Today, for the third time in a week, I ran into a someone I have known for quite a while but see irregularly and they looked right at me and did not know who I was. Today, she figured it out after walking away, before I could say, “It’s me …” she had turned around and said, “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first.”
I wanted to ask why, but I didn’t. Sometimes, it is best not to know things. The other day when it happened the fellow said, “I don’t know if it’s the hair or you’ve lost so much weight or…” (No, I haven’t, but, okay, I’ll take it.)
The thing is, it’s starting to weird me out a little. I have been having this feeling that I am disappearing anyway, and to not be recognized, and sometimes go days at a time without human contact with someone who knows me, knows my name, is sort of odd anyway. In fact, now, most days, the only person who says my name is the greeter at the front desk of the gym. They all know my name and say “Hello, Charlie” (or some variation, sometimes we discuss the weather or something like that) when I walk-in and “Have a good night, Charlie” (or something like that, sometimes the old “big plans for the rest of the day?” sort of thing – and no, I never do) when I leave.
Is that strange? My life has become sort of so very small and circumscribed, my circle of friends edited (for whatever reason and by whomever) to such a tiny, compact group – and even of that group, I see them not that often, not really in any sort of regular way … so, yes, there are days at a time when there is no communication either in person or through texting or Tweeting or whatever – and I begin to wonder if I really exist – or, at what vibratory level do I exist – am I, perhaps, a ghost?
Connection is such a strange thing. The ways we connect. The ways we don’t. The connections that get stronger. The connections that fade. The connections that were mostly illusion. The connections that are mostly delusion or deception. The intense connections that happen in an instant and then are gone. So fascinating.
Especially to a ghost. Which I must be, because, WHY DOES NO ONE KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE?