November 23, 2018

I walk a lot most of the time, really, but recently the temperature plummeted to something ridiculous like -20C for a few weeks and nobody wanted to go outside, myself included.

But the last few days have been way more mild, to the point where I didn't even wear a toque today. In late November!

But I digress: I've been walking a lot lately in a variety of headwear and a very sharp blue jacket courtesy of the recent Thrive Thrift Shop clothing swap

(I've finally fulfilled my lifelong dream of owning a winter jacket that isn't black!)

to and from different meetings, and appointments, and what have you.

It's been nice to be outside again.

The part I like most about being outside is having the opportunity to see other people going about their day. I'm endlessly fascinated by other people and can sit in one spot watching people all day long if left to my own devices. 

A lot of people think people-watching is boring, but it isn't. People are incredibly interesting if you think about it. 

Consider this: every single other person around you is walking around in a big skin bag with internal thoughts and feelings, worries and motivations, deep personal histories, baggage, anxieties, hopes and fears... all of the weird stuff you go through every day, everyone else is going through at the same time.

Do you remember the first time you realized that about other people? I do.

I was in the bathroom in my childhood home, washing my hands. Or rather, I'd washed my hands after using the bathroom and was thinking about something, and as I looked at myself in the mirror I realized: 

every single other living person out there is having the same experience as I am. 

I actually stumbled back a bit and had to catch myself on the towel rack, and stared at myself and for the first time connected with the fact that all of the other people around me were as equally complicated and had the same internal monologues and experiences, and it scared the living daylights out of me.

I'd never felt so small before. I felt insignificant because, after all, if what I'm experiencing is just "default human" and is the same thing everyone else experiences, does that mean I'm less unique? 

After that I developed an obsession with psychology and sociology and anthropology. 

I figured: I dive as deep into these topics as I can, maybe I can figure myself out.

But what digging into it (and, subsequently, into how totally infinitesimally small and unimportant I am in the grand scheme of the universe - deep breath) wound up accomplishing was that I developed a strange fascination with other people.

(The jury is still out on whether I truly understand myself though - I'm a work in progress)

I want to know everyone's backstory. Their hopes. Their fears. What it's like for them for look out of their eyes from their body and look at me knowing that there's a consciousness in there looking back at them from a separate sack of skin and bone and muscle and gut bacteria and atoms and neurons firing. 

I wonder: what's it like for them to know that there's another person in me, too?

So it's nice when it's warm enough for me to walk outside because I get to experience other humans going about their days, absorbed in their own and thoughts and feelings.

They're going about their lives, thinking their own internal monologues. 

Worrying about what to make for dinner 

what to get Jenny for her birthday next Thursday

that wall in the kitchen they still haven't painted yet.

I walk by other people and I marvel at how unique everyone is. 

How strikingly complex and interesting and special they all are. 

And I walk to and fro and back and worth watching people, and I wonder:

Does anyone else realize this about me, too?