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           Michael:
          
          You seem to lead a pretty solitary life these days. I mean, you're 
              no hermit, but you don't get out and about as much, and have a smaller 
              circle of friends than you used to. Some of this might have to do 
              with getting older, but I'm guessing it's partly related to your 
              vision loss.
         
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          | Joel:
            
            You know I've always been a borderline introvert, spending considerable 
                  time in solitude or with just a small circle of close friends. 
                  But the solitary time has expanded, and the circle of friends 
                  contracted, both radically. Before, when I felt the need to 
                  be among strangers, I would do typical urban things like loiter 
                  at a coffeehouse with a good book, visit an art museum, or attend 
                  events--a play, a music recital or jazz gig, a literary program--where 
                  I could expect to see and maybe mix with reasonably like-minded 
                  people. In the first couple of years after my divorce, I even 
                  volunteered on the pledge drives of KCRW, my NPR station, whence | 
            
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                Joel 
                          on solitude
               
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          | came 
                  my next three love relationships. But then, sight loss either 
                  completely terminated such options, as in the case of the pledge 
                  drives and art museums, or effectively neutralized them as social 
                  opportunities. |  |  
       | Michael:
         
         Can you say more about how sight loss limits social opportunities? 
            Is it the mechanics of trying to catch the eye of someone you can 
            hardly see, or are there other, more psychological barriers? |  
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           Joel:
          
          The whole idea of catching someone's eye disappears when you can't 
              see faces. For me, heads are featureless shadows or completely invisible, 
              depending on my angle of view and the light. I can catch a glimpse 
              of hair and facial flesh tone by looking to one side. But neither 
              view reveals a mouth, nose, ears or, yes, eyes. It's surreal, radically 
              alienating, like being the only living thing in a tableau of decapitated 
              George Segal sculptures. A totally blind person might think he was 
              alone, if people made no sound. Myself, I "see" them but can' t, 
              in the customary sense, make out who they may be, and have no idea 
              if they even are aware of me. To be in a crowd is to be alone. So 
              I need introductions, context, conversation, and some description 
              and interpretation from a trusted companion, just to negotiate a 
              cocktail party.
         
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