Temporary Shadows
On letting go of what was, and adapting to new sources of energy...
Excuse me ma’am? ma’am? MA’AM? His voice grew louder as I strode through the lobby of my NYC apartment building, oblivious and hauling multiple bags of groceries, eager to get upstairs after sherpa-ing them several city blocks (I know, I know, Fresh Direct! InstaCart! But I like to feel up my produce!). Another woman entered the building at the same time, so I just assumed he was calling to her.
I turned, trying not to drop the heavy bags that were now slipping off of my sloping shoulders, and asked “are you talking to me?” Indeed he was, this same doorman whom I had greeted the day before, and the day before that. “What apartment are you visiting?” he asked. I summoned all of the grace I could, and respectfully, if not a bit incredulously replied, “I live here.” He continued his line of questioning. “What is your apartment number? How long have you lived here?” My patience was fading, along with my normally good nature. Also, I had to pee. But I answered the questions and told him I had lived in the building since 2019. He apologized- “no offense” he said- and I wish I could tell you that I took none, but after a couple of stressful days on limited sleep, I didn’t feel myself and I was, I admit, slightly offended. Had I become utterly unmemorable??
It was the sunglasses, he said. He didn’t recognize me in the sunglasses. But the truth is that I wear sunglasses in and out of the building almost all of the time. Now in fairness, this doorman was relatively new, having started in the spring, and I was gone for parts of the summer, so we really hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other. BUT, I had been in and out all week, always with a hello or quick chit chat, so it stung to feel so unseen, unrecognized, especially on my home turf. And, especially as I grapple regularly with the changing topography of my face.
It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Last winter I stopped by a local pizza place to inquire about ordering for a little marathon party I was throwing for my son. I had more than a passing conversation with the young, beautiful hostess, who gave me some information and told me to come back that night to firm up with the manager. Only when I came back mere hours later, it was as if she were meeting me for the first time. “How can I help you?”
It’s all enough to make a girl feel a bit like a shadow sometimes. Not exactly invisible, but not fully basking in the light either.
Look, I’m not somebody who needs a lot of attention, and in many ways, the absence of leering eyes and body scan check-outs is quite liberating. Before Me Too, I used to describe the inappropriate things that went on in the workplace as just part of the indignities of being a woman (I joke with a former friend/former colleague that we could have retired long ago!). I do not miss the male gaze, even if it once felt validating to know that I was attractive to the opposite sex.
So why then, was I so bothered by these incidents? And how do I reconcile the feelings they triggered with the fact that I am more confident and more comfortable in my skin than I have ever been? I know my worth (and understand that it has nothing to do with the way I look), and I feel truly seen by the people that matter to me. So what gives?
The simple answer is that it can be very hard to let go of what was. Of youth. Of a face full of collagen and a body full of estrogen. Of being needed by young kids. Of being noticed. Of whatever was once true and happy and comfortable but now is different. Life moves forward at a relentless pace, changing us and the world around us as it goes.
More complicated are deeper issues of identity, relevance and the impermanence of it all. As I write this, days after the doorman incident, I am facing down the second anniversary of my mom’s passing, and as I wrote a couple of weeks ago, for this reason and others, September is a heavy month for me. It’s hard to encapsulate all of the feelings that wash over and through me (and sometimes envelope me), but one of the more surprising aspects of grief has been the identity shift/adjustment. When you spend your entire life tethered to another, when part of your life’s definition is “daughter,” it is extraordinarily disorientating when that is no longer. When that lifelong energy supply- that connectivity- is cut.
So perhaps I was feeling extra vulnerable that day, when not being recognized made me feel like a shadow; like I was once again cut off from a vital energy supply, my light somehow blocked. But I have learned over the past couple of years that it is possible to adapt to a different kind of connection- to my mom and to a younger me- via signs and memories, and the continued learnings that come from digging deep. There is sometimes longing for what is lost, and there are times of depletion, but I know now that it is possible to find and plug back in to new energy supplies and get the current flowing again.
And because of this I know that when my light does become temporarily blocked, it will continue to shine, even if I’m the only one who can see it some days.
As always, I am so grateful you are here- your time is precious and it means the world to me that you take some of it to read this newsletter. There’s so much to explore in and around this topic of (in)visibility, loss and letting go, and resilience- I’d love to hear about your experiences and how you are thinking about it. And if you enjoyed this post, please hit the ❤️ and/or share if you know someone who would appreciate. Have a wonderful weekend!
Dina xx
I’ve been struggling with this a lot lately, and I thought it was mostly because sickness has snatched the past four years away from me and I feel like awoke as an entirely different person, but it’s also suddenly being dropped into this transitional period of life without warning. I’m learning to make peace with it all, but boy this process is of rediscovery is a hard one.
This resonates with me - a growing sense of invisibility as we age. On the other hand, we now have the freedom and wisdom to be visible for the things that matter to us. A good tradeoff, but it still stings.