Living Life as being a Cross-eyed Optimist

When I was 6 weeks old my mother noticed my right eye turned in. I think I was looking at my nose. People stick their faces all-around a baby's and I saw some real honkers on a number of the folks who were cooing at me. My guess is I wanted to make sure I didn't grow a Pinocchio schnoozola during MY countenance.
Fortunately, I didn't. A small beak has graced my punim for longer than five decades. Unfortunately my lazy eye saddled with me. Two surgeries later and my crossed eye (a condition known as strabismus) is not as noticeable, but it's there. Rather than fight it, I decided to embrace it.
The cross-eyed optimist has a unique strategy for looking at things and I desire to share that with you.
As many self-help authors and philosophers have stated, it is not what happens for your requirements, but your attitude about what goes on that matters. It makes me consider that joke about the kid who wanted a pony for Christmas. The child was a severe optimist with no matter how often his parents told the boy they are able to not afford a pony a child never lost hope. Finally, in disgust, the child's older brother wrapped up a box of horse manure. When the little optimist opened the stinky present instead of being upset he was absolutely gleeful. He excitedly exclaimed, “I found the poop, now all I have to do is find the pony that complements it.”
This analogy is usually meant as a slam against optimism, but I get the story encouraging. And whenever I think about it I hope that somewhere a hopeful boy or girl is getting the pony they wanted, even though they don't get it until they may be old enough to get one and shovel the poop themselves.
My world view is definitely a bit skewed. Due to my strabismus I never developed depth perception. My mother noticed something was wrong when I would have been a baby and I would reach for an object and miss it for the First Coast Living (http://Youtu.be/ZYkaiFUt2nc) and infrequently second attempts. This became more obvious when I was understanding how to drink from your cup. I would invariably knock the glass over. But, the nice parents that they are, they never yelled at me in regards to the spilled milk.
In time I learned to adapt. I occasionally bump into things, but I can drink milk without using it (more often than not) hit a tennis ball, catch a softball, play golf and perform variety of tasks without anyone being the wiser. Driving an automobile is probably the most trial I manage my insufficient depth perception. However, once more I've handled the issue. I have learned to become cautious, courteous and provides other drivers room enough. Tailgaiting is absolutely out of the question.
The outward appearance of living life with strabismus was more problematic. People would comment about it, some kids teased me, yet others simply asked if I was considering them or otherwise not. I got within the habit of avoiding eye-to-eye contact with folks (something I'm still working on.) Much to my chagrin the “completed” eye became a lot more pronounced in pictures. I adapted by acting being a clown, specially when a camera what food was in sight. It is rare to discover a picture of me when I'm younger where I'm not sporting a silly rubber-face pose which could only Jerry Lewis or Jim Carey could be proud of.
However, what was a setback took over as impetus will develop my love of life. I learned how you can tell a tale before I toddled off and away to school. I gained more empathy persons who were “different” whether that meant befriending children of color, different religions or people that had physical or mental disabilities. Many of these childhood acquaintances are still my loyal friends more than 45 years later.
My capability to mine jokes morphed into expertise to generate stories with comedic overtones. I don't make funny faces on the camera any further (typically.) However, I can still pull a few goofy stunts away from my hat. My quacking Donald Duck sneeze is still a favorite with my granddaughters. They laugh and say, “Grandma, you're silly.” Hey easier to sound like a duck than look like a duck.
I can't claim that I'm happy I was born which has a lazy eye. I was relieved neither of my daughters inherited this trait, nor did my granddaughters. However, they are exposed to my slightly skewed take a look at the world and take joy with what I've learned through the experience. They embrace diversity within their friendships, these are compassionate plus they never tailgate while driving. They're still working about the Donald Duck sneeze.
The point is we are all unique. We can curse our perceived deficiencies or use it as being a catalyst for self growth. I think Roald Dahl stated it best.
“A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You could have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they'll shine beyond your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”