As someone who has worked with children and their parents for 25 years, I would say that I have had more than my fair share of positive human interaction. I know there are many people who love me, and I know that I am a good person and that I am lovable.
(In Christian summer camp in Oregon in the 70s, we even made pendants out of slices of wood and gimp {plastic lanyard cord}, in decoupage, no less, {we used shellac}, with the letters IALAC: I Am Lovable And Capable. Why am I sobbing right now? Those letters never did sink in, really. But I always loved camp, and always cried on the last day.)
(don’t worry, that’s not code. i’m just having a moment)
That being said, I have to work to remember all of this positive human connection, and sometimes I feel utterly invisible. Today, for example, when crossing the street on a green light, a car with tinted windows (I couldn’t see the driver at all to make eye contact) turned left when I was well into the intersection. I put my arm up (I’m not a small person) and had to take 4 full steps backwards, fast, (I don’t do fast), and I could feel the draft from the car that missed me by an inch, and slowed down not at all. It was like I didn’t exist.
Or at the store this evening, standing literally in the middle of the entrance waiting to put my cart away, and people moved around me as if I was not there. And when I did sense an opening and moved forward the slightest bit, someone surged by me and glared as if I had tried to ram them. I had moved about an inch at that point. I then waited even longer until there was a moment to act. Moving with care (and with dyspraxic, intentional motor planning) or any hint of hesitation was not an option.
Somehow these moments of invisibility effect me more deeply than when people are outright rude or hostile. Somehow, hostility makes more sense to my nervous system than not being seen. Living, as I do, in a big giant man disguise, I’ve become familiar with the ways that it makes sense for some people to show hostility. I try not to take it personally. But I seem so obvious, at least to my self. I can’t be invisible in the times when I want to be, so when I am, it’s unsettling.
(Sorry, I’m just falling apart, here, remembering when I was about 7 years old, and I called my Uncle Keith on the phone, and I had never heard an answering machine before, and when I heard his voice on the line I kept trying to get his attention: “But Uncle Keith! It’s me! Ricky!” My auntie and my Naná tried to explain it to me, but I was inconsolable for a while, kind of like now)
(Some of us don’t grow out of it)
Then there are the times (this hasn’t happened during the holidays, when it would make sense), when I run into someone I haven’t seen for a while, and we have a nice conversation, and they say “let’s get a coffee sometime,” and then I’ll follow through in a light way so as not to trigger obligation: “great to see you. I’ve got some time next week if you’re free, otherwise, let me know a good time for you,” and then I never hear from them. This actually happens fairly often. Sometimes I even summon the courage to try again months later, and crickets.
I do my best not to take it personally, because I know everyone is time-poor and every interaction creates an obligation and an offset that must be recouped at some other time in the week. It’s like running into a friend in the car next to you on the freeway, but their lane is moving faster than yours. And then you text them the next day: “so cool to see you!” and get no response (true story).
Ghosting, or non-response, has become normalized. For someone whose nervous system is wired for connection, and who builds his schedule around being available, I have never felt more invisible. It’s like we’re living in a post-relational world.
(It’s like I was wired for a particular purpose, that appears to be no longer purposeful)
I know I am extra sensitive, because of my particular nervous system. I also know that there are many people with nervous systems like mine who have not been blessed with all of the warmth and positive interactions that I have been so privileged to experience who are having a hard time these days.
(or maybe I actually am neither lovable nor capable, which would be a simple explanation for the whole shebang, so there’s that)
All of this just a long-winded way to say be kind to one another, and I hope you have the wiggle room to text back the friend you see in the car next to you on the freeway.
But not while you’re driving. The next day.