The phenomenon of invisibility

(DE) If you travelled from Germany to Italy in the mid-1960s, there was no broadly built motorway. No. One drove more or less comfortably on normal roads, through picturesque villages of the Po Valley and between fields and meadows.

From time to time a railway barrier prevented passengers from continuing their journey. And Italian experienced motorists know that Italian signalmen have a high need for safety and security because they had already lowered the barriers when the train was still at least half an hour away.

First, we Germans let the engine run, then like the locals, we turned it off, but continued to sweat in the car. Eventually, we followed the relaxed example from the Italians, left the car

and mingled with the people and got into conversation, well, more into Gibberish. People exchanged smiles, gestures and sometimes treats. So we often were offered some of the snacks, which Italian motorists probably bring exactly for such stops at the level crossing, which could take forever.

When hours later the train finally roared through, we also strolled casually (that’s the old word for cool) to our car, sat down in it and off we went on our way to Rimini. Of course, the railway barrier keeper waited for the train to pass through and then waited a few more minutes until he opened the barrier. Possibly trains in Italy after having passed may return in high spirits and parade past the cars again. Quite conceivable.

However, it happened again and again that even the railway barrier keeper lost his patience and, whilst waiting started his ringing game, cranked up the barrier, and waved the waiting people with a somewhat mischievous grin to cross the railway track. Then there was no more casual behaviour but all nationalities quickly rushed to their cars and made away.

On such an occasion I, about 10 years old, became temporarily invisible.

We had jumped into the car and motored on. After several kilometres, my mother, who sat in the passenger seat, emitted a bloodcurdling scream. “Turn around! Now! We’ve forgotten Tanja!” My father stamped on the brakes and stopped by the side of the road. Horror spread out in the car. I too was stunned, although I was sitting well-behaved in my place on the back seat. “Yes, where can something like that happen! Parents forget their child somewhere in a foreign country!

But I’m an only child and adults should be able to keep track of things!”

It took me a while to get over this shock and finally could contribute to clearing up this situation. “But I’m right here.” Surprised, my parents turned around and asked in all seriousness where I came from. I could not and would not really answer this question.

To be temporarily invisible ist sometimes funny, but sometimes it makes you stunned.

This was my first conscious encounter with the phenomenon of my temporary invisibility but remained not the only one. Countless times in my life, waiters and waitresses have forgotten my order. Often, groups, I had an appointment with overlooked the fact that I was missing and went off without me. I am always on time. I never get angry, never complain loud, but roar inside and think what have I done wrong.

How much am I allowed to be?

Sometimes I was visible too, but as a completely different person than the one, I thought I was. A quite absurd example of this occurred during the carnival period sometime in the mid-1980s. At that time, I was a relatively well-known editor of a local weekly newspaper in a small Bavarian town and region. For a few weeks, I had prepared an event, which for the first time in the region should institutionalise the Women’s Carnival on carnival Thursday. The idea was to work together with the local sports association to start a new tradition.

In fact, the Townhall was completely sold out, the programme was ready, the dignitaries came in droves and in general the mood was exuberant and the Women’s carnival on everyone’s lips. I am actually a carnival grump, but since I played a major role in the success of this event through my publication work, I disfigured myself in carnival-style and went with my son, who was almost like a mascot within the publishing team, to the editorial office. When we arrived, the offices were empty. The birds had already flown out to settle down in the town hall not far away. Well, we had agreed that they would wait for us so that we could go out together and sit around a table as a group of co-organisers and as my circle of friends, with whom I often did go out to do something together.

Disappointed but naive, my cowboy son and I stomped with the rest of the crowd to the entrance. There they checked and lo and behold, I was refused entry. Even when I introduced myself as editor of the newspaper that was involved in organising the event, the representatives of the sports association were not impressed. I had my boss in the hall informed about the problem, which neither disturbed my boss or the inspectors in any way. Finally, I was offered the opportunity, in God’s name, to enter but my 7-year-old son could not be accepted. After all, they had decided not to admit children. At the same moment, the children’s gymnastics group passed me storming into the ballroom.

By then I realised that I was not the well-known local celebrity I thought I was, but simply an insubordinate nobody, who claimed the right to special treatment which she clearly did not have. Also, I had probably deceived myself in what significance I had for my boss and my friendly colleagues. Nobody lifted a finger to get me and my son into the ballroom as agreed. So, my son and I trotted home still dressed in our disguise but empty-handed. I was furious about this disillusionment and also ashamed of my overconfidence.

Of course, the next day I was asked where I had been and why I had not appeared. After all, I was to be awarded the carnival medal, which has now, instead, been received by a colleague from the Secretariat. When I told my story the reaction was mostly that of a shrug of the shoulders according to the motto: Well, if you are so stupid! And it worked. I was no longer angry at the others, but at myself. I was nobody special, not even in this small environment. Embarrassing, because I had secretly considered myself as important and special. How could I!

Decades later I was invited to the farewell party of this boss, and some editors, whom I had never seen before, greeted me curiously saying: You are a legend with us. Everyone is measured on your achievements.

This experience is not a big event, a catastrophe or something similar, but it shows clearly that my self-perception sometimes fails, is jammed.

Put my light under the bushel

It also shows that I feel that I have no right to express human disappointments, to stand by my own status and to demand the appropriate respect. Humility and modesty are valuable, a self-confident manner is suspected of being of selfish origin. This is ingrained in me, but perhaps I misunderstood that in the course f my upbringing.

