Being noticed; noticing

It's so common these days to wear black. I do it myself. It is not only useful, to work around black in a wardrobe, but it's a safe and practical option. It allows people to melt into the crowd of a sea of dark colour. I have no idea if people think like that, to melt into the crowd, but that's the result. If you sit at a cafe and watch the people walk by, especially in cool climates, of course, there is a non-descriptiveness about the crowd.

I was walking along a street in a neighbourhood suburb recently when I noticed a red, raspberry to be exact, woolen dress in the window. Given the grey skies, mid-winter here, it caught my eye immediately. I really loved it. At the time, price was the inhibiting factor, but now it is on sale. I want that raspberry dress and yet I vacillate. I'd like to say that they are noble reasons. I can live without it. I can save the money. Both are good reasons for letting the raspberry dress go. Yet it's not at all expensive now, won't break the bank, and I've already imagined in my mind the times when I can enjoy wearing it, to go to a restaurant or a show in town, or for a dinner.  But here's the thing. How do you hide in the crowd in a raspberry woollen dress when all about you are wearing black?

I sat with this question. Why is that so confronting for me, to be seen, to be watched; to be noticed? Why do I fear that the microscope is turned on me and yet why do I have moments of pleasure in being aware that on this or that particular day, I feel good and thus I probably look good?

I wonder if it is a bit of perfectionism. If I am aware of my faults, I too may be worried that they are also obvious to others. Or, am I worried that I have now reached an age of invisibility? Am I wanting to wear  a raspberry dress to remind myself that I am still a living force; maybe a greater living force than I have been in the past. There is that push and pull of opposite notions: a fear of being noticed at the same time as there is a part of me that wants to be noticed.

Last week we attended a dinner and we were introducing ourselves to the other people at the round table; standing and shaking hands before we all took our respective places. There was a short woman who was to sit next to my husband  and she and I vaguely remembered one another from the past. 'I think we did Pilates together, didn't we?' I said. You could see the recognition come over her face. 'Oh, you're the woman we all envy; the flexible woman who can do anything.'

It always surprises me that anyone should be jealous of me or talk behind my back. I can't explain why I would think that I am some sort of exception, but I suppose it goes to the fact that I tend to think I am lacking in various ways and to live in my skin on some days is not an enviable state.

Yet, on other days, like yesterday, until about 5 pm, I think most people would have loved a piece of my disposition. I felt light and happy; cared for and loved. Driving along on the way to a family gathering, lunch, I felt full of love and even more so when the various generations of my side of the family shared a few happy and connecting hours together.

It's up and down, I know, when what I seek and aim for is stability and flow. I'm grateful for the good feelings, absolutely blessed, but wish I could short circuit the debilitating downs.

A young man ran into my car on the freeway yesterday afternoon. He stopped and put on his emergency lights but I made the decision to keep going because it would have been extremely dangerous for both of us to stay where we were. He followed me for about 20 minutes until he finally found an opportunity to indicate to move to a emergency space and we very civilly handled the matter. I shook hands with them both and they wished me a good weekend. I was shaking like a leaf but still, it's who I am, to try to cope and to contain any upset, and to be pleasant.

The accident was a reminder of how we as humans must be prepared for circumstances which can destabilize our nervous systems and do our best to return to stability. A friend of mine who was in a much more serious accident last year quite literally shook for weeks after the event. Being a spiritual person she had faith it was part of the recovery process but it's destabilizing to feel so shook up. I have come to loathe this sort of nervous system disruption.

We carry these wounds within us, don't we; wounds that are triggered all over again in some conversations and some situations. I read recently that we need to learn to love ourselves, including those parts of ourselves which we wish weren't there.

I suspect that it is via the skills I am garnering in the meditation process that leads me to a more aware state of my own moments of insecurity and feelings of failure. I have wondered lately if what I have done to date is to run from those aspects of myself that I don't like rather than to accept them as part of the package that is me, this self in this body, made up of strengths and weaknesses.

I have become more aware that certain people in certain relationships are more capable of triggering a painful experience or moment from my past, a pain that lingers in the body and the unconscious mind. It's not necessarily the case, or at all the case, that they did something wrong but rather that they stepped on a wound that had yet to heal. I've come to realize that this circumstance has less to do with them as it does with me and unconscious wounds.

I think that when this sort of self-knowledge starts to simmer up into the consciousness the best strategy is to be kind to oneself. You're a good person with wounds. Now that you know that; can see and feel the wounds, they are intensified. I suspect, however, that the intensification means that the wounds will heal faster.  I think you have to be prepared to go to the place of grief about some circumstance or event, but if you can manage that, the discomfort starts to lose its grip on you. Maybe the inner child is heard and heals.