Disappearing

As an old(er) woman it’s easy to be invisible. I can walk down the street or at the grocery store and no one sees me. Especially when people are only looking at their phone. I noticed this starting about ten years ago—in my late 50s. I became irrelevant.

Many women have described this. Perhaps, they were used to the attentions of men. I remember as a teen walking down the street with a friend and cars honking. Finally, I said, Why are all these cars honking?! And, she said, Because of these, pointing to her boobs.

Ahh, I thought, yes, that’s why. Alone, no one ever honked at me.

But, the feeling comes over me when standing in line at the bank or checkout. Incognito. Overlooked. Oh, you were here first? Oh, there’s a line? Oh, you’re actually here in front of me?

Yes, and yes.

Sometimes it bothers me, but after awhile I forget about it, just like the people around me forget to notice me.

When riding my bike, I also disappear, and this, I found, is a good thing. I retreat inside myself, forget to forget, forgotten, disremembered. I can let go of the physical—unless, of course, I’m straining or in pain. Some people call it In the Zone, where the exercise consumes the mental. At the same time as I lose my identity, I am also aware that it is my identity, the cycling, being a cyclist. It is then that I feel most like myself.

I’ve been contemplating this a lot these days. In about 10 days I start my bike trip down the Pacific Coast. While at the same time my eyesight is compromised. I have old lady cataracts. The plan is to get them removed right after I get back.

When I start out on my bike I’m frustrated by the glare, the washed-out landscape, but after a few minutes, muscle memory takes over and my mind wanders to other thoughts. My mind flits between worry (always!) the grandkids, my daughter, my job, my life until . . . sometimes nothing. It’ll be a few minutes (what is time?) later and I’ll reemerge into the present and go through the whole routine again.

All this to say: I’m still going on my bike trip regardless of the eyes. Of course, I’m sad I won’t see everything, but I’ve never been able to see it all. I miss a lot because I’m in the zone. Besides, being present isn’t about capturing it all, it’s about being in the environment and using my senses to respond.

I just don’t want to miss a hole in the pavement and go down. But, I worry about this all the time, even without impaired eyesight.

I look forward to the sea, the blue sky, the redwoods, the road—even the uphills, always the up. I can’t wait to be myself again.