Notes from A Cock-Eyed Optimist A child wakes up on Christmas morning and is surprised to find a heap of horse manure under the tree instead of a collection of presents. Yet, the child is not discouraged because he has an extraordinarily optimistic outlook on life. The parents discover him enthusiastically digging the manure as he exclaims, “With all this horse poop, there must be a pony somewhere!”

My left eye has been hurt by a surgical error. Hope that it will be fixed with more interventions and time is something I am nurturing, along with seeking guidance from compassionate professionals. Meanwhile, this has brought up feelings and wonderings that take me back to where I learned to hold truly difficult times.

I am staggeringly good at the “dance of denial,” it keeps me moving forward, twirling like Wonder Woman, falling and getting back up another few inches toward healing and hopefulness. I found myself replying to concerned queries: “It’s not so bad, others certainly have it worse. I can handle it.” And back from the recesses of my childhood soundtrack came the voices: “You’re never too sick to go to school, to work, to help others”— my family motto. It made us superior to those who gave up, whined and complained, and certainly we had no permission to stop and rest. My mom once broke her ankle at the new ice-skating rink because her wild and crazy friend convinced her that life was too short to keep cleaning her house when adventure called. I came home from school to see my mom with a plaster cast elevated on the arm of the couch, and her words were “This is my punishment for not staying home and cleaning the closets.” She subsequently drove into the wall of the bank because she wouldn’t admit that she probably shouldn’t drive with a cast on her right ankle, and errands were her life.

So, here I am with more ailments and injuries and uncertainty than ever in my life and I’m not sure what to do. Even more, how does one think about an overall program of self-care without dipping into worry or giving up? My impulse is to “keep cleaning the closets,” but somehow I don’t think that will diminish the punishment of existing problems. Still, I’m staying optimistic that the eye will heal and I’ll find the right intervention, and that it’s not that bad, and others have it worse, and I can keep working and writing.…

But, I really don't want to drive into the wall of the bank, so I’m letting others drive me, mostly, and do for me a lot of things I possibly could do for myself. And that might be the pony.

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There Must be a Pony in Here Somewhere!