I’ve often heard it said that people wish they could be “a fly on the wall,” in reference to their desire to see or hear something to which they would not otherwise be privy. Perhaps we’ve all said or thought this at some point, but have you ever had the experience of being a fly on the wall — of being present in a setting in which you felt that others were unaware of your presence?
I have had this experience several times over the past few years. At first, I ignored it. Now that it has happened multiple times, I’m beginning to pay attention to it. What does it mean? Why do I feel this way?
It is a strange feeling of detachment, as though I am observing something in the present moment without actually being there. More specifically, I feel like I’m there, but it seems that no one else is aware of my presence.
Okay,… by now you might be thinking that I need professional help, and, who knows? Maybe I do! The feeling is actually quite surreal. People are moving about, engaging in conversations with others, while someone is offering something to drink to those in the room, but they don’t acknowledge that I’m there, too. I have never felt that this was done intentionally, so it begs the question: Am I really here?
At one recent event, I actually thought to myself, So this is what it will be like after I’m gone. It was certainly a unique perspective on life at that moment.
I’m writing about this tonight because I came across a quote about this very situation. The quote challenges me to ask myself, Am I to blame for this?
In an article on her web page, Debra Smouse wrote, “If you’re really honest with yourself, you may realize you probably feel invisible because you’ve kind of checked out of your own life.” Ouch! That hurt, because, in some ways, it rings true for me.
I’m almost 68 years old, which I acknowledge is not old. Many people my age continue to run, ski, hike up mountains, bike up mountains, travel the world, and engage in activities one might consider normal for a much younger person. I don’t do these things. I’m retired. I enjoyed a forty-year teaching career. I’ve traveled. I’ve played sports. I’ve accepted challenges. I’ve been married for almost 37 years. I have three sons and four grandkids. I’ve written three books. At this moment in time, there is nothing on my “must do” list. There are certainly things I still want to do, and hopefully I’ll have the opportunity to do some of those things, but none of them are critically important to me. Life is good, and I am quite content.
Have I “checked out” of my own life? I certainly don’t think so, but that’s how it might appear to those around me. I’m not as active as I once was. I don’t initiate activities like I did when I was younger. And when others initiate activities, I’m not as excited about jumping-in to help make them happen. I can still enjoy these activities when they happen, but I don’t need them, and I don’t want responsibility for organizing them anymore.
I am grateful to be where I am in my life right now. I have no desire to be younger. I have no desire to be anyone other than who I am. I have no desire to be the center of attention. I am thoroughly enjoying the peace and tranquility of watching the game of life from the bleachers. Yet, on occasion, I still wonder to myself, Can you see me?
