realizing that that I only had a $10 bill in my wallet, my fantasies of a pleasant solitary lunch on Palm Beach Island were murdered and less expensive ideas mulled around. Eventually I ended up choosing a local Cuban tacqueria that my Spanish Honors Society often visited. Tulipan and I reunited with pastries galore. But still, my restlessness refused to depart, even after my stomach's growling ceased. Realizing that my local art museum had Saturday free admission to county residents, I decided to enrich myself culturally at the Norton. After wandering aimlessly around expensive paintings and sculptures created by probably European pompous sounding names, I strolled into the room that quite possibly changed my perspective forever. Above my head was a glass ceiling, and resting above me were beautiful, colorful, vibrant pieces of blown glass blown in the shapes of the sea: eels, fish, sea fans, coral, giant clams, seaweed and all that live in the deep blue.
Mr. Chihuly is a world famous glassblower who is coincidentally blind in his left eye as well. Of course, he's in a similarly strangle-worthy position as well. Back in 1976, he was in an auto accident that robbed him of his sight and his depth perception in his left eye. For those who are not familiar with glassblowing, you need depth perception or you will get horribly burned by molten hot liquid glass. From that fateful accident '76, Dale Chihuly was robbed of his ability to create his own art, currently guiding a team of artists to execute his glorious designs. Notably, many artists have schools or teams to make art to sign their famous names onto, but Chihuly can never make his own art again. The choice that is human's natural right, to do or not to do, was ripped from him. If that isn't a cruel act of God, I don't know what is.
I, however, have depth perception. This is the one small gift that my lack of closure has granted me. I can still function on a normal scale because of my depth perception. I've excelled at sports, can drive a car, and live like a normal person.