Defying the Cynic in Me
The cynic in me thought this was pretty stupid. But I did it anyway.
Feet, I said, looking down at my ankles and toes as I got out of the shower, thanks. You do me good.
The cynic in me thought this was pretty stupid, too.
But I did it anyway.
At the optometrist's office, I took my old contacts out. The world turned to soft edges and puffy, cloud shapes. I put my new contacts in.
Thanks for sight, I said quietly to my contacts, my pupils and all the inventors and engineers who came before and made it possible for me to stick plastic into my eyes and see the world.
The cynic in me takes feet and sight, being able to hold a fork and listen to Patsy Cline for granted.
So once a day, I try to do something the cynic in me would think is pretty stupid.
And I've found it's usually been a pretty smart thing to do.
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