I feel for the fitness instructor, I truly do. It's a bitter pill to swallow, isn't it, when you realize the pleasantries are just transactional. We humans, we're such strange creatures. We create these little micro-economies of social interaction, where a smile or a kind word is just currency for something we want. And then we're shocked — truly SHOCKED — when the person we've been "friendly" with doesn't recognize us outside the specific context we’ve established. Like we expect them to see the *real* us, the one we keep hidden, simply because we've offered a temporary reprieve from full price. It makes me wonder about all the polite nods and casual conversations I’ve had over the years, pushing a grocery cart or waiting for the children to be dismissed from school. Were they ever really about me? Or was I just a convenient prop in someone else’s play? There was a time, after the kids were grown and gone, that I started volunteering at the library. I thought, finally, a chance to be me, to engage with the world beyond the kitchen table and the endless laundry cycle. I poured myself into it, recommending books, helping with the children’s story hour – I felt *alive*. And then I’d see some of the parents, the ones who’d gushed about my recommendations for their little ones, out at the mall, or in line at the post office. And the blank stares… the absolute, utter lack of recognition. It wasn't even an "Oh, you look familiar," it was just… nothing. As if I ceased to exist outside of those brightly lit library walls. And I’d feel this awful pang, this little twist of resentment, because I had invested *emotion* into those interactions, foolishly believing they meant something more than just borrowing a book. Maybe it's a fundamental misunderstanding of how we connect, or rather, how we *fail* to connect. We build these little personas for ourselves, tailored to fit the situation – the helpful librarian, the diligent instructor, the supportive parent. And we expect others to see through it all to the core of who we are, even though we rarely offer that vulnerable glimpse ourselves. It's a lonely way to live, isn't it? To constantly feel that you're only ever a projection, a utility, rather than a full, complex person. And the worst part is, after a while, you start to believe it too. You start to doubt if there *is* a "real" you left underneath all the layers of performance, or if the performance eventually just… becomes you. And then what? Where do you go from there?