December 13

Sometimes, as you make a decision, you hear a voice that isn't yours. You word an email a little too smoothly and know at once how a particular person would raise an eyebrow at it. You rewrite it. He will never find out.

Witnesses like this rarely come from a deliberate choice. Someone once struck out a superfluous word, refused to accept an excuse, or laughed at a point where you were taking yourself too seriously. Over the years this becomes a figure who reads along with you.

It gets difficult when you meet the real person again. Perhaps he has grown more lenient, or more tired, or he barely remembers the sentence you haven't been able to shake off since. Some of what his inner version has spared you would mean nothing to him. Instead, he might find fault with something your figure never noticed.

Then it's no longer clear whose gaze is actually examining you. The figure borrowed his strictness and filled it out with your own fears. Even so, it has often advised you well.

As you say goodbye, he says something offhand about your work. You listen closely, as if this sentence could confirm a few years after the fact.