Written by Allison Kogut, a UConn student, with support of the DAC team
Presenting “Feeling My Way Into Blindness” by Edward Hoagland was a transformation into a blind eighty year old man. From my experience interacting with men around that age, I can practically hear the dry, sarcastic humor and whimsical reminiscence. Of course, without being a man, old, or blind, I can’t completely capture the essence and tone of the article. Reading this article, I noticed that for every bout of bitterness, there is also an acknowledgement of how lovely life has been for him. Hoagland had eighty years with his sight, and he seemed to enjoy every last minute of it. Hoagland writes, “Splendiferous mountain vistas of greensward and cliffs scaffold my dreams, drawn from memories of sheep pastures in Sicily and Greece, rich with textured sedges or tinted canyons, then bombastic skyscrapers, or Matisse’s Chapel.” The abundance of adjectives reveals his enthusiasm, and he is perhaps even exaggerating just to make a comparison with how “impoverishing” being blind is (1).
I mentioned this in class, but this particular essay moved me because it was not what I, as a nondisabled person, was expecting to hear. I believe that was the whole point of the article; to tell the truth of his experiences without pandering towards nondisabled people. Of course, I would rather hear that Edward Hoagland is adjusting very well to no longer having his sight, but that just is not realistic, and Hoagland is not afraid to burst my bubble. He even talks about how his point of view has changed as a previously nondisabled person up to the point of writing the article. Just as he points out the ways that people treat him differently, there is a sense that he is familiar with the opposite side, in treating people differently because of their disabilities. He is so aware of himself that he makes sure to point out his privilege; that being blind is an “empathetic” handicap (1). When I imagine Hoagland reading this article out loud to an audience, I picture him being very expressive, and using his hands to talk a lot. I imagine him to be very dry and matter-of-fact during his more bitter moments, and wistful when he transports the audience through the visual history of his life. No matter what, he is always well spoken and as polite as he could be. After all, “crankiness won’t persuade people to treat [him] thoughtfully” (2).
Most of all, I imagine the whole speech to have an illuminating ring to it, which I tried to emulate in my reading. Throughout one’s life there are thousands of possible ways that they can become disabled even if they were born able bodied. All it takes is a car crash, sports incident, repeated exposure to loud noise, a stroke, cataracts, or simply growing older. Edward Hoagland wants to send the message that there is no use being bitter about something that he cannot change. He needs to make “peace” with his new disability, and this involves balancing out his resentful moments with ones of joyous memories (2). Of course, his negative feelings are still valid, and sharing them will likely help others who are in a similar situation know that they do not always have to be happy with the way their life is going, but his sense of wonder about all the things he has been able to enjoy is also an inspiration. Sometimes, focusing on the good is the only way to be content.
Works Cited
Hoagland, Edward. “Feeling My Way Into Blindness.” The New York Times, 2016.
Disability & Access Collective 