There’s a woman sitting near me, and she’s gorgeous. Low suede boots, a forever-long black dress with tortoise shell buttons down the front, suede purse with a very long strap, and a topknot of lovely red hair. She’s chatting with another equally lovely though less bedecked woman, but I’m unaware of the words they exchange. They seem to be friends, and yet each is carrying a slightly irritated humor throughout their time together.

I’m glad I’m not with them. In just this glance, they feel Heavy. Burdened. Tired, and I feel myself coming perilously close to gulping their attitudes into my own. I’m glad when they stand and walk away in thinly veiled versions of themselves.

Thinly is an odd word, and yet so appropriate.

THinlē, adverb. In a way that creates a thin piece or layer of something; “thinly sliced potatoes.”

THinlē, adverb. With little flesh or fat on the body; “he was tall and thinly built.”

THinlē, adverb. Minimally interacting with life; “she was thinly present.” (my addition)

I love to watch. Or … I love to watch, in theory.

In reality, most people are far too heavy for me — or you — to carry around in either our brains or hearts, and this is good to remember.