Navigating Through Darkness
People often ask me which of my four senses is the most valuable. With no reservation, I always reply my hearing because of my superior sense of echo, which helps me avoid running into people or things. I use the echoes to guide me in walking around a person or an object in my direct path and perceive when to accurately make a turn as if I could see. Only two limitations come to mind:
One is that I cannot hear when there is a flight of stairs going down. However, I can usually feel a draft. The other limitation is that an object has to be at least waist-high before I can pick up an echo. At times this has caused me pain—literally. Take, for example, a dog’s favorite thing to mark his spot on…yes, a fire hydrant. Fire hydrants hurt. I can’t for the life of me figure out why dogs like them so much. I don’t particularly care for their height or lack thereof. Fortunately though, if I am properly using my cane, I no longer deal with this dilemma.
Another frequent question I get from people is about navigating unfamiliar areas. The journey of navigating started with my mobility instructor, Pat Soja. He taught me the importance of focusing on my hearing to assist in my independence. Part of the training I received involved complete concentration on my keenly sharpened sense of hearing in order to line up with traffic and confidently cross busy intersections with stoplights.
When it comes to traveling, a number of my blind friends choose to use Seeing Eye dogs. These well-trained dogs can be a great guiding companion and friend. It's fun to notice these amazing animals expanding the confidence and freedom for people with blindness. For me, using a cane is my way to go. I have a stick dog I refer to as Bruiser that requires no food, water, potty breaks, or trips to the veterinarian.
I was introduced to my white cane at age eleven when I took a mini-mobility course at the Indiana School for the Blind. On and off, I enjoyed additional training, and by age 15, I completely understood the importance of using the cane for my independence and began to train quite intensely on mobility movements.
After my freshman year in high school, something very exciting and life-changing happened. I experienced self-navigation in my home town. My family lived in the small suburb of Westfield, just north of Indianapolis. Mr. Soja patiently and effectively educated me with walking all over town. He first taught me how to get to my favorite hot spots, otherwise known as places to eat. First was the bakery. A pleasant woman who worked there was very enthusiastic when I mastered the trip unattended, and she quickly became an encouraging friend.
Mr. Soja and I also strolled to the post office and other helpful places. There were occasional mishaps, forgetting where to make a turn or going too far or not far enough. Once I mastered the ability to walk about freely, I had a great sense of independence. Through people’s friendly communication, I sensed they were impressed and inspired watching me without a guide. Prior to learning self-navigation, I would often find myself restless with nothing to do. Suddenly, everything had changed for the better.
The following Christmas break, I decided to take a walk. The only difference this time was the eight inches of snow on the ground. Snow is a bit of a hindrance for blind people because we rely primarily on sound to help us navigate. It resembles carpet, which mutes sound waves and hinders echo. Just one inch of snow is enough to mute sound, so you can imagine what big snowdrifts do. They create significant barriers, and believe me when I tell you, they achieve this distraction in more ways than one.
I found out the hard way on that cold winter day as I was returning home from a solo walk. I became disoriented and missed my turn. Fortunately my mother knew my expected arrival time and when I didn’t make it home. She went out to search for her aggressively independent son. She found me, took me home, and thawed me out! I learned a great lesson that day about navigating after a snowstorm.
Today, I do not have to worry too much about traveling in the snow. Dallas, Texas seldom gets wintry weather like Indiana. While snow has its amusing moments, I am grateful for southern weather patterns, for mobility’s sake.
Occasionally I get disoriented when learning new territory, but if I learn the route I am taking with the assistance of a good traveler, I am able to memorize poles, shrubs and other markings that I can feel or hear, which help me stay on track.
One of the most phenomenal things I have learned about all people is our God-given ability to develop and sharpen our senses rather quickly. I have witnessed firsthand this rapid development of hearing through working with sighted mobility instructors.
Each person undergoing mobility instructor school is required to perform several times while blindfolded before they can earn their license to teach orientation mobility. In only a few days, without taking a break from wearing the blindfold, these people, as well as those who recently lost their eyesight, develop out of necessity the same expanded echo perception that I benefit from. The improvement of this “radar hearing” happens in only a few days. We would all be pleasantly surprised with the senses we can uncover and take advantage of when survival is our main concern.
I was a tour guide for the Indiana School for the Blind. Our tours observed several obstacles where we had to walk up and down flights of stairs to get from point A to point B. Someone in the group would usually ask, “How do you handle that many steps so well?”
I replied, “One step at a time.” Guests enjoyed that response. I frequently teased tour groups by saying, “Don’t think of me as blind, but instead think of me as a person who is simply out of sight.” I have observed that each of us, in one way or another, learns to adapt and compensate, whether it be for the loss of a faculty, being too short or too tall, or having other special needs that are uncommon. Everybody is special in one way or another. We were terrifically and wonderfully made by Father God.