I try to be thoughtful. Maybe since my eyesight isn’t so good anymore, I should rethink this life policy. Not globally, but for select situations.
For example, isn’t it great when you’re only a few steps after someone, approaching a building entrance, and the person in front of you holds the door for that split-second or two. Eyes connect, a nod of the head, and the transfer of pressing the door rests with you. You glance over a shoulder for people arriving, no one’s there, so you go on your way, releasing the door. Easy, simple, straightforward. Except it’s not with low vision.
I scan. If someone is right there, I endure that awkward transition (for me), but hey, I held the door for someone. A gesture of humanity in these modern times.
Then there’s my favorite situation. The one where I’m holding the door for someone I don’t realize is not there. Environment noises, stray dogs or children, I am duped. I pause until my lovely husband calmly asks me, “Um, what are you waiting for?” I abandon the door to catch up with him.
This door-holding problem–well, it’s not life or death, but it’s kind of a big deal to me. I try to be kind; I don’t want to be labeled a jerk. Wrapped up in habits, I forget I have the visual impairment. I need to work on that.
But, as I’ve come to realize, all I need to do if I shut a door accidentally in a person’s face is turn to him, raise my white cane in a toast of apology and walk away. Who–besides those gangbangers, Dad–will challenge the cane?
I’ll simplify. I’ll adapt to a reality of my disability. Unless I hear a ruckus, I’m going to let that door shut behind me. Tthhhhhhud. Ninjas following me, you’ve been warned.