Often, I encounter people that I have forgotten. Not just forgotten their name. But also their face. No trace on my brain that we ever met. It’s bad. People come up to me making it obvious that they know me because we had a meaningful conversation. And then they look at my perplexed face and say, “You don’t remember my name?” I don’t have the heart to say that I don’t remember anything about ever meeting them– there isn’t even a tip of the tongue thing where I go, “Yeah I know you, but can’t remember from where.”
Yet very recently, I recognized a guy on the street that I’ve never met in real life, that I only “know” through Facebook. But I wasn’t relying on my memory for that, but on my ferret-out-cuties radar. That radar is superhumanly sensitive. I can spot attractive people even in blobby, blurry peripheral vision, by hearing a rustle behind, or through animal instinct.
The forgetting thing is becoming more of an issue now that I am talking with more people through blogging. In the past couple of weeks people have emailed me or posted on my blog that they saw me out somewhere in Philly. Usually, they haven’t come up and say hi, but rather want to chat after the event via an online forum. And I have no idea who they are, how we met, or even if we really met.
I guess the reason this stuff is unsettling is that when I am amidst strangers, I think I am invisible. I eat messy food, let my gut hang out, and frown a lot. So, I don’t try to look my best when I think no one is looking at me.
Anyway, I dare you to come up to me if you see me in public. But if you do, don’t be surprised if I don’t remember anything about anything. Especially about stuff I write. I don’t take any of this that seriously.