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Uninvisible

9.23.2020

One of my major narcissist/solipsist hangups is not wanting anyone to see me make an effort. Oh, there’s people over there, I’ll go that way. Oh there’s people in earshot, I’ll make that call later. You know, lest someone hear me say/do something that’s obviously wrong and then get grilled/laughed at for it. Because that’s what I would do. Or at least, that’s what I would think.

This morning’s walk quickly turned into running. There was nobody around and I felt good so I sped up. Then there was a car. So I stopped running. Obviously that person was going to see me and make a negative value judgement. Later on, I wanted to start running again. There was a guy and his dog so I kept walking. Then there were more people, healthy fit people, out for their morning runs. So I couldn’t run there either. And I was relieved I hadn’t started running when I saw the first person because I would have been winded by the time I got to the fit people. That would have been a double failure.

A bit later, I was thinking about my son. It occurred to me that the superpower I always wanted was to be invisible. If everyone just left me alone to do my thing, that would be just fine. I still feel that way. Pandemic life has affected me in many ways, but keeping my distance from people and actively avoiding them where possible is normal for me. I know I can’t have it both ways. I can’t give people the cold shoulder and then expect them to play in bands with me and love me onstage. A confident person doesn’t care who sees them making an ass of themself. It’s 7:30am and people are out running and walking their dogs. They see me, say hi or nod, and keep doing what they do. They already know I’m a fat shit with bright white and blue headphones and blue running sneakers with fluorescent green laces. I’m not inconspicuous. They don’t care. But I’m freaked out that they do actually care and they’re really just laughing at me. Because that’s what I would do.

This all happened while listening to Medeski, Martin, & Wood’s “Uninvisible”. In which I had an out-loud argument with myself in-between stopping running and seeing the guy with his dog. Many years ago, a woman I knew tried to get me to be friends with her nephew, who was a few years younger than me. We had absolutely nothing in common and I didn’t particularly like him. I think he invited me to his birthday, and one of his friends liked me. I didn’t particularly like her either, but here was an actual female showing interest in me and so yeah, why not. We went out a couple of times and she stopped talking to me after we had sex. I guess my dick wasn’t big enough or something. In never calling me back, she did abscond with my copy of “Uninvisible” and I never got it back. I downloaded it on Apple Music years later. Either way, that’s my shitty memory of this album.

My rational brain says it’s dead and buried. I’ve been married for 14 years to a wife who has never claimed she isn’t satisfied. But this is the memory I’m stuck with and having now. So ok, I’m between therapists, but therapy is really on me in the moment anyway, so I’m having an “inner critic” moment and let’s deal with it. Why am I seeing this? What’s the point? Why as I mull this over do the memories get stronger instead of going away? Well, I can answer all of those things somewhat rationally.

Our senses have memories. You remember a smell, a taste, a feeling, a sound, better than you remember the history of events. Leaving messages on her voicemail trying to get it back is my association. I really liked this album and wanted it back. I’m having this memory because I’m listening to it. If there’s a point, it’s not necessarily to show me failure, it’s simply to show me what my memory is. I remember more as I listen, and now as I type, simply because that’s the way memory works. That I don’t want the memory, that this whole exercise is irrelevant to what I’m doing right now, is not the point.

Writing this is my attempt to exorcise this memory. Or at least make it a different association. When I got home from my walk, my son was very interested in what I listened to. I showed him the album. He might ask me later to hear it. I might just play it for him anyway. Regardless, I need to make a new memory association for this record. Because no matter how much I want it, I can’t be invisible. I’m uninvisible. Nobody cares if they see me start and stop running.