by-twelve-foot sandbox with some plastic army men, tanks, roads, and
small white and black flags on it. I thought there would be more to it.
Here’s the thing: we usually don’t need all the plans we make. Sure,
plans can help from time to time, but planning to love people is different
than just loving people. For some people, it’s easier to make plans than to
make time. If this is you, here’s how to fix it: make love your plan.
There’s less to write down that way.
During one of my trips to Northern Iraq, I woke up one morning and
couldn’t see out of my right eye. It was weird. I kept moving my hand
back and forth covering my left eye first, then my right eye. I rubbed my
eyes and shook my head a few times, but it didn’t help. There wasn’t
anything there. I could have stared at the sun and not seen a thing. I had
five more countries in the Middle East and Asia to be in before returning
home, so like a dummy I just kept going, thinking I’d get it sorted out
later. No brains, no headache. It was a bad move.
When I got home, I went to see the eye doctor. She’s one of the
world’s best and told me I was the stupidest smart guy she’d ever met.
I’m sure she was overstating it, and I was probably only tied for last. I
had already decided if I’d done so much damage that I needed a fake eye,
I’d want to get an assortment to pick from. I wanted one with a laser in it,
like the guy in The Terminator, and also one that was a hairy eyeball I
could slip into place for anyone who really irritated me.
They’ve done quite a few operations on my eye since I had my
problem. Before every operation, I always ask my eye doctor how much
I’ll be able to see afterward. You know what? She’s never told me.
Instead, each time she just says, “Bob, you’re going to see more.” At first
I felt like she was dodging the question. I was looking for a prognosis for
my eye, but she gave me something far better. I got a promise from
someone I could trust and a reminder about my life. It’s the same