I did a version of this Escher sketch (I wonder if Escher ever used an Etch-a-sketch) years ago and thought it was time to reprise and update it. In the sphere of things it is a fascinating image (I do loves me my puns). It is a man (in this case me...cisgender even though it isn't cool). The interesting thing about this image is that you never really know where the drawing begins and the man ends (or visa versa).
That was a great deal of paranthetical sentences in one paragraph.
I actual don't do a lot of literal reflecting on myself in reality. I don't like mirrors or photos because too often it is like starting at a stranger. I do reflect a great deal on my inner self (whatever that is). It is why I am convinced I have never been overly successful as a blogger/writer. People don't care about what makes another person tick (unless that person is famous...and in particularly flawed). People care about themselves even when they are acting all benevolent and self-effacing.
I read something the other day someone posted on Facebook (sorry). I think it was an Ann Landers quote. She said people worry about what people think when they are young, stop caring when they are older and then finally discover no one actually thinks about you at all. We all just think about ourselves.
It resonated.
It kind of goes with that blog post I made a few weeks ago about the Powerpoint presentation I made to my work team that was just about me thinking they would be fascinated and then discovering that no one cared or thought I was nearly as interesting as I assumed they thought.
It is a sobering realization to realize your own insignificance (It's a Wonderful Life be damned).
Trump has obviously never come to that realization (nor do all of the insignificant lampreys that attach themselves to his orange ass).
I have always tried to laugh off my insignificance and harbor this hope that somewhere deep down, people really do think I'm amazing. But the older you get, the more you discover there is nothing further from the truth.
This is not self pity. Nor do I think it is a bad thing. There is something freeing to discover you don't really matter. You don't have to write, look or act any particular way to keep an image alive if you have no image. It is part of that invisibility I ponder so often.
It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, "see right through me."
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