Annie, the Very Worst Optician

So it’s not exactly a bad-ass name like ‘Xena, Warrior Princess’ or ‘Captain Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise’ but I think it fits me. It’s a title I’ve been hearing repeated in my head for months now, and I think I’ve readily accepted it.

Because the fact of the matter is–you don’t have to be great at something, to like it. I don’t think a lot of people understand that. If they did, they wouldn’t freak out so much at what they’re good at and what they’re not.

Like Captain Kirk, I also don’t believe in no-win scenarios.

Maybe life, too, isn’t about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at it. Maybe it’s not about being ‘spiritual’ or ‘transcendent’ or above everyone else around you. Maybe it’s just about giving it your all.

That’s me, and my job. So regardless of if I passed my American Board of Opticianry exam yesterday or not, whether I brand myself as a failure, or am humbly known as “Annie, the Very Worst Optician”,

it is okay.

My Grandpa was driving me to my test yesterday. It was overcast and gloomy out, and yet, in the midst of a God given peace, I found myself asking, in my mind,

“God, what was this all for? If failing this exam is/was inevitable, what was it for? I don’t want to hear any more about how failure opens doors that winning can’t. I don’t want to hear how there’s something to be learned here that doesn’t have to do with optics.”

And it occurred to me, stuck in traffic, my anxious Grandfather behind the wheel, what this was all for.

“Fear,” he said.

And by he, yes, I mean God.

“Fear? of what?”


There was no “what” to fear. There was nothing to worry about. For the first time I was without both. They occupied no space within me. It took this test to get me there.

He’ll get you there, too.

And although I should close with the above, I’ve been thinking about something for the past day or so, and I want to mention that too.

When I lived in Arizona I dropped some jewelry down the drain of my bathroom sink, more than once. It fell so far down that I couldn’t get to it, but I could still see it down there. I used the sink anyway since I couldn’t get to it but I knew it was down there. I just didn’t do a damn thing about it.

I don’t remember what I lost. But I think about it, and I get sad. And I just want anyone who reads my blog to know this: God doesn’t want your life to be like that.

Lost jewelry in the drain.

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