Exactly Anonymous

Although I truly have no idea why, it is beyond belief to me that there are other people in the world who do exactly the kind of things I do. Not "exactly" exactly, but pretty damn close.

Case in point: I'm sitting in a coffee shop and there is a woman sitting across the way from me reading and writing and generally observing the folks around her. I don't think it's this act alone that amuses me, but the delight and irritation she's exhibiting while performing the act - that's where the "exactly" part comes in.

She's reading a little, writing a little. She takes short breaks to observe her fellow coffee shoppers and then laughs - right out loud - at either them or some funny thought she's just had about them. What she's reading and writing is effectively kept private, while the sardonic nature of her thoughts about the world's population are very obviously on display. Funny stuff.

We made eye contact a few minutes ago. The kind that's accidental and in some strange way embarrassing, for people inevitably look away quickly when this happens as if they've been caught doing something terribly wrong. In that moment of embarrassing strangeness there was a glimmer of camaraderie as well. One of those "ah, you, too" moments. A small piece of recognition in an otherwise swimming mass of anonymity.

For a split second I'm happy to think that this woman understands a bit about me - about who I am - in some bizarre way. As if our reading and writing and observing has linked us, even briefly. I am not alone in this world, there are others who do what I do. Then again, maybe she only sees me as a member of the endless sea of unimportant background characters in any given day of her life. Another nobody. Yet one more person she will not interact with today. Worse yet - maybe she doesn't see me at all.