There's a thing about me I don't understand. Actually there are many more than this particular one, my lifelong invisibility. Maybe a better way to say it is that people don't recognize or remember me when we meet a second, third, fourth or even fifth time. An encounter with me does not stick in people's memories. I have a friend in San Francisco who had to be introduced to me every time we met. It went on for years and even became a joke. That was an extreme case of something I experience often. I don't get it. I think I'm rather vivid.
Also should mention that this isn't a recent development. It isn't a case of how old ladies become invisible. No. Even when I was juicy as hell, with purple eggplant hennaed hair and super red lipstick and a young body, even then, when I ran into people I'd seen several times and remembered well, I had to reintroduce myself because they couldn't place me.
I ran into a couple of people I haven't seen in awhile at a funeral a couple of weeks ago. One of them introduced himself as if we'd never met, another kind of recognized me but couldn't figure out why. At the cemetery the other day I saw my massage therapist's husband, someone I often see on my way out after a session. We say hello and talk for a second about the weather or whatever. But at the cemetery, though he was friendly, he seemed astounded I knew his name and I could see him trying to put me into context. On the way home I ran into somebody I see at a mutual friend's parties. We always have a great conversation. She didn't know me.
It's embarrassing and awkward to reintroduce myself. It is humbling but not in a good way. I used to help people by reminding them of the circumstances under which we met. These days, I just let 'em squirm. Is that wrong?
In my dream last night, the Nazis were coming to a house where I was, along with many other people. One of the dream people suggested I hide. The rest of the dream I went from place to place, trying to decide where I could best be hidden. Stand behind a door? They might close the door and see. Hide under the bed? That's so cliche! Of course they would look. I went from room to room on the second floor, then climbed the grand staircase to the third floor where I at last decided to hide behind the coats in a large walk-in closet. There were shoes and boots beneath the coats. I figured they wouldn't see my legs. I hid behind a grey trench coat and pair of tall wellies.
It was a beautiful house. The closet was full of beautiful clothes. If not for the Nazis, it would have been a very nice dream.
When I heard the Nazis breaking down the front door of the house, I woke up frightened. But I didn't stay scared long. Maybe I'm invisible because I'm still - even in the golden years of this lifetime - hiding from the Nazis. Because if so, that would explain my perpetual invisibility.
After this helpful dream what I'm thinking is maybe being invisible is not something I should take personally. What I mean is maybe I shouldn't blame the people who don't remember me. My invisibility is an adaptive behavior developed long ago in this life or before this life. It's not their fault!
Would I want to suddenly be very visible? Maybe not! It's interesting to think about.
|Red shirt, coral shorts, big hat, lots of lipstick, taking pics in a car bumper. If I ran into this woman, I would remember her. Wouldn't you?|