Three months ago, I found myself at Newark Liberty Airport, boarding pass in hand, ready for an adventure I wasn’t sure I needed. At 70, I’ve traveled many places, but this trip felt different. I was heading to Seattle to finally meet my writing accountability partner—a close friend I had only ever seen through a screen.
When we chat via video, screens can trick us into thinking we know each other intimately. We often fill in the missing details with our own imaginings, painting pictures that may not represent reality at all. I was about to learn just how misleading those images can be.
### The Person I Imagined
For two years, she appeared on my screen every Wednesday at 3 PM. The backdrop in her home office boasted book-filled shelves, and she always wore a crisp shirt, speaking with the refined tone of someone who’s given countless presentations. Her critiques were sharp; her work appeared polished before I even laid eyes on it.
I imagined her living in a sleek Seattle high-rise, starting each day with yoga and green smoothies. I pictured a life full of elegance—someone who never had a pet, always organized, always put together.
### What the Screen Didn’t Show
When I arrived, she picked me up in a mud-specked pickup truck adorned with a bumper sticker that read, “My other car is a kayak.” She came dressed in faded jeans and a cozy fleece vest, her silver hair in a messy bun, not the polished persona I expected.
“Those video calls?” she chuckled, recalling her professional look. “I keep a blazer on the back of my chair. Below the camera? Usually pajama pants.”
Her home wasn’t a high-rise but a charming Victorian on the outskirts of the city, brimming with “organized chaos.” That tidy library? Just a setup for video calls. The rest of the house overflowed with stacks of books, half-finished art projects, and assorted items.
What surprised me the most was learning that she wrote by hand in numerous composition notebooks scattered around. Early morning wasn’t for yoga; it was caring for her chickens before she settled down to write with a cup of coffee on her porch. Her precise critiques came from years of battling her own messy tendencies, not from a natural inclination toward order.
### Our Assumptions Mirror Our Own Insecurities
While sharing takeout Thai food in her lively kitchen, I faced an uncomfortable realization: my assumptions reflected more about me than her. I had projected my views of what makes a “serious writer” onto her—qualities I wished I had like discipline and organization. It became clear that I had been comparing my inner struggles with her polished exterior.
Virginia Woolf once said, “The eyes of others are our prisons.” But what if we are the ones constructing those cages through our assumptions?
### Lessons Learned in Person
Over five days, I uncovered that her chaos wasn’t a hindrance but part of her creative process. Her feedback was sharp because she channeled her scattered energy when it mattered most. Her drafts might have started messy, but they led to polished final pieces.
We dove into conversations we had never touched on during our calls: her divorce that led to this home, my late husband’s illness, and our daughters who have both taken different paths in life. We even walked her property, collected eggs, and sat quietly watching the rain from her porch.
The most eye-opening moment came when she showed me her actual workspace—a converted shed overflowing with papers and Post-it notes. “This is where the magic happens,” she said, revealing that true creativity rarely stays tidy.
### Final Thoughts
I returned home with more than memories; I gained permission. Permission to embrace the messiness of creation, to be myself instead of who I think I should be. The friend I met was far more complex and interesting than the idealized version I had built in my mind.
Sometimes the best gift we can share is to step away from our curated images and show our authentic selves. Real connections thrive not in the images we present but in the beautiful chaos that lies beyond the frame.
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