Sometimes I get the impression that a lot of people aren't actually alive.
They move around and they do things, and more than likely, behind the scenes, get on with the requisite respiration, excretion, reproduction and so on to satisfy the average biologist (or, more importantly, mortician).
But in a lot of ways I get the impression that they're switched off a lot of the time.
There's something about the inactivity of them - sure, they're listening to a stereo or looking out the window, but they're not there. Mentally off - maybe - hopefully they're thinking; but they aren't there.
There's not necessarily anything wrong with this - but it did make me feel a bit strange this morning. I was loathe to switch off myself, because it was so beautiful - there was a full and orange sun over in the west, and grass in the empty fields was covered with a crisp, minty frost. I got a strong sensation of my own presence and location, which was unusual, because most people, including me, go somewhere else in their heads when on public transport.
It made me feel like I was travelling or on holiday - when things are unusual enough to keep you aware and present in yourself whilst doing mundane things like travelling on a bus...everything was fresh and interesting.
I feel very alive today. I feel good.
I wonder about the people who might never look about them with that freshness or see things as anything other than a grey and hazy background. There are people who give the impression that they are not there all the time. They unnerve me.
But I know you're real. We both are.