This past weekend I was sitting in the back row at a theater watching the dancers from ADA, the studio I work for, compete in their first competition of the year. I sat there for a good hour, just by myself. I didn't mind, I really enjoying dancing, especially young dancers because I think they have so much potential and it's refreshing to see young people dedicated and putting their whole life into something.
After a while, I realized something. As long as I sit here, nobody will know I'm here. The people shuffling in and out of the theater, they'd look at me but nobody knew me, nobody really knew I was there. To them, I'm a stranger, they don't care. But then again, to this entire city, I'm a stranger. I'm stuck in this stranger's skin.
|Courtesy of Jartweb.|
But it's not all bad. Over the past few years, I've become this observer. I stand off to the sit, occasionally stepping into the circle, but essentially I just observe people. I get to know names and families and personalities. I catch bits and pieces of their lives and form a whole story based on what I observe. In my mind, these people are quite real. They go to school, go to work, have friends and relationships and it's all in my mind. I live in half and half: half imaginary and half reality. If I ever do become a fiction writer, I'll sure have some good material for characters.
Maybe that's just what I'm destined to be: the Observer. Like an official career title, I'll go through life, effecting little and observing a lot. Then, when it's time, I'll document all my stories in a historical fiction kind of way, maybe a memoir (if my life is ever important enough to record). And all my characters will be based upon the people whom I have met along the way and who have changed me, even if they don't know they have or don't care that they have.
It comes this time of year, when I start becoming nostalgic and emotional. It's time to start thinking about moving, it's time to start moving parts of me while other parts want to hold onto what I have here. But the reality is is that it's time to start mentally packing, to start distancing myself and preparing to be in a strange place again.
I see myself like a mist in the fall. It creeps in, coating everything in a blanket of distortion. Then once the sun comes up, I dissipate. You'll remember me as something that was there for a fleeting moment and now is gone.