Today, I was invisible, but it wasn’t for want of effort.
I greeted everyone I passed on my early morning walk with a smile and a cheerful “Good Morning!” and not a single one acknowledged me – not with a good morning of their own, not with a nod of their head, a tip of their cap, a hand gesture, a smile, a snicker, a grunt, a scowl – nothing. “It happens,” I thought. “They’re in their own heads, lost in their podcast or play list, worried about the day ahead or the one behind, coming off another restless or no night’s sleep. You’ve been there. Just move on.” And, I did. Then it happened again – at work. I sat at my desk for nine hours, doing a million different things on a dozen different cases for a half dozen different colleagues, but none came by to visit, asked how I was doing, offered a word of encouragement, or affirmation – not a single one. “They’re on treadmills of their own,” I offered on their behalf. “Busy with work stuff, life stuff, stressing, feeling overwhelmed, wondering how they’ll get it all done. It’s not you, not intentional – not even conscious. Don’t give it a second thought.” And, I didn’t, nor did I give one to the fact that my phone never rang, that my texts letting others know I was thinking of them were met with silence, or that my emails with words that mattered – or at least were intended to matter – went unanswered. I just waited it all out, packed it all up at the end of the day, and went home to an empty living room.
Don’t get me wrong. There are lots of days I wish I was invisible. Days when the worker bee in me is being pulled in a hundred different directions, by a hundred different people – most of whom know little about the pieces of me that matter and, aside from my ability to produce, really don’t care to. Days when I can’t bear the thought of doing one more thing for one more person or, worse yet, the thought of disappointing them by not doing it. Days when I can barely muster the energy and emotional capital to get out of my own bed, let alone find the reserves required to motivate others to fight their way out of theirs. Days when I know there will be more hurt than my already supersaturated heart can bear and I have no place to put it. Days when I just want to hit the pause button, give myself a little space to breathe. Days when I want to isolate, when I long for nothing but silence, when the introvert in me would prefer to have no human contact at all. Days when I want to leave The Cape hanging in the closet and just be Clark Kent. Days when I need to take a break from adulting and spend a little time being a child. Days when I just want to lace up a pair of tennis shoes and head out on a walk in nature or grab a towel and be soothed by the sounds of the beach. Days, if I’m to be honest, when I want to run away from all of it.
But, today was not one of those days. Today, I wanted to be seen. Today, I wanted to be wanted. Today, I wanted to be needed, to be desired not for what I can do, but for who I am – all of who I am, just as I am: scarred, bruised, broken, and imperfect. Today, I wanted every part of me – my heart, the too-often-unseen, never-quite-measuring-up, ever-eager-to-prove-his-worthiness little boy inside me, my mind, my body, and my soul – to be noticed, spontaneously, passionately, empathetically, without my having to take the initiative, without having to set myself on fire. Today, I wanted to be a taker, rather than a giver – to be selfish, rather than selfless. Today, I wanted to be affirmed, to be reminded that I matter, that I’m cherished, that someone else’s life would be a little less complete, a little less bright, a little less joyful without me in the world. Today, I wanted companionship and human connection. It just never came – not on my walk, not at work, not in my living room, and not at a favorite local haunt that I visit almost every Friday night, our neighborhood’s version of Cheers – a place where everyone knows my name – a place I visited in today’s waning hours in a last ditch attempt to find it or some piece of it. But, I didn’t. Everywhere I turned, it was as if I wasn’t there, wasn’t here, lacked significance, like I was invisible – and I was tired of offering myself excuses.
Today, I got a taste of invisibility and it’s hard to swallow. I can’t imagine having it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day as I fear too many do. “Tomorrow will be different,” I tell myself as I close my eyes. And, then I recommit to making sure it’s different for one of the “many” too, because something tells me: It’s a fine line between feeling you’re invisible and believing it.
donblackwell 