See Yourself From Both Sides. Now.

A very wise man once told me, “If you could close the gap between how the world sees you and how you see yourself, you’d be unstoppable."

He was probably just fed up with my trademark self-deprecating humor. I’m a lot better than I used to be, but there was a time when I would've rather chewed broken glass than accept a compliment. Besides, thinking of 12 different ways to rebuff one helped sharpen my comic timing. If I could get the compliment giver to laugh, they’d be so preoccupied by my wit, I’d be spared the task of acknowledging something positive about myself.

I know…twisted stuff, born of a challenging childhood, spark-y emotional wiring and a basket of other issues. But I’ve never forgotten that wise man’s remark because though that gap has closed substantially for me, I’m still caught off guard every now and then.

This morning yielded one of those moments. While waiting for a Metro train in Washington, DC, reading an email on my phone and listening to David Bowie, I felt a tap on my arm. Looking up, I saw a middle-aged black man wearing a neon yellow Metro vest. He was gesturing at my phone while mouthing something. As I pulled out my earphones, I couldn’t help recalling another time a man approached me while I waited for public transportation. Instantly, I was in fight or flight mode.

Mr. Metro wished me “Happy New Year,” and proceeded to warn me about the dangers of listening to music in public places. “You need to stay aware of what’s going on around you, Sweetie,” he said. “People will run up on you, and you won’t know what hit you.”

Hmm, where to begin pulling the trigger of indignation and utter contempt at his patronizing behavior? First of all, my Mama didn’t name me “Sweetie,” okay? And did I look like I belonged with the group of middle school kids who were horseplaying nearby on the platform? What made him think that I, a good and grown woman, needed advice on how and when to listen to my music?

Somebody hold my purse while I take off my earrings.

Reflexively, I had interpreted his response based on how I saw myself, and I gotta admit the vision wasn’t exactly fresh and dewy. I hadn’t slept well the night before, and all I saw while applying mascara were the bags under my eyes. My joints are still adjusting to Winter in America, so I’m definitely feeling my age. I have lived and traveled in East African war zones, for God's sake. I am as tough as old shoe leather. Was this dude really “man-splaining” public transportation etiquette to me like I was too dumb to be let out of the house by myself??

Fortunately, Mr. Metro spared himself a menopausal beat-down by continuing his counsel. “I’ve learned a lot in my 58 years, Sweetie. You have to be extra careful out here.” Wait….how often does a 58-year-old man offer safety advice to a 55-year old?? Could what he’s seeing be wildly different from what I had seen in the mirror a few hours earlier?

Was it possible that what I considered the grizzled countenance of a war-scarred, exhausted old battleaxe had transmitted something else to this man? Maybe he saw vulnerability, a word I forgot the definition of about 30 years ago. And if memory serves, the last time a man felt like he had to protect me, he was wearing a school crossing guard's uniform.

Still......maybe Mr. Metro just wanted to help. Could he have been offering sincere advice to someone he thought needed it?

Considering the encounter that way helped stem the snide rebuke that had almost crossed my lips. Allowing myself to believe that Mr. Metro was acting out of kindness and sincerity rather than disrespect or sexism prompted me to thank him for the heads up. As he walked away, I realized I had grown exponentially during that brief exchange.

I’m old enough and smart enough to know when a strange man is patronizing me. I know when to tune out high-handed advice, and keep unwanted people out of my space. But what I’m still learning is what that aforementioned very wise man was trying to teach me so many years ago. Far too often, too many of us react based on what we’re carrying around inside of us, instead of what other people are actually seeing or thinking. Or maybe we think we don’t deserve to have good things happen to us because we don’t like what we see or who we think we are. It’s like that Groucho Marx joke: "I don't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member."

Well, I'm proud to say that Mr. Metro helped me move even closer toward sealing the gap between what's on the inside and what's reflected to the world. I can see the other side of the chasm clearly now, and it's a much nicer picture.

P.S. I was about to push the button on this post when another thought occurred to me. Perhaps Mr. Metro was just being kind to the elderly. Dammit, consciousness-raising is hard work!