Some thoughts keep coming back—not because they’re true, but because we’ve stopped pulling them out. ⸻ I have a mole hair. It grows out of a small mole on my right thigh. It’s stiff, pokey, and no matter how many times I pluck it, it always comes back. The plucking part is not simple. Because of my low vision, I have to attempt it by feel. That means I need to accurately locate it and it has to be long enough to grab without grabbing the mole itself. Miss, and I pinch the ski

A story about low vision, inner resistance, and learning to meet ourselves with gentleness. It happens every time I have a morning shift. Without fail, I arrive at work at 10 a.m., and despite my alertness, caffeine intake, and good mood, my eyes refuse to cooperate. In case you’ve forgotten, I have low vision. Most days I get along just fine at work—even with my disability—except in the mornings. For the first hour or two of my shift, my eyes and brain argue. I give my eyes

A rushed October morning, the scent of fallen leaves, and a quiet invitation to let go. It was 9:30 on a late October morning, and I was hurriedly walking to catch the bus for work. The sky was a clear blue, the sun was still low, and the air had that crisp freshness that wakes up all your senses. As someone with low vision, I’ve learned to rely on my other senses to stay aware and experience the world around me. Like a dog, I’ll often stop and sniff the air, a bush, a boot t