Therefore, I get gasping and palpitations, when once again my self-confidently communicated ideas, concepts, working documents and contacts are attributed to other colleagues. I choke on that sentence, “I wrote that, I said that, it was my idea, my work,” as if it were a matter of denunciation. And if I then bring it about me and claim my authorship, then it is said often enough: Oh yes? It doesn’t matter now. Then I have nothing to counter that. This attitude also makes me a bad boss, because I can’t give employees instructions nor can I remind them if a work is not done yet. I ask employees to do it, but when it is not done, or not done well, then, I do it myself.

Even as a daughter from a first marriage and as heiress I should not play a role. I have never asked for anything. I have never put myself in the right position as the only birth child.

In small as well as in big things it is difficult for me to stand up for myself and my needs. For me, such behaviour always has the smell of selfishness and unjustified claims about it. Unfortunately, that always has been, und still is, frowned upon in my worldview. Christian education? Zeitgeist? Image of women?

Self-praise stinks!

Another memorable day, when my special ability to be invisible, or not to be noticed, came into play again in February, a good 40 years after my disappearance on the railway crossing in Italy.

Once again, I was about to change my job and place of residence. And because I had done so every few years I was very experienced in organising my move. I told the moving company exactly all information regarding the size of the cargo to be moved to make it easier for them to choose the means of transport. When the relocation contractor suggested a small van, I expressed reasonable doubts as to his assessment. Of course, the professional’s response was only a tired smile not even at me but towards my father who was also present. My father immediately took sides with the professional and said, I should only let them do it, they surely knew what to do and how. My father and the removal agent no longer involved the know-it-all teacher, me. By the way, my profession on such occasions was often used to my disadvantage. The two men continued to communicate with each other.

It came as it had to come. When the moving van was full on the day of the move, more than a third of my things were still left on the pavement in front of the house. The gentlemen cursed like famous, notorious truckers. My father wanted safe the situation with unsolicited advice, but was no longer the buddy from the unspoken agreement among real men. In the meantime, I stood invisible and in silence.

Actually, I would have liked to say that I had been right after all, that I had lots of experience with the transport of my belongings, that I would certainly not want to pay for the delay because of their incompetence etc.

But this would have required a different education. Nobody likes a know-it-all! Nobody

likes those who are gloating! Nobody likes those who are righteous, more so if they have been right! And anyway, self-praise stinks! It is even worse when women know better, are righteous, and insist that they were right and praise themselves in front of men!

I could only remain invisible and indulge in my inner satisfaction – and pay.

This principle sits deep and often had a rather unsettling effect on my professional life. I

think I have often appeared to others as if unsure of my competence. Yet, I had only inhibitions about presenting myself as great. Praising my work and my competence was something others should do. That was much more pleasant.

Don’t you help me!

One week before the scheduled move from Regensburg to Munich, I had to start my job at

the school in Munich. For this, I needed a certain amount of supplies of clothes and books for a week. As I did not have a car I wanted to make this mini move by train. So I packed two wheeled suitcases, which were of course quite heavy because of the textbooks were of course quite heavy.

My dear father and his wife still visited me to say goodbye. My father kindly asked if I still needed help. Well, the suitcases were quite heavy and my train is leaving in an hour and if he could take me to the station…, I carefully suggested, hoping he would take me to the station. “All right then. If you don’t need any more, we are going home now. Goodbye. See you next week!”, said it and was gone. I could not understand whether it was a conscious or unconscious misunderstanding. Somehow I would have felt impertinent. And what if he just didn’t want to?!

So I rolled my luggage through the old town of Regensburg to the train station and thanks to my fitness at that time right to the doorstep of the train to Munich.

Train drivers know that on some trains there are boarding facilities that do credit to a climbing garden. I stood with my two rolling suitcases in front of such a train. Behind me, a group of three or four men at the age of at least 50 years gathered. I struggled like a bodybuilder on the weight machine to heave my suitcases up the cursed steps. With a swing, without a swing and step by step. Sometimes I got stuck halfway, sometimes the thing fell on my feet. Then I heard the men behind me say: “Let’s go to the other door, here it takes too long…”.

I did it on my own and was proud of me. But why is this happening to me? How do the others actually see me? Or am I simply at times not visible for other people’s consciousness? I have to emit something that prevents people from helping me or I simply do not emit anything that is recognised.

Help yourself and nobody will help you!

Another experience, a few years later, brings to the point what I mean.

My girlfriend of the same age and I were travelling by train through Sicily. Each of us had, as is customary for women in their mid-fifties, a rather large suitcase with her, which we rolled quite well, but could only lift with difficulty.

So we stood with our heavyweight monsters side by side at the foot of the stairs leading to the train door and looked up somewhat at a loss.

My friend circled her suitcase several times, looked here and there, clasped the handle of the suitcase and let go again and gave a completely distraught impression. I, on the other hand, stood stoically looking next to my suitcase and thought about ways how with a combination of lifting and rolling we could transport the monsters upwards.

Then a strong young man stormed out of the train door, turned charmingly and helpful to my friend, grabbed her suitcase and swung it up into the train. My friend thanked him. The young man refused the thanks, as it should be. This was a matter of course and so on. Then he disappeared back into the train compartment. I still stood next to my suitcase on the platform. Had he wanted to show me how to do it if you could? I think not. He just didn’t understand my neediness. While my girlfriend was sending out non-verbal signals that helpful spirits would be welcome, I thought about how to solve the problem.

I do not expect any support. I’m surprised when someone comes and offers to help me. My mind is set on being able to solve everything on my own and I often had to do so. And the things I cannot do on my own are the things I simply must do without. Seriously? (TA)