The Anti Zone

Someone asked me about my Sunday wheeling experiences.

Did people stare at me?

I have no idea. I wasn't looking at people, I was looking at the paintings.

Did people treat me like I was invisible?

No. I think people were acutely aware of me. On a beautiful and crowded spring Sunday, the museum was packed by noon, but I experienced no problems with crowding. When I backed up, I always checked that no one was behind me and no one ever was. Thinking about it, I realized that was odd. Instead, I realized that there seemed to be no one around me at all.

In fact, I seemed to have created an inviolable space around me. I have to admit, given my intense dislike of crowds, I liked that.

When you were a kid, you probably had a toy of iron filings encased in plastic and you moved a magnet around to draw the filings near the magnet. I was the opposite of that. I created an anti-magnetic zone.

I already know what it's like to feel invisible. I've known that feeling for at least the past twenty years and have felt it especially in the past ten years. Being deliberately avoided somehow makes me visible. You have to see me to avoid me.

I know that to some among the wheeler community, invisibility and avoidance are sources of grief, but I say bring it.