Have we met?
This post is going to be heavy.
No quirky style or cheeky wit. It’s just going to get real.
We all have different aims in life, whether they be career, creative or lifestyle oriented. But one thing that I’m sure we all have in common is that we aim to make an impact. We aim to be remembered.
Remembered. Not famous.
We aim to have an affect on those around us; to be looked upon with grace and positivity.
So you can imagine my dismay when on a daily basis I feel invisible.
Now before you back track out of this blog post and start thinking “Ugh, she’s gonna get all emo now.” Take comfort. This isn't a ‘please feel sorry for me’ post. This is more of an ‘this is my train of thought every day and I hope you get it’ kind of thing.
Now, I don't know if it’s because I have a really good memory, or maybe I just listen more than most people, but I have a tendency to remember many things about many people. Not just their names, but details they’ve mentioned in passing. Details they have forgotten they have even mentioned in my presence, and when I bring them up, they look at me with shock and a little fear in their eyes. “How do you know that?!” they ask. And all I can reply with is, “You told me.”
This exchange pains me two-fold.
They’re surprised at the fact that someone can remember something remotely personal about them. It disappoints me that people find it impressive and often curious that another human has taken an interest in their lives, made the effort to remember that fact and then had the instinct to bring it up in future conversation. This isn't the norm anymore. And it sucks.
They don't remember I was there when they mentioned said fact.
That last point is the one that gets to me. As selfish as it is, it has happened to me on so many occasions that it has really started to worry me.
I like to think I’m a good person. Whatever that means. I take an interest in others, I listen as intently as I can, I always give the benefit of the doubt and I tend to think too much before words come flying out of my mouth. But maybe this makes me nothing. Maybe it all means nothing to no one.
I have become the vanilla of the ice cream box.
The blurred back ground in fancy photos.
The pre-chorus to a really great hook.
Maybe my efforts will always go amiss because no one actually cares. When somebody who I have met on multiple occasions doesn't remember my name, I feel like I’ve suddenly turned into that third tenor who no one remembers.*
When classmates who I spent 5 years in high school with can't pick my face, I start to break down into a mess of existentialism and wonder: was I even there? When somebody louder, funnier, taller and more attractive says the same comment as I did ten seconds earlier and they get the best reaction, I just bow my head and take it.
Because maybe that’s what I’ll always be to others. That little voice that isn't heard over the din of trendy hair cuts and limited edition sneakers.
I refuse to become another version of myself just to be seen. I hang onto the faith and belief that one day, my wallflower-esque nature will surprise and delight someone. That one day, my face will come into focus and the words I say will make someone feel appreciated.
Because I don't want to be famous, or well known, or even recognised.
I just want to be remembered.
(*Seinfeld reference: Episode “The Doll”)