Like most Americans, I imagine, I am not a fan of Daylight Savings Time. Leaving work in the darkness for months every winter is depressing. In my case, I find, the darkness exacerbates my superpower of being invisible to other humans. It's bad enough being physically run into in grocery stores and halls at work, but this year I almost got hit by cars in parking lots because drivers could not see me. Twice. Thus, I feel and have long, long felt that I am merely inconsequential. My presence makes no difference, and that f&%$#ing sucks.
Maybe that's why I stayed in teaching? Because at least in the classroom, at the front of it, anyway, I matter.
But I want to matter to other people in the world. I want my existence to echo in the minds and hearts of other people. I want to leave an impact not so that I will be remembered after I am gone, but NOW; I want people to notice and to comment when I am not around. I want them to come looking if I am not there. I want to be wanted and talked to and sought out and desired for as company and companion.
Once, when I was in college and went to a bookstore with some classmates when we were in a foreign city, I knew we all had to be somewhere soon and I also KNEW, even then, that my fellows were likely to leave without me, so I went over to two different people in different groups and asked them to please come get me from the spot where I was reading when it was time to go, as I was as bad with directions then as I am now and knew I'd get lost alone. Sure enough, as the sun started to set, I looked up and saw none of my fellow students. I quickly paid for my book and ran outside, looking frantically in every direction for either group. I eventually caught up with one of them, but neither I nor they said anything about my being left behind. It wasn't a big deal to anyone but me, and I didn't want to be the baby who whined about being neglected and forgotten by everyone else.
To my sadness and shame and perhaps predictably, I am not in contact with anyone from college anymore, nor from grad school. In my school days I was always envious of the people who were the life of every room--who, if they got up from the table, it somehow meant the gathering was over, or conversation would not be as lively, or it would cause at least one person to ask, mid sip, "where did X go?". [It is true that when I was in relationships in grad school mattering to others mattered less to me, I am sure because in those situation I had someone to whom it was clear I DID matter. When those relationships ended, though, mattering became even more important to me because I had finally figured out that I could be valued to one someone, and to have lost that made its absence all the more galling.]
Now, years later, I try to enjoy singledom and solitary status and alone time. I bake. I read books. I watch whatever I want on streaming services and no one gets to comment or complain or need even be consulted. I eat when and what I please, and I can starfish in my bed as I like. As the late great Stephen Sondheim once wrote, I am free from the stifling grasp of someone who "ruins my sleep," but I wish I weren't. I think I would happily hold someone close, let someone in, need someone, spare someone's feelings, put someone through hell and be put through hell by them in return...if it meant doing it together; not being forgotten; mattering.
Maybe that's why I stayed in teaching? Because at least in the classroom, at the front of it, anyway, I matter.
But I want to matter to other people in the world. I want my existence to echo in the minds and hearts of other people. I want to leave an impact not so that I will be remembered after I am gone, but NOW; I want people to notice and to comment when I am not around. I want them to come looking if I am not there. I want to be wanted and talked to and sought out and desired for as company and companion.
Once, when I was in college and went to a bookstore with some classmates when we were in a foreign city, I knew we all had to be somewhere soon and I also KNEW, even then, that my fellows were likely to leave without me, so I went over to two different people in different groups and asked them to please come get me from the spot where I was reading when it was time to go, as I was as bad with directions then as I am now and knew I'd get lost alone. Sure enough, as the sun started to set, I looked up and saw none of my fellow students. I quickly paid for my book and ran outside, looking frantically in every direction for either group. I eventually caught up with one of them, but neither I nor they said anything about my being left behind. It wasn't a big deal to anyone but me, and I didn't want to be the baby who whined about being neglected and forgotten by everyone else.
To my sadness and shame and perhaps predictably, I am not in contact with anyone from college anymore, nor from grad school. In my school days I was always envious of the people who were the life of every room--who, if they got up from the table, it somehow meant the gathering was over, or conversation would not be as lively, or it would cause at least one person to ask, mid sip, "where did X go?". [It is true that when I was in relationships in grad school mattering to others mattered less to me, I am sure because in those situation I had someone to whom it was clear I DID matter. When those relationships ended, though, mattering became even more important to me because I had finally figured out that I could be valued to one someone, and to have lost that made its absence all the more galling.]
Now, years later, I try to enjoy singledom and solitary status and alone time. I bake. I read books. I watch whatever I want on streaming services and no one gets to comment or complain or need even be consulted. I eat when and what I please, and I can starfish in my bed as I like. As the late great Stephen Sondheim once wrote, I am free from the stifling grasp of someone who "ruins my sleep," but I wish I weren't. I think I would happily hold someone close, let someone in, need someone, spare someone's feelings, put someone through hell and be put through hell by them in return...if it meant doing it together; not being forgotten; mattering.
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