At the optician yesterday, while ordering glasses, the young eyewear expert commented, “I can tell by just talking to you that you shouldn’t get bifocals or progressive lenses. Stick with two pairs of glasses, one for distance and the other for near.”

An optician, for those who might not know, is someone trained to fit you with glasses while simultaneously judging your lifestyle choices.

I agreed with her. Why complicate things? If I read at all, it’s at home—as is all my close work. I’ve heard disastrous stories of people trying to adjust to progressive lenses. One friend said she nearly drove into a ditch because the road suddenly appeared to be melting. Another said she couldn’t find her feet for a week. I’ve also heard good stories, but it’s like learning a new phone—I don’t want to. And bifocals make a person look old, so never mind.

While picking out the frames, I realized I needed to try my clip-on blue blockers. Blue blockers, in case you’ve been living under a fluorescent light, are for blocking the evil blue rays emitted by every glowing screen in the modern world—computers, phones, microwaves, and possibly even overly bright personalities.

“I have to get my clip-on blue blockers from the car,” I announced.

“Why?” asked the optician, sounding alarmed—as if I had just said I needed to fetch a live ferret.

“Because I want to see what frames they fit on,” I replied.

“No! Don’t do that,” she said, panicked.

I didn’t even ask why. I just said, “I’ll be right back.” Because I’m old, and old ladies can be ornery. We just do what we want. That’s our reward for living this long.

When I came back with the blue blockers, the young optician looked as though she’d already mentally clocked out. But when I clipped them on, her eyes widened.

“Wow! I’ve never seen that before,” she said.

“To which I replied, ‘I have them in shades, too.’”

“What are shades?” she asked.

“Sunglasses. What you call transitions. Only they don’t transition. They are dark all the time.”

She blinked, trying to process this. I could almost hear her internal monologue: Why would anyone want glasses that don’t change when the light does?

Because, dear child, I wanted to say, I am the transition.

But I didn’t. Instead, I tried on about fourteen frames, each one turning me into a slightly different character: stern librarian, flirty French poet, and one that screamed “retired magician.” I settled on two—one for distance, one for near—because life is complicated enough without adding optical acrobatics.

As I was paying, the optician said, “You know, you remind me of my grandmother. She refuses progressives, too.”

“Good for her,” I said. “We’re a movement. The Anti-Progressive Progressives. We see things our own way.”

She didn’t laugh. That’s when I realized the generational divide isn’t just about technology—it’s about eyesight. She’s seeing the future; I’m just trying to see the menu.

Two weeks later, after picking up my new spectacles, I drove home, squinting slightly through my distance glasses, I thought about how much of life is about clarity. We’re told to “see things clearly,” but sometimes clarity means knowing what not to see—like the fine print on an insurance policy or the latest political scandal.

Maybe that’s why I like switching glasses. One pair for looking out into the world, another for looking closely at what matters. Distance for perspective, near for the heart.

When I got home, I tried both pairs in front of the mirror. With the distance glasses, I looked worldly and wise. With the reading glasses, intimate and curious. I put on my blue blockers just for fun. They made everything glow golden, like I was living inside a sepia photograph.

And that’s when it hit me: maybe seeing isn’t believing after all. Maybe believing is seeing—believing that you still look pretty good in your late sixties, that the world’s not as blurry as it sometimes appears, and that a good pair of glasses can fix almost anything.

Even if they don’t transition

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.

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