Dog Blindness

I think a good term for it is ‘dog blindness’ but you could replace ‘dog’ with anything that fits — car, specific place, job….

Let me explain. Almost every day where I walk my dog I meet a woman with her pooch. We smile and exchange small pleasantries — nothing special. She knows the name of my dog, I know hers. But here’s the thing — every time I pass her on the street if I’m not with my dog, there’s not a flicker of recognition in her eyes. If I have the dog she’s all smiles and how are you? It happened this morning — we passed on the street and she looked at my blankly, even when we were close up to each other. I realized that in her eyes, I as a specific person only exist if I am with dog. Without dog I’m just another anonymous face in the crowd.

When I was teaching, often when I encountered any of my students outside the school they would look at me strangely and you could tell they were sort of confused or off balance because what was I doing outside their classroom being a normal human being? I was Mr. Carroll on the other side of the desk and that was that. Like I am only the owner of this big dog to the woman. In so many cases in life, we are essentially one single thing, one identity, to many of the people we are in contact with. If they encounter us in any other role they (and we too when the roles are reversed) are blind to this person. Dog blindness.

This article was originally posted on jonathancarroll.com