I have a burned out spot on my retina. It happened years ago from aligning an HBO bulb on a microscope. I didn’t even know about it until I finally visited an eye doctor six years ago. The spot is in the lower right quadrant of my left eye, not really in my field of vision. The only time I notice it is there is when I have closed my eyes. My eyelids are not blackout curtains. So I see this kaleidoscope of tinted colors of darkness with the exception of one teeny tiny speck of complete dark, black, nothing. It’s like noticing a couple of pixels are out on the TV. That burnt spot on my retina is the best thing about closing my eyes. It becomes a point of focus during meditation. It is the center of my very own everything bagel and the second I close my eyes, I tune into that tiny speck of nothing.

Last Friday, my schedule opened up and made it possible to attend one of Roze’s yoga/meditation hammock classes. I got to class feeling like my brain was hot and staticky from some last minute issues I had to fix at work before leaving for the evening. The whole week had been a mental challenge of dealing with people who acted like they’d never seen a microscope before. I found my hammock and was chatting with Sarah and Leigh. At one point I said “Man, I wish I’d taken this stupid bra off before I came to class.” and Leigh said “Take it off. No one cares. The bathroom is that way.” I said I don’t need a bathroom and then proceeded to take off my bra without taking of my shirt and then I sighed with relief. I spun the bra around the top of my head like a lasso as all the women cheered. We all had a good laugh and then settled into class.

Roze started us off with some gentle movement before getting us comfy for guided meditation. I snuggled down into my hammock and pulled my blanket up over my face. I closed my eyes and focused on my void of nothing spot. Then Roze started playing with a rain stick. When I first heard it, I thought it was a car crashing into the building and I almost yelled out “THERE’S A CAR CRASHING INTO THE BUILDING!” But I didn’t. I told Roze this story a few days later and she responded with concern. I assured her that it was fine. I told her that the second I realized it was the rain stick, I started giggling. I told Roze “I laugh at fear.” which she though was a ‘juicy’ response. I don’t know if it’s juicy or just instinct.

I’m not condoning running out and burning spots on to your retinas. We just were not as concerned about lab safety fifteen years ago or at least where I worked was not that concerned. Robin and I wore flip flops and climbed around on cabinets to reach things on the top shelf. That behavior would be highly frowned upon today, but I file it into the same folder as ‘before seatbelts’ and ‘bicycle helmet?’. I learned to walk on hard brick floors with pointy edges all around me. My car seat was sitting on the armrest between the driver and passenger seat of my mom’s car. Mom’s arm was my seatbelt. Safety gear was not a thing. Many of you reading this can probably relate. We all grew up, flying down a hill while balancing on the handle bars of a sibling’s bicycle. Our childhoods did not have soft padding and it didn’t stop many of us from being the one to volunteer for the handle bar seat.

I have so many scars, so many markings of being broken and healed. Some of these scars are visible, but many like the one on the inside of my lip and the spot on my retina are scars just for me. The secret scars that I don’t have to explain or answer questions about. Good lord, you should see the scars on my heart. Those hidden ones on my heart are my favorite ones. They were earned and received just after great bouts of laughter and joy.When Chris was sick, we were terrified, but still joking about the tortilla chip stuck in his liver. The last time I talked to J, we were joking about Dad’s haircut. The last real visit with Dad, he joked about Michael and I’s living situation. In fact, I am positive if the wounds that led to those scars had not been proceeded by a ridiculous amount of laughter, those scars would barely be visible to even me. The loss of sources of great amounts of laughter and joy leaves the deepest scars.

So I laugh at fear because what difference does another scar make.