Dooley Noted: 10/26/2016
In Toronto, I had dinner in complete darkness with one of my best friends and my husband.
A blind man let us into the room, where not a speck of light shone through to illuminate it.
I have never known such darkness.
I was reluctant at first to be present, since a day of teaching with a sinus headache had left me a bit disheveled.
At first, the darkness made me feel everything more.
Without my vision to distract me, I felt the exact locations of the deep deep aches into my sinuses and into the muscles that were trying to support my head.
I started to feel myself become restless, and I started to feel the walls close in on me – even though I had no clue where they were.
I knew this feeling.
I was feeling anxious.
I took my pulse, as I knew no one could see me.
It was perfectly strong, and perfectly moderate in its place.
I checked in with my breathing.
I had been holding my breath.
I start to breathe, forcing air through my nose and congested sinuses.
I tried to listen to my friend talking.
She was more talkative than usual without her vision as a distractor.
I coordinated my breath with her words.
I found the more I focused on my breathing, the more I could hear her.
The pain in my skull started to dissipate, but it wasn’t fast.
The breathing was the focus – and no magic bullets could kill it.
Even if they could, I knew they couldn’t give me what I took for myself.
After several minutes, I felt strange comfort in the darkness.
There was no light for me to shield from my eyes.
And there was a strange euphoria of being able to get myself a discomfort.
I didn’t need to reach for a pill, or any other magic fix.
I created the discomfort, and I created the fix.
We enjoyed a perfectly lovely dinner, full of laughs and stories.
As my husband held my hand, I could feel every part of his skin with a little more depth than if I could use my eyes.
Being in the dark just reminded me there’s no darkness unless there’s a contrast with the light.
We three were the light.
Our time together was the light.
The beautiful interactions with our server where the light.
The laughter of surrounding tables as they fumbled with silverware was the light.
Freeing myself of discomfort instead of running out of the room was the light.
Next time, I’ll look more forward to the darkness.
I hope you put yourself in situations of darkness, not to be afraid of it but to expose your light.
As always, it’s your call.
-Dr. Kathy Dooley