Jo is coming out for the evening with me. I’m looking forward to this. We worked together for years in the Dublin Evolution Shop. Last night we spent the evening catching up and I’m in touch with a strength of connection that is familiar to me whenever I have worked with someone in team-based right livelihood.
We decide that to take turns knocking with the other observing. After my second knock she gives me some feedback. Did I notice I was evading giving direct answers. I hadn’t noticed and asked for an example. ‘It was when that woman asked if you were looking for direct debits’, she explained. It looked like you thought ‘Oh shit’, and slithered away from the topic. ‘It’s OK to say ‘Yes, we are’.’ I recognize this habit and when I reflect on it later I realize that it’s a Scottish habit. A working-class Scottish habit. My god, I’m acting like a character from a James Kelman novel, who’ll tell a lie automatically, any lie, just so as not to expose oneself by telling the truth.
On the third knock Jo interrupts as I’m trying to show a woman the leaflet. ‘Are you just eating your dinner?’, she asks, adding ‘I see you chewing away there’. I feel a fool. I hadn’t noticed the woman chewing. But I realize this isn’t true. I HAD noticed she was moving her mouth in a peculiar way but I’d averted my eyes. The same thing happened with a man who’d just woken up the other evening. I HAD noticed his bleary eyes and drooping mouth but I’d said nothing and he’d ended up telling me he’d been asleep before shutting the door on me. I’d missed the moment when I could have connected. I suddenly think of my mum telling us not to stare, not to pass comment and I realize I’ve spotted another deep conditioning I didn’t know I had. I resolve to try to risk making observations. The scary bit is a might get it wrong. What if they’re not eating but they have a mouth deformity? What if they haven’t woken from sleep but they have a medical condition the affects their facial muscles? What would happen then?
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