Living Life like a Cross-eyed Optimist

When I was five to six weeks old my mother noticed my right eye completed. I think I was looking over my nose. People stick their faces close to a baby's and I saw some real honkers on many of the folks who were cooing at me. My guess is I wanted to ensure I didn't grow a Pinocchio schnoozola in the center of MY countenance.
Fortunately, I didn't. A small beak has graced my punim in excess of five decades. Unfortunately my lazy eye tied to 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 carries 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 isn't what happens for your requirements, but rather your attitude about what are the results that matters. It makes me consider that joke concerning the kid who wanted a pony for Christmas. The child was a severe optimist and no matter present his parents told the boy they could not afford a pony the little one never lost hope. Finally, in disgust, a 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 get the pony that complements it.”
This analogy is generally meant as a slam against optimism, but I find the story encouraging. And whenever I think about it I hope that somewhere a hopeful girl or boy is getting the pony they wanted, even though they don't understand it until they are old enough to purchase one and shovel the poop themselves.
My world view has always 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 reach for an object and miss it around the First Coast Living; http://youtu.be/ZYkaiFUt2nc, 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 them to be, they never yelled at me about the spilled milk.
In time I learned to adapt. I occasionally bump into things, but I can drink milk without wearing it (most of the time) hit a tennis ball, catch a softball, play golf and execute a variety of tasks without anyone being the wiser. Driving a car is probably the most difficult job I manage my lack of depth perception. However, yet again I've handled the issue. I have learned being cautious, courteous and provide other drivers plenty of room. Tailgaiting is completely out of the question.
The outward appearance of living life with strabismus was more problematic. People would comment regarding it, some kids teased me, and others simply asked if I was investigating them or otherwise not. I got inside habit of avoiding his full attention 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 just like a clown, especially when a camera is at sight. It is rare to discover a picture of me when I'm younger where I'm not sporting a silly rubber-face pose that can only Jerry Lewis or Jim Carey will be proud of.
However, what have been a setback had become the impetus will develop my spontaneity. I learned the way to tell a tale before I toddled off to school. I gained more empathy persons who were “different” whether that meant befriending youngsters of color, different religions or people that had physical or mental disabilities. Many of the childhood acquaintances are nevertheless my loyal friends more than 45 years later.
My ability to mine jokes morphed into expertise to produce stories with comedic overtones. I don't make funny faces in the camera any longer (in most cases.) However, I can still pull a couple of goofy stunts beyond my hat. My quacking Donald Duck sneeze continues to be a favorite with my granddaughters. They laugh and say, “Grandma, you're silly.” Hey preferable to sound like a duck than look like a duck.
I can't state that I'm happy I was born with 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 in what I've learned through the experience. They embrace diversity of their friendships, they are compassionate and they also never tailgate while driving. They're still working on the Donald Duck sneeze.
The point is we are all unique. We can curse our perceived deficiencies or use it being a catalyst for self growth. I think Roald Dahl said hello 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, in case you have good thoughts they'll shine from your face like sunbeams and you'll always look lovely.”