Interesting and Interested

Sitting in my usual place in the corner cafe.

Papers spread on the table, wooden pen in hand.

I’m comfortable, content.

Until I notice the eyes on me.

From across the room, from each direction.

Not all at once these furtive glances. Checking me out.

The self-conscious part of me begins to shift and I put my head down.

Pretend they aren’t here, you aren’t here.

Am I so odd?

And then I realize that I am. In this place.

I’m alone.

Writing. With.a.Pen.and.Paper.

With dangly earrings, heels. Denim mini-skirt.

A handled basket woven with bright fabric for my purse.

My plate is empty signaling I’ve been here a while. And in no rush to leave.

Maybe they aren’t judging me.

Maybe they’re wondering who I am.

And about what important work I must be doing.

And how fun are these teal wedges?

And thinking about why I’m here.

And if they know me or if they should.

I’m interesting.

How interesting…

They may be wondering how they might be able to find a quiet spot of their own.

Or work up the courage to sit alone.

Or have something worth setting in ink.

And who they could ask for help with that.

And where they might find some cool shoes.

Or hoop earrings.

Maybe they remembered that thing they said they were going to do.

Or the person they said they were going to be.

And they decided.

Not to be like me.

But more like themselves.

A unique expression.

A stand-out in the casual cafe of the every day.

This inspires me to be someone. In the world.

Who is noticed.

Who has a story to tell. Intriguing. Inviting. Interesting.

And interested.

In who you are, too.