diana cowgill

One of the greatest parts of getting older has been the realization, deep down, not just knowing but knowing, how little attention I am paid by others. When we* are young, especially young and female, we think all eyes are trained on us, looking desperately for flaws. We are crippled by these thoughts. Convinced that we are unusually zitty, unusually scrawny; weird, tragic, crooked little oddballs that strangers gleefully notice from afar. We’re convinced we’re bad enough, in whatever way, that we are interesting.

This driving paranoia is incredibly uncomfortable, because we’re only really concerned with the detection of something we want to keep hidden. We’re never worried that someone will compliment us on our eyes or notice that we’re having a spectacular hair day. We believe the good within us is banal and unseen, and the bad is the mark we make on the world. Everyone loves a good train wreck, but nobody wants to be one.

I’ve drawn out how being young is a total drag and I’ll now tell you of the hairy legs that brought these thoughts to mind. I had plans to go out on the town with a friend of mine a few days ago, and because of the warm weather, I decided to dress like a girl. The stems would be on display, so I had a major decision to make. I had shaved them a day or two before, so they looked like they belonged to a female, but they were in no way ready for close inspection. I’ll spare you further description.

The question became, what to do? Considering skirt length and boot height, the expectation of a dimly lit bar, my utter lack of interest in being felt up, and the (celebrated) awareness of my own insignificance to others, I decided to not shave. This option, this freedom to not care, is one of the best perks old age has provided.

Nobody is paying all that much attention to me. Nobody. And if they are paying attention, they’re either creepy or already fond; interested but not in finding fault. Either scenario, whatever scenario, noticed or ignored, it’s no big deal and I am perfectly fine. A fuzzy knee flies under the radar. It always has, although I didn’t know it when I was seventeen. In truth, most everything we do flies under the radar, because people are focused on their own issues. They’re too busy worrying about themselves, their real, actual problems, to notice small silly things about Miss Diana J. Conway. Everyone is totally self absorbed, so they haven’t the energy to be absorbed in us.

*I’m totally talking about myself when I say “we”