There was this girl who was no longer really a girl, but a woman of 40. Others looked at her and all they could see was this woman nearing her middle years. If only they could peel away the layers, the girl thought, if only they could look inside and see the real me. Some people did take the time to delve deeper and when they did, they could see that her youthful glow was still there, shining out of her eyes.
The girl realised that others labelled her. Although she found this sad, she knew that people do this in order to simplify things. With busy lives, others need to quickly make judgements on people in order to decide whether to discard or further acquaint themselves with them. The girl was aware that she didn’t ‘market’ herself too well to the general public. She wasn’t a snappy dresser and generally dressed in the Childminder/mum uniform of trainers, jeans and hooded waterproof coats to keep out the Scottish rain. Her previously long dark hair was now a short choppy blonde/brown – practical for when she needed to run her fingers through it when she couldn’t find a brush. The girl knew she was not glamorous nor fashionable, her look was for minimal fuss and ease of getting out of the door in the morning. She didn’t much care for fashion anyway.
When waiting for six little children to finish school, she would watch the adult groups form in the playground. The stiff dark trouser shirted business mums sometimes stood together or had one foot out of the playground rushing to/from work. The cool hipsters had a clique, as did the young mums and the older ones. The girl felt sorry for the dads who would often be left alone. She noticed that the grandparents liked to hang out together too. Being sociable, and not feeling like she belonged to any particular category of person, the girl liked to talk to anyone and she did just that. What she found was that everyone had something in common – they were human and therefore had similar hopes and dreams and fears.
The girl wondered how it would be if everyone looked identical or were blank sheets. If people all looked the same – what then? How would they know who to talk to? Who would share their interests? Would it matter if their interests differed? Perhaps that would make for diverse and engaging conversations?
The girl joined WordPress. Discarding her name and the labels she was known by; she decided to just be herself. Here she was, in the very world she had imaged before; the one where everyone was a blank sheet. Some people were faceless and others proudly showed their photos but she often didn’t pay much attention to their faces. Their words were what mattered. She spoke to the confident woman for months before realising she was a shy teenager. She read the articulate expressive poems of the boy with Aspies who struggled to talk to people in real life. She was uplifted by the jovial posts of those she would later discover had suffered tragedy and heartache in the past. The girl could get to know people without misconceptions of what they must be like due to history or how they look now.
She sips her tea, logs on to WordPress and exhales. How lucky she is to have found this place.