It is strange.  Scarved, I am often invisible.  Mostly, I don't linger when making eye contact with strangers.  I can sense that people sometimes stare, just a little, just enough to decipher the meaning of my covered head.  But they don't stare for long and forcing eye contact seems rude.  The exception is when I see someone I know.  Someone who I haven't seen in a while.  Someone who really should recognize me.  I don't  look away in those instances.  I smile.  People need to know I'm doing fine, scarf or no scarf.  But oddly, I am often not recognized.  There is eye contact, but no recognition. 

Perhaps I should be insulted.  Was I so defined by my hair?  Am I so thin or ashen-faced that I do not resemble my former self?  But I have yet to take offense.  There is something comforting about my anonymity.  I am able to watch from a distance, knowing I can engage the world when I am ready.  I do not have to have the cancer conversation with someone who can not see past the things that I have lost. 

It is strange to realize how one was defined and how easy it is to fade into the background.