musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

Are thoughts the shadows of our feelings?


Ever wonder why things often seem so much more alive, when you travel to new places? Why the colours are more vibrant, the details so memorable? Is Auckland really more beautiful than Vancouver, or is it simply, well, different? Is it just something about being there, not here -being away, in other words?

There seems to be something about novelty and the unfamiliarity of the sensations it creates that requires us to pay special attention, doesn’t there? These sensations are not yet over-ridden by the memories of similar past encounters that allow them to be automatically categorized and placed on familiar shelves -perhaps there are no familiar shelves for them, in fact. Perhaps they will require a new place to occupy. A new category to catalogue.[i]

I suppose it’s more efficient for an already busy brain to know where to put them right away, and get on with other pressing matters. Still, evolution must have taken novelty seriously because, more times than not, the sensation is pleasurable, even in its brevity. Surprise, I think, is different: it is usually sudden, and unexpected; novelty is more liminal: it seems to straddle the boundary between unexpected and just, well, different. It is the boundary separating the unvarnished state of feeling something -an emotion, or a sensation, say- from acting on it (or ignoring it, perhaps) based on prior knowledge or experience.

The difference, maybe, between a stranger waving at you from a crowd, or a friend doing the same. The stranger needs to be assessed and the reason for the wave evaluated more thoroughly than a friend’s -each would likely have a different meaning, a different feeling… Same thing, as being approached by one -a stranger I mean.

I don’t live in the city, but I find it’s always an adventure to leave my island occasionally and walk along the familiar streets of nearby Vancouver. I often take the express bus from the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay to the Park Royal shopping center in West Vancouver. From there I have several options, including a walk across the Lion’s Gate bridge and then along the Stanley Park causeway to downtown Vancouver’s West End and its magnificent beach.

Years ago, I lived in the West End, but it still has the naughty habit of presenting a different face to me each time I visit. There’s always something new there, always a surprise. One day, for example, I was standing at the corner of Robson and Denman streets, leaning against a post waiting for the traffic light to change. The light was red, and I was planning to walk down to the beach at the foot of Denman and sit on one of the benches there.

There was a crowd of people gathered near the Safeway on Robson, and I stared at it for a minute or two wondering why they were there. Everybody seemed happy and were joking with each other but you often see little groups standing around in the West End and I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary for me to investigate. I had just turned my eyes back to the traffic light when I felt a light tap on my arm.

At first I thought it was somebody letting me know the light had changed, so I turned to them and smiled. People are often friendly like that in the West End. But seldom have they ever been as beautiful as the woman standing next to me. Wearing tight black designer jeans and an exquisite ivory coloured silk blouse with puffy sleeves, she seemed like a model right out of a fashion magazine. As she turned her head to look at me she seemed a study in gold: her large golden hoop earrings swayed against her neck and a smaller version in her nostril caught the sun just before it disappeared behind a fluffy cloud. Her hair, too, was golden and fashioned into a bun that was barely contained by a sky-blue Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“That’s just a group still celebrating Pride week,” she said, smiling broadly as she pointed at the group then stared into my eyes.

I have to say I’d forgotten all about the Pride celebrations; the West End has always been particularly proud of its Gay community.

“I don’t remember seeing you around here before,” she continued. “You a local…?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “Well, I’ve just walked across the Lion’s Gate Bridge,” I said, shrugging, as if that answered her question.

She smiled and walked companionably beside me as I crossed the road to continue along the busy Denman Street. “I’m heading down to the beach,” she added. “How about you?”

I nodded, thrilled to be in the company of a beautiful woman. “Yes, I thought I might see a friend or two down there. I used to live in a high-rise condo on Pendrell St.,” I explained.

“I live on Barclay,” she said, grasping my arm with a strong hand as I almost tripped over a curb. “I’m originally from Toronto,” she added, pointing to her cap. “I prefer the weather and the community here in Vancouver, though.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, as she jostled against me to steer me away from a puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. “I lived in Oakville for a few years.” I couldn’t believe how friendly our conversation had become with each other.

“My father lived in Oakville,” she answered, looking into my eyes once again. “But my mom and I hardly ever visited him there…” She was silent for a little while, and we continued wandering slowly along Denman, bumping into each other softly as if we were close friends. She suddenly grabbed my arm again and pointed to the Cactus Club which was on the beach at the end of Denman. “You interested in a coffee or something there?” She snuggled against me as a final enticement.

But there was something in that snuggle that sent alarm bells ringing. I couldn’t really pin it down, but I suddenly felt vulnerable for some reason. Like she had been friendly to me for a reason other than just companionship. I’m not young, and I’m certainly not handsome or witty -just naïve, I think.

I tried to think of a polite refusal when I saw somebody waving from across the road. I didn’t recognize them, but she seemed to and excused herself and asked me to wait for her as she hurried over to see them. They seemed to know each other, but it was clear that the person was angry with her about something.

I decided to use the opportunity to cross Beach Avenue and lose myself in the crowds walking along the sand behind the Cactus Club, when I heard a familiar voice from a bench.

“John,” I shouted enthusiastically. “I haven’t seen you in…”
“Well, a couple of months, anyway,” he chuckled, and shook my hand. “On another of your ginormous walks again, G?”

I nodded. “I even lucked out along Denman and was accompanied by a gorgeous blond…”

“I noticed,” he said with a wry grin on his face.

“Why are you smiling like that, John?” I asked, pretending innocence. “I don’t think she was just trying to pick me up… Do you?”

“The one in the puffy shirt and baseball cap, you mean?”

“A guy like me has to take whatever’s on offer, eh? I mean she was friendly and offered to walk with me down to the beach…”

“Come on, G! You were taken in. You had no idea why she was walking with you.”

“So,” I said, puzzled that John would think she was a business woman. “You think maybe she was too good to be true?”

John’s expression changed and I noticed the twinkle in his eye.

“Why are you looking at me like that, John?”

He shook his head, still grinning at me. “G, you’re so naïve.”

“Come on,” I said, going along with his expression, but not really understanding it. “Was she really trying to offer her services…?”

He continued to shake his head.

“But, you just said…”

He laughed at my innocence. “No, G, she was not trying to pick you up… He was, though…”

You have to be careful who picks you up in the West End, I guess…

[i] https://aeon.co/essays/how-the-old-and-the-new-make-the-mind-ebb-and-flow

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