As I sit at Starbucks writing this, I feel like a giant stereotype. (Oh, you're a writer? Oh, you're at Starbucks? How original.) To top it off, I have my big purse, glasses on, and a yoga mat sitting in a Donjoy bag on the ground by my feet. From time to time I pause my hurried scribbles, and I look across the street, gathering my thoughts or covertly watching people as they pass in front of me on the sidewalk. Often, I pick up my--what's the coffee-lingo word for medium?--tea and take a sip noting my misspelled name and hearing the ice cubes tumble against the plastic cup.
For a moment, I wonder what people must think of me as they walk by. Maybe they don't notice me at all... But, if it were me walking by, I know what I would notice. I would see a girl, frizzy hair from the summer humidity, scrawling on a cheap notepad, drinking overpriced black tea that she probably could have made better (and cheaper) at home, with an iPhone 4 and an unlabeled purse. I might give her a small smile before I looked away, but only if she had caught me observing her. Then, I'd carry on my way and probably not ever give her a second thought...
I wonder what people would see if they actually took the time to know me.
They'd realize I wasn't a Tennessee girl the second I said "hello" without their charming southern drawl. From there, they might discover from my wide eyes and my fascination of the novel surroundings that I'm new to Nashville. If they noticed the darkness underneath my eyes, they could tell that stress has taken the place of a good night's sleep over the last week. The brace around my middle would indicate joint problems that constantly render me in-pain and irritable. Once they asked me about the weather, it would become obvious how much I deplore small talk, and my shy smile would show them my social anxiety.
If they take the conversation in the right direction, they might discover who I am.
I'm a Kansas transplant. I was raised to say please and thank you. I know the value of hard work. I would sooner step in a cow patty than let someone struggle with something without offering help. I'm just as comfortable in Wranglers and boots as I am in athletic shorts and tennis shoes. Before I even have a conversation with someone I'm thinking about all of the possible outcomes so I'll know just what to say, and I'll be thinking about the conversation afterwards wondering what I could/should have said differently. If someone would have asked me my five year plan a couple years ago, I could have answered without taking a beat. Now, I would rather stick my head in wet sand than answer. At 19 I married the love of my life. I'm a nonconformist, and if someone tells me I should do something one way, I'll probably do it just the opposite. (I get that from my dad's side of the family.) I'm a writer. A thinker. An agriculturalist. An advocate. A Catholic. A do-er. I will do what it takes to be successful and my idea of being successful is being useful.
So, as I sit along the sidewalk, scrawling in my notebook, I can't help but think...
What do we miss, when we look at someone with just a glance?
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