Swirls of white mist surround and disorient me. I could be on the highway, on one of my favourite country roads, or in the middle of a field; white walls press in on me so closely that I have no idea where I am or how far I’ve come.
It sounds like the setting for a nightmare or a horror movie but in reality it’s the description of my drive to work this past Thursday. I had been driving at least ten minutes, I estimated, but had not seen a single landmark to verify my progress. I thought I knew what I should be seeing at this point, if only as a ghostly shape looming briefly out of the mist, but I had seen nothing but a white wall. Occasionally another vehicle loomed alarmingly close out of the mist and was gone before I could focus on its presence.
The fog was so thick and impenetrable that my perceptions were altered. As my eyes strained for glimpse of the road’s edge, I had no idea of the speed at which I was traveling. A glance at the speedometer shocked me; I was speeding blind at 110 km an hour, yet it felt much slower.
As I eased my foot off the gas pedal and resolved to keep a closer eye on the gauge, I searched for the road’s edge, convinced I should be nearing a major curve. Was I in the curve… or had I navigated it moments ago and should now be in a long straight stretch? I truly was disoriented in time and space.
Meteorologically speaking, fog is merely a very low stratus cloud that may even touch ground. The cloud consists of tiny water droplets, light enough to remain suspended in the air. The droplets cause any light present to be reflected in different directions, causing the impenetrable white vale that we call fog.
The scientific explanation, however, doesn’t remedy my disorientation as I glide through a dreamscape. My eyes actually hurt from the continual collision of my gaze with the impenetrability of the wall immediately outside the windshield. I have prairie eyes, used to gazing long distances towards the horizon, whereas seeing in fog requires mountain eyes, accustomed to being brought up short repeatedly against walls of rock.
My last eye exam confirmed that I am far-sighted; hence the irritation when I can’t see distance. My eyes are most comfortable seeing well ahead, and I need corrective glasses to accommodate the times when I must look closely at something nearby. Come to think of it, that’s not a bad metaphor for how to live well. We need both the ability to look ahead at where we are going and to keep an eye on the place where we are right now. We may have to correct one or the other as we move through life, to keep a healthy perspective.
Ah, the fog lifts for a second and my eyes revel in the ability to see at least a short distance ahead of the hood of my car. I’m nearly at my destination and suddenly it’s time to emerge from my reflective fog and get on with the day’s work.
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