"I hadn't yet discovered that I lived in a sort of transparent balloon, drifting over the world without making much contact with it, and that the people I knew appeared to me at a different angle from the one at which they appeared to themselves; and that the reverse was also true. I was smaller to others, up there in my balloon, than I was to myself. I was also blurrier.”
I have been listening to this book by Margaret Atwood while painting. It's small stories about life and those thoughts that just slip in and out of your consciousness. I understood this statement instantly, rolling it around in my mind. How do I seem to others? What do I not understand about them?