Deja vu

While I was having breakfast this morning, a woman with her back to me arrested my attention. Truthfully, it wasn’t her at first, it was her killer boots: burgundy leather with towering heels (what can I say? I am true to my gender sometimes).

But as I checked out the rest of her, I was struck by the way she held herself, in a self-possessed watchful stillness, like she was in a world of her own, so ‘zen’ that she’d become one with her surroundings, neither affecting it, nor being affected by it. The immediate thought that leapt into my head was that she was not just obviously alone, but lonely.

I was ashamed at the thought, of how easy it had been to judge until I realized what drew me to that conclusion. You see, what she reminded me most of, was me. I was her. And when I was her, I was not aware of carrying my loneliness around like a brand on my forehead. I thought it was secret only I knew. I thought I gave the impression of being a girl, self-confident and independent enough to be totally comfortable being out on her own. It was also what I thought of other women whom I saw alone.

So why do I think otherwise now? Is it that having been there, I’m now more adept at detecting this mask in others? Or have I become the very thing I detest? I pray it’s the former.