Superhero-Killing Robot

When I lived in Denver, I got the idea that city people weren’t all that interested in being friendly. I got this impression on my runs because every stranger’s eyes seemed to dart around, avoiding eye contact with me even more effectively than the savvy street pigeons dodged my yellow running shoes. 

This communication avoidance worked for me as someone whose default mode seemed to have been left on the “DANGER! Do not draw unneeded attention!” setting. With this mindset, I definitely noticed when a boy I was on a second date with said hello to every person (and dog) that strolled past. 

Indulge me on a tangent; I promise it has a point. You know the superhero killing robot in The Incredibles? If you don’t, this robot adapts and learns from every enemy it defeats, getting stronger and stronger after each vanquished foe. 

Look, I feel weird about comparing myself to an evil robot, too… but stay with me for a second. As a serial monogamist, I’ve learned to develop the attitude of a treasure hunter. No – not in the “there aren’t any good guys left” scarcity mindset way – but in the superhero-hunting robot way.

I used to feel a romantic connection, instantly hear wedding bells, and envision a future where we loved each other forever and ever. Life changes, and I’m no exception. Since I now understand that even the things that last “forever” change, I now see a romantic spark as one of the juiciest sources for self-development. 

They say that opposites attract, and that’s certainly been true for me—life has brought me all sorts of “opposites.” As a habitual people pleaser, it was painful and enlightening to date someone who didn’t care about pleasing anybody, not even me. Another of my “opposites” felt like an introductory class to pragmatism, grounding for someone as emotional and overly idealistic as I am. And with the disposition of a first-born daughter, it took a carefree partner to learn that doing things just because they’re fun is okay. (Maybe even the whole point; still researching.)

There are reasons why these connections didn’t last: imperfections on both ends, to be sure. You have to sort through the junk in any treasure hunt. Still, each person I’ve loved was like a grandmaster, showing me how to lean into parts of my psyche that had previously lain dormant. 

So, part of me does feel like a superhero vanquishing robot, but hopefully in a much more human way. I keep the people I’ve loved in the only way anyone ever really can: by learning from them. 

All of this to say, strangers smile at me on my runs now, but I don’t think it’s them who’s changed. It took me seeing someone else show up as themselves to have the novel-to-me thought: Maybe people don’t smile and wave because I don’t. 

A lesson—sometimes, it’s about letting the light in. Other times, it’s about being the light. 

What a treasure.