Eyes Without A Face
On the drive to work, the approach of summer announced itself with the early bright sky. I am still pleased with how clear the skies are these days. Ever since this manufactured worldwide crisis began, the murky web of vapor trails in the sky has been almost completely nonexistent. To my eyes, the sky seems bigger, clearer, realer. Even at night, the effect seems pronounced, with the stars appearing nearer and more…present with me.
When I arrived at work after a week away, the tree beneath which I park seemed fuller and lusher, its purplish leaves nodding in the morning breeze. I touched my cheek to one of the leaves and I probably spoke a few words to it, and then I sprinkled some treats for my crows on the ground and walked to the building. A mockingbird was sitting on top of a stop sign and never interrupted his song as I moved past him. I am careful in the presence of these little gray creatures, as I have experienced their protective territoriality on many occasions in the past.
Some people are good at coming up with clever terms to describe common conditions or problems. For example, someone tagged the rashlike symptoms around the face and mouth of those who regularly wear face masks as “maskne,” a combination of “mask” and “acne.” I wish I could think of a witty term for the first emotion I experienced upon returning to work this morning. Within minutes of entering my building, I was marveling at how it’s possible to be absent from work for ten days and yet feel as if absolutely no time has passed and nothing has changed since the last moment at the office. It’s a surreal, spacey sensation. Didn’t that time pass? Didn’t I attempt all those things? Wasn’t all that energy and effort expended? Didn’t we travel all those miles, encounter all those people? And yet in the quiet office on a Monday morning, no time has passed at all. I have not moved from this place. Ten days are a concept, an idea, a notion, a shade. I dreaded returning to my workplace, but the dread seems as unreal as the ticking of the days now past.
During the morning drive, I reflected on difficulties I’ve had at work, trying to anticipate what might be awaiting me this week. I was surprised by the memory of a homily by Father Chad Ripperger, who often speaks about the necessity of “taking custody of the eyes.” This phrase generally means to take care where one looks, as the very act of seeing can sometimes be an occasion for temptation or sin or other troubles. And then it came to me, clear and direct and welcome as cool water. A part of the stress I have sometimes experienced at work has its origin in looking for and cataloging the facial expressions of coworkers. A gossipy, vindictive bunch, they are restless in their whispered remarks and condemnations and judgments. And I’ve developed the bad habit of watching my coworkers’ faces to assess their reactions to things I have said or done in the course of a day. The reactions seem more pronounced and more malevolent in these days of face masks, when the world is a living display of yeux sans visage.
Once I had this epiphany, I began examining myself as to why I watch peoples’ faces so carefully. I concluded that it’s partly habit, partly a desire for situational awareness, and partly a desire to avoid offending people unnecessarily. By the time I was getting settled in at my office, I had decided that the wisest course of action for me would be to maintain custody of my eyes, to avoid the unnecessary visual stimulus of watching all the eye-rolling and frowning and narrowed eyes and incredulous eyes and dead, dead eyes. I realized that for a man like me, being able to constantly read peoples’ facial expressions is not too far removed from being able to read their thoughts — and I would never, ever want the ability to do that.
And do you know what? It worked. My Monday…so dreaded and fretted over…was steady and mellow. Avoiding my usual careful scrutiny of my coworkers’ facial expressions ended up feeling as if I had punched the “mute” button on much of the emotional white-noise that jangles my nerves when I am away from my home. The drive home was not a rehashing of the day’s slights and jabs and whispers. I enjoyed the warm breeze coming in through the driver’s side window, and the fishbone pattern of cirrus clouds high above me, and the thick foliage coating the fingers and draws along the mountain sides, and the soft bluegrass music on the radio. When I approached our house, Jinx was half-sprawled in the shade of the Japanese maple out front, and he raced out to greet me. Ten seconds with him quivering with joy while leaning against my legs and I felt renewed in body, mind, and spirit.
The siding on the house needs washing, and the bird feeders need replenishing, and the old barn cat Harlan still hasn’t returned from his latest rambling — he knows it plays havoc with my nerves when he goes on his jaunts — and the front garden is a complete ruin, and there are bull thistles as tall as me standing on the perimeter of the front yard. But these are the things I enjoy looking at. These are the things that bring health to me. And summer will be here next week.
~ S.K. Orr