I am the Mist.

I know it's been a reoccurring post here on my ol' bloggy, but it's a reoccurring theme in my life as of late. The constant battle to feel comfortable.

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.

The day before this moment, a co-worker turned to me and laughed. She said that if she didn't have to be at the competition, she wouldn't be and here I am, voluntarily at the competition being supportive of everyone and enjoying myself. That's when I realized that I'm only a fleeting moment in these peoples' lives. In three years, they won't remember me but forever, this will be a huge part of my life. I will forever remember Toronto in fondness because I found people that made me feel accepted. But, with no negative feelings towards anyone I'm referencing, I'm like a sliver to them: stuck in the shallow folds of their skin but will soon be plucked out and forgotten about. And that made me feel truly like a wallflower (and you know my obsession with The Perks of Being a Wallflower), the word just seems to fit me. 

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.