Does Anyone Know What You’re Doing Right Now?

Living alone sometimes makes us invisible

“I have this need to shine a light on people and situations that are too often invisible.” That’s what I wrote in a residency application I labored over last week when they asked what drives me as a writer.

Hedgebrook, a retreat on Whidbey Island in Washington, would give me two or three weeks in a private cabin with trails to walk and meals provided. Those accepted write in solitude during the day and gather together in the evenings.

I live alone. Why would I need to leave home to write? I’m already by myself in the woods. But at Hedgebrook, I would not be staring at my unwashed dishes, the floor that needs vacuuming, the overflowing inbox, and other distractions, like the phone, my church music schedule, and a zillion chores. When I’m away from home, even overnight in a hotel, I focus ever so much better.

At the end of the day when I’m not working, I’m ready to see other people, especially people with similar interests. Here, I’m alone with my chores and the Internet. Hedgebrook would allow me to socialize with people who understand what I’m doing.

What drives you to write, the form asked. Beyond simply enjoying it and using writing to process my experiences, I want to show what life is like for people who are otherwise invisible, people with challenges others might not think about, including people who are childless and/or alone.

Do you ever feel invisible? Whether you live in a house, apartment, mobile home, or your car, do you think about how life is happening all around you and nobody even knows you’re there? I do. I don’t live in a big city anymore. There are four occupied houses on my street, and the residents of two of them are often gone, sometimes for days or weeks.

Nobody knows what I’m doing in my house, whether I’m sitting at my table eating alone, falling asleep and getting sunburned on my deck, writing a song, or playing my twentieth game of Spider Solitaire because I just can’t stop. Am I sleeping on the floor or have I fallen and can’t get up?

It doesn’t matter what I wear or what I do because nobody sees me. Invisible. Sometimes that’s good, like on Monday mornings when I scurry out in my pajamas to roll the trash carts to the street or when I get frustrated and scream as loudly as I can. (It helps. Try it.)

Invisibility is a secret power in many ways, allowing me to go where I want and do what I choose. I feel all too visible when I’m sitting in front of the congregation at church or on a stage making music, or when I’m speaking to an audience about my writing. I enjoy being in the spotlight for a little while, but then I need my privacy to relax and be myself.

I started this post in my room at the Holiday Inn in Salem last week. Room 413. Nobody except the hotel staff knew where I was or what I was doing, and that was fine.

If I were traveling with someone else, they might not understand what was happening in my mind or in my heart. They would see me sitting with my laptop and wish I’d quit so we could do something together.

I like a certain amount of invisibility, but being invisible has its problems. I’m reminded of old TV shows featuring ghosts who could only be seen by certain characters. Does anyone remember “Topper”? Watch an episode here. A married couple of ghosts haunted Mr. Topper’s house. When they wanted to be seen, they couldn’t. When they wanted to touch a living person, they couldn’t. Nor could they eat or enjoy any of the physical pleasures of life. But they could slip in and out, make wisecracks, and play tricks on the hapless Topper.

There have been many such shows over the years, and who can forget the 1990 movie “Ghost” with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore?

Unlike the TV ghosts, we are not dead. But sometimes we are unseen.

Those who never leave their homes are invisible. Others are quite visible, but no one pays attention: the homeless, the disabled, the lonely. Do we wonder why that woman is sitting on a park bench all by herself or lugging her suitcases through the airport on her own? Why is she alone? When she goes home, is anyone else there?

People with families often forget that there are others who spend holidays and birthdays alone. That many people would like to go out to a show, to dinner, or on vacation, but have no one to go with and just can’t bear to do it by themselves? That people sit in their houses yearning for someone to call or visit? That some of us cringe when the priest or minister goes on and on about the glory of families.

Does anybody notice or are we just invisible? Would we rather be invisible or risk being seen with all of our talents and flaws?

Unless we make an effort to be seen, there’s no automatic person who will notice what we’re doing, what we need, or how we might be feeling. I’m bothered by books, TV shows and movies where there’s always someone around who takes one look and says, “What’s wrong?” or who shows up just when you need help or a shoulder to cry on.

In real life, nobody’s coming unless we let them know we need them. We’re all so caught up in our own stuff we don’t notice what others are dealing with. And most of us wear our masks so well it’s unlikely anyone would realize we need something unless we tell them or collapse right in front of them.

It’s on us to open the windows and shout, “Hey, I’m alone and I need help.” “I’m lonely; come over.” or “I’m happy. I love my life.” Shout whatever you need to shout. Or don’t shout because you don’t need anyone to know your business.

If I am approved for the residency, I won’t go until next year. Who knows what will be happening in my life by then? Being accepted would be a gold-star addition to my resume. (Why do I care at 74?) But even if I am not approved, it has been helpful to think about how and why I write. It boils down to showing what is not seen, saying what is not said, and explaining what life is like for people like you and me.

My proposed residency project is to figure out how to shape all the materials I have gathered and written about living alone into a book that flows and makes sense. I’m going to do it anyway once I have my novels settled down for a while, but the residency would be a big help.

Check these out

“Why Do I Feel Invisible? The Psychology Behind It”

“The Psychology of People Who Never Feel Truly Seen”

“The 16 Best TV Shows About People Who See Ghosts”

Let’s talk

What makes you feel invisible, either alone or in a crowd? Are you more comfortable staying in your bubble of invisibility? How do you make yourself visible when you need someone to notice you? I write, perform, and spend a lot of time online. Once in a while, I call someone. What do you do?

Photo by Ye Jinghan on Unsplash

---

P.S. Thank you for all your sweet comments on my last post about dining alone and dealing with a frustrating medical system. It really means a lot. If you haven’t read that post yet, it’s still there, and I welcome your reactions and comments.

PPS. I’m being interviewed today for the “Boomer Banter” podcast, which is scheduled to air on April 27. I will be uncomfortably visible during that hour, but writers have to promote their books, and once I unlock my shell, I usually enjoy it. Host Wendy Green is terrific.

---

How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs and cats. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.