Living Life as being a Cross-eyed Optimist

When I was five to six weeks old my mother noticed my right eye completed. I think I was looking at my nose. People stick their faces close to a baby's and I saw some real honkers on a number of the folks who have been cooing at me. My guess is I wanted to ensure 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 (an ailment known as strabismus) isn't as noticeable, but it's there. Rather than fight it, I decided to embrace it.
The cross-eyed optimist has a unique method of looking at things and I wish to share by investing in you.
As many self-help authors and philosophers have stated, it is not what happens to you, but alternatively your attitude about how are you affected that matters. It makes me imagine that joke concerning the kid who wanted a pony for Christmas. The child was a considerable optimist with no matter present his parents told the boy they are able to not afford a pony the kid never lost hope. Finally, in disgust, the little one'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 get the pony that fits it.”
This analogy is often meant as being a slam against optimism, but I get the story encouraging. And whenever I imagine it I hope that somewhere a hopeful girl or boy is getting the pony they expected, even if they don't obtain it until they're old enough to acquire one and shovel the poop themselves.
My world view has long been a bit skewed. Due to my strabismus I never developed depth perception. My mother noticed something was wrong when I was a baby and I would take an object and miss it on the First Coast Living (Highly recommended Web-site) and sometimes second attempts. This became more obvious when I was finding out how to drink from a cup. I would invariably knock the glass over. But, the great parents that they were, 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 toting (usually) hit a tennis ball, catch a softball, play golf and execute a variety of tasks without anyone being the wiser. Driving a vehicle is probably the most difficult task I deal with my lack of depth perception. However, again I've addressed the issue. I have learned to be cautious, courteous and provides other drivers room enough. Tailgaiting is completely out of the question.
The outward appearance of living life with strabismus was more problematic. People would comment about this, some kids teased me, while others simply asked if I was taking a look at them or otherwise. I got inside the habit of avoiding eye contact with folks (something I'm still working on.) Much to my chagrin the “submitted” eye became even more pronounced in pictures. I adapted by acting as being a clown, especially when a camera was in sight. It is rare to find a picture of me when I'm younger where I'm not sporting an exotic rubber-face pose that can only Jerry Lewis or Jim Carey could be proud of.
However, what ended up a setback took over as impetus for me to develop my love of life. I learned how to tell a tale before I toddled off and away to school. I gained more empathy persons who were “different” whether that meant befriending girls and boys of color, different religions or those who had physical or mental disabilities. Many of these childhood acquaintances are still my loyal friends greater than 45 years later.
My power to mine jokes morphed into expertise to create stories with comedic overtones. I don't make funny faces in the camera any further (typically.) However, I can still pull a couple of 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 as being 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've been exposed to my slightly skewed view of the world and take joy of what I've learned from your experience. They embrace diversity in their friendships, these are compassionate and they never tailgate while driving. They're still working about the Donald Duck sneeze.
The bottom line is we are all unique. We can curse our perceived deficiencies or use it being a catalyst for self growth. I think Roald Dahl stated it best.
“A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose as well as a crooked mouth as well as a double chin and stick-out teeth, but when you have good thoughts they are going to shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”