Feeling Invisible and Eagerly Searching for That Certain Look – When I Was Your Age #7

Feeling Invisible and Eagerly Searching for That Certain Look – When I Was Your Age #7

 

Cornelius: You know, Nova, when you dragged me to that CTRL Room of yours last week—that vibey, neon-lit jungle gym of curated personalities—it did something to me. Something unexpected.

 

Nova: Oh no. Did it activate your sciatica? Should I have warned you about the fog machine?

 

Cornelius: No. I mean, yes, the fog machine was… aggressive.

 

But it’s not that. It’s feeling invisible.

Being there reminded me of a feeling I haven’t had in a long time.

 

You know the one—when you lock eyes with someone across a room, and for just a second, you know they noticed you too.

 

That spark. That pulse. That quiet rush of maybe.

 

 

Nova: The “Did-they-or-didn’t-they” lightning bolt? Yeah, I chase that on weekends.

 

Cornelius: Of course you do. You’re young. You’re still in the middle of it. But me? I’m in my 60s.

 

And most days, Nova…most days I just feel invisible.

 

Nova: Wait—Corny Baby, you? Invisible? Come on. You’re like a walking bowtie encyclopedia with opinions on fountain pens. You’re not invisible.

 

Cornelius: Not to you. But to the world? To strangers? Yes.

 

Feeling invisible as you get older—it sneaks up on you.

 

It’s not that people are cruel. It’s that they stop looking.

 

You stop being seen that way. You feel invisible instead of being someone who might still matter in a romantic sense. In an exciting sense.

 

Nova: Wow. You’re actually being serious. I thought you were gearing up for one of your “in my day” monologues.

 

Cornelius: I am. But not the usual kind.

 

I just want to say this out loud for the other people out there who might be nodding along.

 

Feeling invisible as you get older isn’t about vanity. It’s about longing.

 

It’s about remembering what it was like to be noticed—to be flirted with. To be wanted.

 

Nova: Okay. Now I’m the one who has to pause.

 

Because you’re right. That moment—the look, the tension, the thrill—that’s magic.

 

I don’t feel invisible and I guess I take it for granted. Like it’s always going to be there.

 

Cornelius: You’ll blink and it won’t be. And I don’t say that to scare you. I say it because…I wish someone had said it to me.

 

I wish someone had told me that one day, the music would still be playing, but you wouldn’t feel invited to dance anymore.

That feeling invisible in life would become your new normal.

 

Nova: Corny Baby…that’s heavy. But maybe that’s just how the world’s wired.

 

We’re not taught how to see past a certain age. Or how to imagine romance past a certain point.

 

Cornelius: But why not? Romance doesn’t retire. And neither does desire.

 

We just stop talking about it.

 

We let it fade. And that’s when feeling invisible as you get older becomes more than a mood—it becomes a reality.

 

And the worst part is, it doesn’t always hurt.

 

Sometimes it just…empties you.

 

Nova: So what do we do about it?

 

Cornelius: We talk about it. We say the quiet part out loud.

 

We tell stories that bring people like me back into the light.

 

We watch movies and create our own characters who still flirt, who still ache, who still feel sparks.

 

Even if the fire’s slower to catch. Even if feeling invisible in life is something they’re learning to push against.

 

Nova: Okay, you’ve officially gotten me emotional. And now I kind of want to march back to the CTRL Room and demand they turn down the fog machine and turn up the eye contact.

 

Cornelius: Just make sure they leave room for people like me.

 

People who remember what it felt like to be noticed. And who—deep down—still want to be.

Nova: You know what, Cornelius? You’re not invisible. Not even close.

 

You just reminded a whole bunch of people that their heart still works. Including me.