In need of bifocals

I’m told that I have poor depth perception. One eye is near-sighted, the other far. When crossing the road at night, and by that I specifically mean when jaywalking in NY, objects in the mirror are always farther than they appear. And sometimes, when I look at picturesque scenes in nature, the image seems flattened into a set of stackable transparency sheets. If only I knew how to draw, I’d make a great landscape artist.

Then there is this other thing, my relationship with time. It never moves at a comfortable pace, not that it does for most. Life either moves in unbearable, tedious slow motion, or I’m continuously dashing toward the minute hand, running up a downstairs escalator — and I’m really bad at stairs.

So sometimes, when I roam this place, traverse this alternate universe known as Williamsburg, Brooklyn, I wonder how disparate my experience is from the bearded, tattooed or otherwise, masses.  Do they also wish they could control the clock? Are they also dumbfounded by the beauty of a simple cityscape? Do they each perceive the same visual stimuli that I see?

And what about those people who live across the river and through the woods? What about those who lives miles and miles south? Are we all sensing and seeing the same world? Or is what we see and choose to see so fundamentally different that we may never know the same reality? Our last election cycle and the increasingly polarized state of public discourse hints at the answer. I just hope we’re proven wrong.

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