I hope I'm not alone in saying that sometimes I wonder how the rest of the world sees me. I have an opinion of myself based on (a) what I see in the mirror; and (b) what I know is going on inside my head. But I really do wonder, sometimes - not all the time, thankfully, because that would be rather depressing I think - what other people see when they look at me.
The provocation for this wee bout of self-obsession is that I was in Wellington a while ago and this weird thing happened. Or maybe it wasn't that weird. Or maybe it didn't happen and I'm the weird one for thinking it did. Anyway, this thing that may or may not have happened has been playing on my mind. It was a lovely Wellington day - crisp, blue skies, no wind; the sort of day Wellingtonians swear happen all the time, but no-one believes them. On this particular day I had time to kill in Wellington on my own, so I went to Te Papa. And as I always do when I go to Te Papa, I wandered up to the top of the building, where they house the contemporary New Zealand art.
So there I am, at Te Papa Tongarewa up on Level 5, checking out the artworks. And I'm happily checking out the Julian Dashpers and the Bill Culberts and so forth, and I am the only person in the gallery. The only person, that is, except for the Te Papa employee charged with standing around, making sure nothing untoward is going down. And as I wander amiably, to and fro, among the wonderful artworks, I become aware that everywhere I go, the Te Papa person is not far behind me. Okay, I think, she's got nothing else to do, and that's her job.
But when I left Level 5, to head back down the stairs to check out the rest of our cultural treasures, a lift door opened and a Te Papa employee who looked suspiciously like some kind of security guard stepped out of the lift. And when he saw me, and our eyes met, he stopped where he was. And as I walked past, he watched me all the way. Then, just out of the corner of my eye, as I descended the stairs, heading away from the pretty paintings, I saw him turn back to the lift to push the button to open the lift doors again.
Okay, maybe I imagined all this. Maybe he wasn't there as reinforcement, just in case I tried to rip a McCahon from the walls and leg it. Maybe he turned back to the lift because he'd realised he'd forgotten his lunchbox.