Freak Show

The other day, I was invited for cocktails by friends of friends. We gathered on their veranda, enjoying sweeping views and near-perfect weather. Both hosts were intelligent and accomplished, and the conversation flowed easily.

Then, quite suddenly, the man turned to me and asked if he could see my hands.

I was taken aback. Why? Did he think I’d pocketed the silverware?

No, as it turns out, he simply wanted a closer look at my fingers. My deformed fingers.

Yes, my fingers are twisted and swollen from arthritis. They resemble a gnarled claw, disfigured but still functional and, for the most part, pain-free. I’ve learned to ignore their appearance and carry on with life, focusing on what they can do rather than how they look.

That is, until that moment.

His request landed like a dropped glass in the middle of a lovely, thoughtful exchange. So abrupt, so odd, that I was thrown off balance. 

And instead of responding with a wry retort, I complied. I held out my hands for inspection as if part of a freak show.

Needless-to-say, it was deeply uncomfortable.

To be clear, this couple wasn’t exactly untouched by the passage of time themselves. But I don’t focus on such things. I try to see people for their character, their humor, their ideas. Things we can actually choose to cultivate.

But apparently, this man preferred to zoom in on what was visibly “wrong” with me. Why? And more importantly, why didn’t I just say no?

There I sat, hands on display, while he assessed them with clinical detachment. My crooked pinky was deemed “interesting,” my swollen knuckles “unique.” As if those words somehow softened the awkwardness of the whole exchange.

Soon, a few others joined the table and the conversation drifted to other topics. But I was inwardly squirming, unsure now whether I should stop gesturing when I speak, maybe hide my hands altogether.

As the sun dipped lower, I excused myself, grateful for a reason to leave. I had one more hike planned before the day ended. So I thanked them for the hospitality and slipped away.

Here’s the truth: my body is breaking down. I feel it every day, and clearly, others can see it too. But up on that trail, ascending like a butterfly, I still felt strong, grounded, and determined. And because of my early departure, I reached the summit just in time to catch the last golden light spilling over the forest below.

So here’s a thought: if you ever feel tempted to comment on someone’s physical flaws, don’t. Chances are, they’re already acutely aware. They don’t need you to hold a spotlight to their vulnerabilities.

Instead, cultivate your mind. Sharpen your curiosity, deepen your empathy. Learn to connect through stories, ideas, laughter. That’s where the real beauty lies, in the richness of conversation, in the spark of human connection.

And as a bonus? You won’t come across as a complete jerk.

Have you ever been on the receiving end of personal comments that left you feeling examined with a bright light? What did you say or not say? How did you handle things?