In Appreciation and Empathy for the Cave Fish

I think I totally get how it happened.

You know those fish who live in completely dark caves and so they are white and blind, because they don't even need eyes since it's way too dark in the cave for eyes to be useful? Well, I have a theory about those fish. I think they were perfectly normal fish living, let us say, along the east coast somewhere. They heard about a fabulous job opportunity in this cave and thought, "Hey! Good schools! Cheap housing! A simpler life! Let's go!"

Never once did it occur to them to kiss the sun good bye. They were so busy moving in and getting settled in the new cave that they didn't even notice the lack of the sun at first. Just every now and then someone would say, "Hm? It seems a little dark in here, dontcha think?" But they stayed anyway. Not realizing that little by little they were losing their sight. And then one day they were blind.

Why do I empathize with the cave fish, you ask? Because Columbus, Ohio has about three days more sunlight than Seattle, WA. We spend the winter looking at cement gray skies. Winter begins in October and ends in May. That's a long time without sun. Columbus has an overabundance of rooms painted yellow as people try to compensate for the lack of sunlight. Columbus, Ohio also has a ridiculous number of tanning salons. Which didn't seem so ridiculous after my first winter here. Though I still have never used one, I understand the temptation.

It was when the sun peeked through the clouds the other day I noticed a change in myself. Rather than do my typical happy rejoicing at seeing it, I instead found my eyes streaming as I groped wildly around me in search of a pair of sunglasses. I got the sunglasses on and then said, "Oh, sun, hm. That's nice. I just didn't remember it being so bright."

I am a cave fish.