The day my shadow spoke to me
Becoming aware through the whispers of a reflection
Living in a temperate climate tends to erase excuses to get out and exercise because of bad weather. Since moving to Nice I’ve tried to take advantage of the pleasant climate to do more aerobic walking—my “power walks,” as I sometimes say when heading out the door. The best route I’ve found for that is to ascend the Colline du Château (Castle Hill) from Nice Port, then descend from the opposite side, emerging at the base of La Tour Bellanda, an old defensive tower that is now a favourite tourist site, offering from its apex splendid views of the city, the port and the bay.
I’ve made this walk many times, often pausing in the park atop the Colline for some water or even a coffee before descending. From late Spring through Autumn my route homeward generally takes me from the Tour Bellanda through the Vieille Ville (Old City) along the rue Droite, crossing the Promenade du Paillon (a parkland built over the covered Paillon River), heading to our home in the Carabacel neighbourhood.
This route avoids the often congested Cours Saleya, an area built around the old Nice flower market whose numerous food stalls, shops, cafés and restaurants attract vast crowds of tourists during much of the year. On one sunny late Spring morning, however, I noted that there were relatively few people around—it must have been quite early—and I walked through the market area, the pavement ahead of me clear and the sun at my back.
It was then that my shadow spoke to me.
I glanced down in front of me and noticed, distractedly, the movement of a shadow, someone walking with a gait I did not recognise. As I observed I slowly realised that it was me, it was my own shadow—and yet it seemed a stranger, apart and distinct, unfamiliar. I did not recognise it even after I realised it was my own shadowy reflection. It was the dark silhouette of an older man whose gait betrayed pain or injury, or perhaps simply the natural toll of ageing. I stopped and thought for a moment, as if trying to accept that my observations were real, then continued on, unable to look anywhere other than at the shadow that preceded me. Its awkwardness persisted, even when I tried to change it.
There are ways to explain it, I suppose—injuries to a hip from a bicycle accident, the ordinary corporeal wear and tear that comes from surpassing seven decades of life. But the initial lack of recognition, then the awareness that came when my shadow spoke to me, was discomfiting. The feeling has lingered since.
I do not know what is more uncomfortable, the self-awareness that came to me in a whisper on that sunny morning, or that it was a shadow that bore greater knowledge than I.
The French language version of this reflection is available here:
Le jour où mon ombre m'a parlé
Vivre dans un climat tempéré tend à éliminer les excuses pour quitter l’appartement et faire de l’exercice en raison du temps médiocre. Depuis que j’ai déménagé à Nice, j’essaie de profiter du climat agréable pour faire plus de marche aérobique—mes « marches rapides, » comme je les appelle parfois en sortant…
What an interesting experience, John! I love the idea of your shadow being you, but somehow separate from you as well. And your walks through your neighborhood sound lovely.
I love this.
I wish "self awareness" could be appreciated universally. Seeing our shadow, looking in the mirror, asking a close one to reflect on how we sound. Actually looking at ourselves as others see us. It can be shocking. And/or helpful if we want to grow as we grow old.
I recently joined a town committee. I am an "agricultural commissioner". Sounds fancy, but it ain't. We are focused on preserving what little farming is left in town. We work on getting farms protected via tax breaks and conservation restrictions. Now that we are legally a "right to farm" town, we talk about "chicken keeping by-laws". Exciting, eh?
Here's the point. Because of the state's "Open Meeting Laws" each meeting is recorded on Zoom. I happen to be the clerk. Which means I watch the meeting later in order to construct the minutes.
I watch myself. I listen to my voice. I hear my sentence construction. I see my receding hairline. Am I mumbling? Am I being too adamant or not loud enough? What are the expressions on the faces of my very fine teammates as I speak?!
The first time I watched one of these, my reaction was OMG, really? But as I watched more, I gave myself a break. "Not too bad, for an old coot." And realized this was a terrific tool to tweak my speaking style and improve.
The hairline will continue to recede and I will still be an old coot. But I may speak more effectively. As I learn more about the team and our challenges, I'll feel more confident in my ideas.
John, I suspect my shadow might look similar to yours, at least in terms of gate and level of agility. Walk safely!