I normally don't look at people if there's any chance they will look back at me.
So, when I pass humans, I tend to look down. I'm not sure why.
I guess it feels too intimate to acknowledge someone you don't know. What are you supposed to do when you lock eyes? Smile? Then, what if they don't smile back? Or, what do you do after the smile?
It's a major fear of rejection on my part. Or, just fear in general.
Well, I decided to get over it. Especially if I plan to be a writer... I need to observe people. So, that's what I've begun doing this week.
Today in Starbucks I made a concerted effort to really look at people and not be so scared.
There were only three people in the Starbucks, but I had to start somewhere.
Two of the three were participating in a job interview.
The third, a pale, intense-looking young man, sat staring down at the tabletop. It looked like he was reading the table, if that's at all possible. Then, I knew he knew I was looking at him and I felt a connection. Not romantically...just an awareness of each other, and it felt intimate. It was like a live electric wire stretched from my eyes to the side of his head. I looked just a while longer, until at one point, he started laughing to himself.
Then, I understood why I felt such a jolt of electricity when I stared at him.
He reminded me of someone...a person I don't want to be reminded of, and the subsequent awareness of that buzzed me.
He made me think of my stalker.
It's been six years now, but there's a core of creepiness that always lives in me as a result of the experience.
I met the man in a bar, we locked eyes from across the room and there was an intensity there that (at the time) seemed novel.
We dated for two months, then I realized he was a nut case, and not just creatively intense. He was a painter and produced these dark, moody canvasses -- 100s of them! -- that were graceful and morose (like him).
When I broke up with him (I really think he wanted to live in his paintings), the intrusions began.
He showed up at work with a weird teddy bear sporting a belly pouch full of dead leaves. He left cards and flowers (freshly picked from neighbor's yards) with my friends. He called my family.
One morning, when I came into work, every window was emblazoned with painted flowers and hearts.
Another day, he broke into my apartment, and a vigilant neighbor called the police.
They found him hiding under my bed.
Then, he made his way into my place again. Except this time I was there. He'd kicked the front door down in the middle of the night. That evening, no one called the police.
After that, my parents stayed with me for a night or two while I made arrangements to move.
The morning of their departure, he'd scaled the apartment complex wall leading to my balcony door and attempted to get inside.
The attacks on my privacy didn't stop. Repeated calls to the police turned up fruitless, and one officer even spat at me: "What did you do to make him so obsessed with you?"
When I finally located a new apartment, the management at my present complex refused to let me out of the lease.
I became surprised and hurt that so many took little interest in my situation and even held me responsible.
It was a time I really felt down by humanity.
Anyway, this blog entry grew a life of its own. And, without knowing it, I guess I answered my question from above.