I get self-conscious when people look at me. I wonder what they’re seeing. I wonder what they’re looking at. I wonder how I look to them. Are they overlooking something important? Are they making assumptions?Can they see what I’m not saying − what I’m wondering, thinking, wishing, praying, what I’m hoping they’ll extrapolate from the weird, kind of nervous behaviors that I make?
I care too much when strangers look.
In the best circumstances, I get a chance to unfold one-to-one, talking about a mutual interest. Make that a crowd and I might have to blend with the walls for safety. Hopefully I’m over trying too hard to fit myself in. I worry that I’m not.
But are they? Are they really looking at me? Probably not. I’m the one pointing their eyes this way. They aren’t. They can’t be seeing the tiny cracks I’ve always worried about. Why would they have such interest in such small things? Major ideas in my life are details in their world. My details are off their radar completely.
People are overlooking me entirely. This worrying about what they see is energy wasted, wearing me out unnecessarily, triggering noisy “look at me” behaviors that don’t define me, that get folks to look away, that make them and me uncomfortable.
I do them so folks will go away, so I can breathe. Isn't that strange? I get myself unable to breathe worrying about things that people, who aren't looking at me, are seeing.
Sometimes I marvelously over-think things, especially when I put myself in the center of the universe. How much more out-of-focus could my vision get?
I overlooked, looked right through, looked right past each person.
I didn't look in anyone’s eyes, not a single person’s.
I was a blind eye that made assumptions. That's the irony.
When I see people, I don't worry about what they are looking at.
Looking and seeing are different things.
−me strauss Letting me be
