That time I got laser eye surgery because the world is going to end

I’m probably going about this all wrong.

There’s what I intend for this Substack to be, and what this first post is actually about. First, I want my writing to look and sound like “How To with John Wilson,” the comedic docuseries from HBO that aired during the pandemic and which I still think is the best piece of media to come out during that time period. I want to showcase the weird and wonderful things that happen so often in New York City that they become quotidian. There’s a certain What the Fuckness here that’s hard to pin down or explain to those who live elsewhere. You witness a lady in Times Square putting a pigeon in a plastic shopping bag and walking away. You’re initially shocked, worried, and possibly intrigued, but you probably forget about it by the time you get home. Random, surprising things happen so often here that they’re a part of the everyday experience of living in the city.

But that’s not what I’m going to write about now. For my first post, I want to tell you about the time I got PRK, a type of laser eye surgery, to prepare for the apocalypse.

I’ll back up for a minute and tell you that, for most of my childhood, my family didn’t have cable. It was on vacations and road trips, while we stayed in mainly La Quintas, that I was able to catch Nickelodeon, MTV, and reruns of old Twilight Zone episodes, among other otherwise off-limit shows. The one motel viewing that has always stuck with me featured Burgess Meredith as a far-sighted man all alone after nuclear war. Seconds away from ending his all-encompassing loneliness with a handgun, he spots the remains of a public library and joyfully realizes he now has all the time in the world to read. Literally. That is, until his glasses break.

So in 2011, with this formative story in mind, I decided to get LASIK. I had been in glasses since age 7 and in contacts since I was 10 but had struggled for years to wear either. My eyes had been rejecting contacts for awhile, and glasses just weren’t a part of my self-image. On top of that, I was living in Austin, and hot and sweaty Texas summers made wearing them a constant pain. And of course, the ever-present threats of nuclear war; electric grid-destroying solar flares; climate catastrophe; and other, mainly man-made disasters were a motivator. I wanted to be prepared for anything and not dependent on a device to see.

Between jobs and weeks before moving to Brooklyn from Austin, I was scheduled to have PRK instead of LASIK due to my extreme myopia (-10.25 in my left eye) and thin corneas. Without getting into the gory details, LASIK involves a cut to the cornea, while PRK happens on top of the cornea. PRK is notably safer in the long run (folks in the military and those who do contact sports receive PRK rather than LASIK), but the recovery is brutal. With LASIK, you get off the table and go to work the next day. PRK is like a bad corneal scratch and requires several painful days of sitting in the dark listening to podcasts.

Within a few weeks, though, my eyes had healed, my vision had settled, and I was ready for anything…sans glasses. But the truth is I was not ready, and am I still not prepared for any coming disasters—environmental, economic, or otherwise. I have no apocalypse skills, no ability to sew or grow food or hunt. Nothing that would keep me alive or protected in a worst case scenario. It’s odd and something I’m reflecting on a day after the assassination attempt on Donald Trump, which I fear has all but ensured his reelection come November.

I (and many of my left-leaning friends) believe we’re headed toward a massive political and cultural shift that, when combined with the very real threat of climate change, could end life as we know it, certainly in the U.S. but likely worldwide. And we’re not prepared. I’m still in an air conditioned apartment, typing on my Macbook, and looking at a lightly skimmed copy of How to Stay Alive in the Woods on my bookshelf. I don’t even have a go bag.

We think the world’s going to burn, and I can barely sew a button on my slow-fashion, sustainably produced linen shirt.

I do, however, have some hope. And it’s in my community. I have a tight-knit group in Brooklyn, and an extended network of friends, acquaintances, and neighbors here and across the country, and I am very much dedicated to fostering that community. Learning skills from them. Trading with them. Figuring out how to sustain ourselves, either in NYC or elsewhere, when the inevitable happens. I also have faith in the city being a political buffer, at least for the time being. For those outside of New York who think it’s some sort of violent hellscape, this may sound bonkers, but I feel safer here than anywhere else. Safer from gun violence. Safer from car crashes. Safer from conservative policies that would take my rights and way of living away.

Maybe I did come back around to the everyday magic of NYC? I’m not sure. For now, I’m going to keep my friends close, plan next steps collectively, and perhaps learn to garden on my fire escape. With 20/20 vision.

That’s all for now…tell me your apocalypse skill in the comments!

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