It’s not often you call someone by the wrong name, but as an accident it is as common as they come. However, the situation seems a little different when the name you choose happens to be your name. Hear me out. Rather, read it (me) out. Aloud.
I am of the firm belief that it is important for your soul to make an utter and complete fool of you every once in a while. I was having tea with an old friend recently discussing new life and all of its wonders. Laughter filled the air and the evening was splendid. As we got up to leave,
we shook hands like pals would and he said “later Keegan” and I replied, “later Keegan.”
I looked up long enough to see his confused eyes seeking some sort of explanation. There was none. My soul was doing it’s thing and as would be expected, I felt like a complete fool. I hung my head and walked away before anything else could register.
This was no random link up. We know each other AND I greeted him appropriately on my way in so what exactly was my problem? And the follow up? I’m no narcissist. To call someone by my own name? As I continued my exit and imagined myself slink into the darkness like a sitcom neighbour?
I was sweating so much on the walk home.
It’s been three weeks and I’m still sweating. A lot. The horror persists.
The ensuing entanglement of thoughts scrambled me for a moment but unraveling the chords led me to a realization definitely worth the entire debacle. I’m in my own head waaaaaaaaay too much. Not present with enough expressions. Wherever my mind had drifted in those precious seconds was clearly not so accommodating to company. I’ve been making an effort to do better. Practicing my manners on random strangers on the subway and sidewalk. It is not going well whatsoever but I’m having fun.
Here’s to a healthy dose of humiliation.