When I think about it, one of the reasons I’ve always felt I became a music journalist was because I like to watch. Be a part of the story without being a PART of the story, as it were. Fly on the wall and all that. Always felt safer that way because it meant I could disappear at will thinking no one would notice seeing as how I was so invisible and all. Of course, this was absolute bullCrap given that once I was in a situation surrounded by music folx, friends, and the like, I would become part of it all. Stay to the end not wanting to miss out on anything even as I shouted down the voice inside pulling toward home for a long, hot bath and sleep. Dualing desires.

I did have a friend who was brilliant at disappearing. Would walk right out, poof. Be gone. One of the most memorable of those was a time we were at a karaoke bar on 9th street in the East Village that had a band of Japanese guys who played the music while the karaokers would warble along. It was next-level karaoke to be sure. We were there with Mike Patton and Roddy Bottum, singer and keyboardist respectively, of Faith No More. Because of course we were… My friend had just ordered his nth drink. Mike Patton had just freaked the F out of the musicians by losing his sh*t while singing “Like a Virgin,” rolling around on the stage recreating Madonna’s MTV performance. I dimly remember being shaken at the mayhem and a little scared of what would happen if I stayed. It wasn’t like anyone was calling the police, but it did seem like things could potentially get even more loud and freaky, which for some reason meant I’d have to get weird and freaky too. But I was also thrilled to be there. One coin: two sides. Somewhere in that whole cluster of fun, our friend went missing. His drink was gone but his coat was still there. An hour later, the place closed. We took his coat because it had become clear he wasn’t in the bathroom or under the bar, he had just vanished. This was pre-cellphone, so all we could do was hope he’d made it home with the drink but without the coat. We all knew this was his way and moved on. I remember admiring him in that moment because I’d wanted to go home acutely some hours before, but now I was on the sidewalk asking where we were all going next. That the musicians, the people who would most likely be the ones to ask that question said “Nah, we’re turning in” exposed something about my conflicted state of mind.

But there it is, the dualing desires: to be invisible, disappear, yet not to be forgotten. Because when I drill down, that’s what it is. I want to be wanted. And if you don’t, please don’t let on. When I was just new to junior high, one of my classmates said she’d meet me to walk to school together and she forgot. Just plain didn’t show up. I saw her at school and pretended nothing had happened. So did she. Didn’t say a WORD. I convinced myself that nothing had happened. Until someone at lunch mentioned how this person had walked with them to school and, oops, they’d forgotten to come by my house. Where I’d been standing on the sidewalk. Waiting. Still, I said nothing. Those who know me, know my conflict-averse-ness is pretty solid. I’ve had a lot of practice burying the lead of my emotions.

I’d rather go invisible than have to face an uncomfortable emotional moment. Example: I was in my forties, married, sitting in a theater on my own watching Brokeback Mountain when a voice inside me said clear as day: “This is your marriage.” I looked around to see if maybe I’d said that out loud. Not many people in the matinee crowd. No one looking at me. I burned hot, then turned back to the screen, finished watching the movie, went home, and stayed married for another few years until it became clear why I couldn’t be married any longer. And the reason tracked fairly closely to the moment I’d had in the theater. The thing I’d completely shoved away to be dealt with never. Until I was forced to. And I’m still not sure I’ve fully dealt with all the emotions around that period in my life. I keep feeling little knock-knocks on my soul, and when I put my ear up to the wall it’s Trust whispering things that make me nervous. Like: Are you sure? and What if? At this point in my life, I figure why not answer the damn call. Open up the door and let the conversation in rather than pretend I’m not home. Such a good question, right?

But will I? Now that I’ve blabbed about it here, I feel closer to asking. Being accountable and all. I’ve always been someone who loves having time on my own. A day all to myself but I also realize that keeping perpetually solo means not having to face and figure out how to deal with the complications of other people. And no matter how much I might think about invisibiliting myself, disappearing is not a solution I want to choose anymore. I’ve already worked that poof-outta-here reaction when I left the music industry, left a whole crew of friends, left a marriage, left writing, left, left, left, without really looking at why or digging under the floorboards to understand about the beating heart of it. Luckily words are shovels so currently a whole load of nouns, verbs, and adjectives, not to mention a tiny collection of adverbs with some pronouns trailing behind trying to keep up are very interested in digging a tunnel to the core of it. Now I just need to say yes and follow. Plant some seeds where the bodies come up. Understand that the answer to the party question: Would you rather be able to fly or be invisible is clearly to fly.