something of a chronic duh

Everything is swirling around and through me this morning as I sit with the wonder about my relationship with people. And as accurately asked, my lack of relationship with people. I’m bringing my don’t-know, I don’t know nothing about nothing mind to it. Where the “it” is wondering. Where the “it” is me.

A few days ago I posted here about feeling especially invisible in my life now – the summer of 2024. Two thousand and twenty-four. Being born in 1949, nineteen forty-nine, and conjures for me, “It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.” Which is metaphor – How much do I rock and roll with others, and how much do I do that thing by myself? And when I’m by myself, which I am more and more and more, is it still rock and roll? To which I bring don’t-know mind, and consider much of how I am the summer of 2024 – writer, walker, meditator, artist, and reckless daydreamer. Without a crowd in sight.

I was having some of this conversation with Ann last night, and she said, “I’m a people person,” and – decades in human services and group recovery – I said, “I’m a people person too,” as I felt my second and third fingers cross when what I’m saying may be a fib I’m keeping on the down low.

Which brings me right back to the beginning. Why do I feel so invisible? Why does my phone almost never ring beyond people looking for money? Excluding with Ann, why do I nearly always go out to coffee by myself? This Thursday the question remains – Am I a people person, or not? And if I should eventually decide, “Hell ya, I’m for sure a people person,” then, where are all the people?

Me and Billy Idol – Dancing with myself.