What A Weirdo
I’m mad at myself, so I’m venting. Look around for my other articles, if you have no time for this. But if you’ll allow my indulgence, dig this:
As I’ve said before, I spend a good amount of my time in the library. At other times, I’m out meeting people and making friends. Often, I pair these activities and make an effort to meet people while I’m at the library. The working assumption there is that if someone is in the library, they’re going out of their way to uncover some kind of knowledge they didn’t have before. These people are either goal oriented or curious. Or better yet, both.
So, I people-watch. And when I spot an interesting character who might have strayed too far from the herd, I go in for the kill. Depending on the opportunity they represent, I try one of two strategies: I seek their help. I offer my help.
Anyway, this afternoon in the library, I spotted a young lady talking on her phone. Sure, we can say she shouldn’t have been disturbing the peace by chewing the fat on her phone. But I overlooked that when I overheard her say, “yeah, I’m an artist, so . . .”
Interesting. I know a few artists. I do the local scene. I know a couple of things. Next, I heard the girl add, “yeah, I’m confident it should go the way I want it to by this fall.” So, I wondered where she was in her development. Clearly, she wasn’t a paid artist. She was dressed in a black spandex workout uniform like Serena Williams recovering from a habit. So, I thought I might do something good with my day by pointing her toward some opportunities.
When she ended her call, I left my seat and walked over to her. As politely as I could I said, “Excuse me, I think I just overheard you say you’re an artist, is that right?” The peeved look in her eyes lowered her age range from a possible twenty-five to a probable nineteen. Or twenty, tops. She seemed suspicious that I was out to conquer her virginity or something stupid like that. Cautiously, she said, “uh, yeah . . .?”
Giving her more credit than she deserved, I ignored her mistrust and told her about some local venues and suggested she could check them out if she wished. But she kept looking at me with her eyes bulging as I went on to ask her if she had a website. Of course, she did not. She went on to limit her chatter to a few words. She mentioned that she was trying to “find the right medium. . .”
In other words, she didn’t yet know if she would be dabbling in photography, painting, paper cutting, collages or what. In other words, she wasn’t an artist. She was dreaming of being an artist. She had no platform, no work to display, and she wasn’t prepared for questions. And what was most obvious was that she didn’t know how to build relationships. She was like a first grader who had read too many tales of wolves in sheep’s clothing. If she was going to live her dream, she would have to step out into the real world and leave those fairytales behind.
But before I could say anything else, she dismissed me by whining, “okay, well thank you . . .”
I got the message. As I kept on my way, I said, “Good luck. I hope everything works out according to plan.” She said, “I’m sure they will . . .” And just think, I was trying to be good to this girl. She was clueless. After I left the library, I thought about it some more. I decided I should have left that individual in her fantasy world undisturbed because all she did was offend me. She repaid my kindness with mistrust. And as she ages it’s likely she’ll only become more defensive. That’s not the recipe for success in very many fields of endeavor.
I was mad at the girl. It was like I was seeing red. Then, I saw the light as if from a different side of a prism. I went outside and people-watched a while. A lady came by in a plain pair of blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. She paused nearby. I was so busy admiring all the pretty women in fancy clothes that I paid this lady no attention. Still, she hesitated before going into the library as if inviting my approach. But I thought she was too ordinary. I ignored her.
I was as clueless as the young lady who had dismissed me just minutes before. Finally, after giving me a moment to reconsider, the plain looking woman peeped at me curiously then walked away. And in that moment as the sunlight struck her honey-colored eyes, I saw her wisdom. She knew she was plain looking. She accepted that. But she had a confidence that could have complimented my own. But I realized it too late.
Hours later when I thought of this, I saw myself in another light. As if from yet another side of that prism. It was like staring uncomfortably into a mirror. I didn’t care for that reflection. It showed a man wallowing in the shallow waters of superficiality. As it’s been said, ‘the light shines in the darkness, but the darkness comprehends it not.’ I had to wonder what I might have missed out on by not chatting with that woman in the plain clothes. But recalling the serenity, wisdom, and confidence in her sweet eyes, I’m hopeful that the next time around I’ll recognize the opportunity to make friends with a worthy character. And not some Serena Williams throwback from no man’s land: What. A. Weirdo.
Okay, I’m done complaining. Feel free to look at some other posts which I can assure you are the opposites of grievances.
If you have more grievances than you can handle and need someone to talk to, there’s always the Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787. Or call 988 if you feel suicidal.