Do you see me? I’m hard to spot, in too large a crowd, which is loosely defined as anything above about six people. Scan too fast and you’ll miss me.
Here, I’ll help. Go deep. Almost…there. Yep, the one trying not to be noticed. The one in ordinary jeans, legs climbed too often by little furry balls with beautiful eyes and sharp claws. The one in the long-sleeved shirt with the tiny melted chocolate spots. The one with unkempt hair, who gave up trying to impress long ago because there is a such thing as the wrong kind of attention. The one blending in but still discernible by a seasoned eye who knows what to look for. The telltale signs I can’t suppress and have let go of attempting to.
We could be friends, once trust overrides suspicion. You might even like me. Then again, you might not. I’m blunt, or so sayeth my childhood family. I’m fire-icy. I’m prickly. I’m indeed warm inside, but not the fuzziest. Like embers that don’t glow. The benign lone wolf without the stereotypical serial killer appetite. I tell it like I see it, unconventional opinions expressed in an uncomfortably direct way. The antithesis of word-mincing.
The internet itself provides a mask, gives me time to properly filter and frame what otherwise might be morbid and disturbing thoughts. I’m attracted to graveyards and ghosts, and I have plenty of the latter of my own. Not exactly skeletons in the closet, but you might know what I mean.
Then again, maybe not. I can’t seem to shake my shadow of doubt that colors my life, like a blurry Photoshop filter. Life has taught me that I can never be too sure of much; hardly anything is concrete. Solidity has frequently proven to be a mere illusion. Step onto it and fall through an unseen compromise in the structure.
My instinct is always to run; the fight-or-flight response is strong in this one. The safest places for me are at the extremes: in my home sanctuary or in motion, on the road. Preferably in my truck, where I am in control. I’m quite content on my couch, but I’m happiest/most fulfilled on the move. I’m equal parts fire sparks and ice crystals, a continuous push-pull between yin and yang.
But my internal conflict suits me; it’s almost comforting. I’m not sure what I’d do without it, I’m not sure what my purpose, my point, would be. And we all want to have a point. Mine is to struggle in my world, and maybe help others feel less alone in struggling in theirs.
Doubt is my shadow, after all. Maybe you still want to be my friend, and maybe I’ll trust that. Maybe you’d find me in the crowd…or on the road. The ordinary, purposely nondescript truck without any memorable look-at-me characteristics.
Or maybe I’ll be glowing after all? And hopefully you’ll still want to be my friend. ❤