"Every person is destroyed when we cease to see him."
—Marcel Proust, Within a Budding Grove
I once knew a woman who lost her sight. I cared for her one or two afternoons each week as I paid my way through college.
I helped her read her mail.
I helped her make tea.
I kept her company. I watched her, and she "watched" me. I remember the day she shared with me her story. She woke up, looked out the window, and said to her husband with a sigh, "what a grey day." His silence confirmed what she had long been fearing. The day was bright blue and sunny. They say that when one sense falters, we rely more on the others to help us perceive our world. So what we may first consider to be a weakness, could actually be the very thing we need to build our strength. Every so often, I think of Mrs. Zelditch and her journey of learning to "see" again. Her journey of building new strength. Through her hands as they held your own and as they studied your face, finding the truth in you. Through her ears as she listened to your words and the spaces between them, looking for hidden messages that you weren't even aware you had. Through her heart as she felt the weight of your presence, measuring the mood you were in — your level of joy or worry or sorrow. In other words, Mrs. Zelditch only had room to take in what really mattered: the essence of you. A little more than two years ago my days went grey, figuratively speaking. I realized that I had forgotten how to see. So I bought a camera and I went on a journey. And 100,000 shutter clicks later, I have learned (once again) how to see. People, mostly. People I love. People I respect and admire. People I meet in cafes or on the subway or on the street. People pursuing Truth and Beauty. People who inspire me.
And when I am with them, I look for clues. To who they truly are.
I look for their love.
I look for their joy.
I look for their passion.
I look for their purity.
And when I see it, I click. When you look at your world and the people in it, what do you see?
