Yesterday, as I was sitting in Office Hours, an older man was walking by.  He was going slow, laboring to move across the long lobby towards the door.  He was old, like golfer old; a cap, a cardigan, comfy shoes, no cane, but he looked like he could have used one.  Somewhat bent over, and with a determined trajectory towards the door.  I was working on the physicality of availability, not being predatory, seeking to meet people’s eyes and demand they come sit down with a brittle smile, but relaxed, smiling if I felt it; not, if I didn’t.    I met his eye, and I smiled, and he smiled, quite big, and good, and said, “Hello Jenny”, but kept on going towards the door.  I thought, oh, he must know me, maybe he’s seen me perform, maybe I know him from the rooms, maybe I’ve talked with him before about how things are for old golfer men in this world now, would my dad have been like that if he had lived past 76? (‘cause this guy looked like 96). I thought, maybe he would have stopped if he had time, because he obviously knows me, and anyone who knows me would stop over just for a moment.  Then I realized that I was sitting calmly, available, under a large sign that said my name, and he simply read it, and moved on….