I’m walking through the park, the chill in the air just sharp enough to tinge my cheeks red, when a stranger jogging past slows briefly and says, “Love your hat, really brightens up this day!”
Instead of the warmth that might flood someone else’s heart, I feel a pinch of doubt grip mine.
Brightens up the day? But it’s just a simple red hat. Is there something else about it? Maybe it looks funny, and that’s what they actually meant? Could it be too childish or loud?
As the jogger disappears down the path, the words hang back with me. Why would a complete stranger bother to comment? Do people really just say nice things without wanting anything in return? Or is it normal here and I’m the odd one out for not understanding the unwritten rules?
With each step, I replay the scene—the jogger’s smile, the inflection in their voice. Were they just being polite? Friendly? Or was it a passing jest hidden behind a smile?
I tug at the hat, suddenly self-conscious, feeling it like a beacon now more than a simple accessory. The comfort I felt in choosing it this morning, feeling bold and a bit whimsical, seems naive now. I wonder if my sense of style is just another part of me that doesn’t fit quite right, like so many other things.
As I continue walking, the simple pleasure of the park is overshadowed by a nagging question: How many other simple joys am I misreading, and how much of my world is colored by this persistent doubt?
This moment, meant to be fleeting, sticks with me, another reminder of the endless effort to decode the everyday language of a world that often feels as if it’s speaking in riddles.
And I suck at riddles.
— Autistic Ang
Red hats do brighten up days - and lives.
My Mum used to wear a red hat just like that!
And the whole not being able to trust joys that come from outside and reveal a lot about the inside.
Have just read an Aporia article about being nice and kind to strangers.
And would Red-Hat-Complimeter save a drowning child in a fountain?