Seeing the Possibilities

The Roman poet Horace once said, “Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant.” Ever since I stumbled across this quote in my English class, I have contemplated its meaning and all the ways in which it relates to me.

Recognizing that everyone’s situation is different, I share with you how these words have inspired me with the hope that others may find some inspiration in them, too.

I am seventeen years old and a junior in high school. I focus much of my energy on school and my possible future career as a classical singer. I have a loving, tight-knit family, including a twin sister who is basically my other half. On most accounts, I could be considered a typical teenager, but that description omits what is perhaps my most defining characteristic.

I have about 20/300 vision after correction. Shortly after my birth, I was diagnosed with retinopathy of prematurity, or ROP, and suddenly the question of whether or not I would grow up with any vision wasn’t set in stone. I have heard stories of what it was like for my parents, traveling back and forth from New Orleans to Detroit with two small infants, one of whom was in and out of surgeries and examinations for the next few years. I can’t imagine the things they must have been feeling--was it fear? Desperation?  I’ll never truly know.

Yet sometimes I find myself wishing that I could travel back in time and meet my parents in 2004 or 2005, at that old apartment we used to stay at near the hospital in Royal Oak, if only to tell them that everything would turn out alright.

I know that I can’t do that. But I can reassure other parents in the world who have a young child diagnosed with a retinal disease that their child’s visual limitations don’t have to be life limitations. He or she can grow up to be valedictorian; to love singing, or dancing, or writing fantasy novels; and to contribute to the lives of others. There is only a small limit to what we, as children with disabilities, can do, as long as we don’t let our disabilities limit us.

My dad has always told me, “You can do anything you set your mind to.” When he says this to me, I have two responses: I either smile and nod graciously or I laugh and tell him that there are many things that I cannot do. I cannot, I might say jokingly, be a neurosurgeon–not with my limited vision. Or, more solemnly, I might say that I cannot drive a car. I am a realistic person, and I have come to accept these things as facts, even if the latter has been a particularly difficult concept for me to grasp as I watch my sister and friends earn their driver’s licenses. But the purpose behind my dad’s words is not to have me acknowledge what I cannot do. It is to encourage me to imagine what I can do, and to pursue that endeavor with all the drive and steadfast dedication I can muster.

Previously I mentioned that I am currently focused on one day having a career as a classical singer. In my dreams this might involve performing Puccini’s La bohème at the Metropolitan Opera. Realistically, however, it might involve earning a doctoral degree in vocal performance and teaching at a university. Either way, there is little in my life more important to me right now than improving my skills as a singer and performer.

If I stop to think about why I have gravitated toward singing in this way, I could try to convince myself that it is only because of my mom’s unwavering encouragement and support, because of my wonderful voice teachers, or because I greatly enjoy singing. All of these statements are admittedly true. But I believe that there has long been an underlying factor not tied to these other reasons, namely that I feel that my vision does not hinder my abilities to sing or perform in any way. Of course, I must read sheet music using the magnifying camera on my phone, and I have noticed after watching videos of my performances that the involuntary movement of my eyes--called nystagmus--can occasionally make it seem as though I am unfocused or distract from the emotional connection I am supposed to have with my audience. Still, these things are beyond my control, and, though it would be nice to imagine what life would be like without small problems such as these, I refuse to let myself dwell on them for too long. I refuse to let myself think that I cannot be a performer--because I can.

While we certainly cannot control the disabilities with which we are born, there is still something that we can control. It is something I have found to be immensely important in ensuring that my life is full and productive.

Adaptability.

Above all else, we can control how we adapt to certain situations, and, for children who are visually impaired, adaptability is key. We must take what we cannot do one way and ask ourselves, “In what other ways can I do this?”

I have lived my whole life asking myself this question. If, for example, I am starting the year at a new school and am worried about finding my way around on the first day, I take a tour before school starts and memorize the location of each of my classrooms. If I need to read the menu at a restaurant, I pull out my phone to use the camera--in the same way that I read sheet music. If I need to read the screen displaying flight times at an airport, I take a picture with my phone and zoom in on the photo, a practice which has helped me as I travel to and from Detroit for annual appointments. In this sense, I can control almost anything I do, without allowing my limited vision to prevent me from doing it.

In less than two years, I will be attending college, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about living independently. In fact, that is what scares me the most, rather than the difficult college courses or having to make new friends. Still, for as much as I talk about adaptability, I would also be lying if I said I didn’t depend on other people for help. There is probably no other person that I rely on more than my twin sister. We can quite literally do everything together, and she is almost always there to help me in an uncomfortable situation. I know this won’t last forever, but I also know that depending on others, be they family, friends, or a random person waiting in line beside me, is perfectly acceptable--and advisable. After all, the ability to walk up to a stranger and ask for help reading the signs above the isles at a grocery store or the price tag on a pair of jeans is a form of adaptability. I am no less fulfilled as a person due to these interactions. To the contrary, they can be rewarding.

All in all, visually impaired children--and their families--should believe that there is always a way to succeed at the task at hand. It may seem as though the impossibly large obstacle that stands in the way of such success will never relent, but this does not have to be true, for this obstacle can be impossibly tiny, and, instead of promoting failure, fuel the greatest successes children can imagine. Such “adversity” should not be the weight that holds children down. Instead, it can help them grow and develop their talents—it can help them succeed in whatever ways they dream.

~ Jennifer Z.