Casual Naïveté

When my childhood best friend and I were still in elementary school, we would frequent a small park. We greatly enjoyed making up stories about our fictional selves, Speed and Spice. Two huge tractor tires were stationed upright, imbedded into the earth, near the playground. We climbed daily onto those tires, who became our faithful horses, although I have traitorously forgotten their names. We went so far as to attach masking tape saddles and reins. One day, in the midst of a storyline, we noticed a man had entered our playground. He stood watching us. We looked at each other and then at him. We dismounted. He waved to us. He said something innocuous, trying to engage us in conversation. I said something back to him (perhaps it was about the time?) when Speed said loudly that it was time to go. Because our bond was almost psychic, I sensed her urgency and so, although I felt she was being a bit hasty and impolite, I left with her. She asked me later: had I not seen his penis hanging out of his pants? That was a crushing moment for me. I felt the weight of what could have been my own demise and a profound revulsion at my own innocence. Of course, we knew not to take candy nor to go anywhere with strangers, but as far as I can recollect, he merely inquired about the time. I did not look down to see if he was flashing us. I just don't look at people that way. When they speak to me, I hold their gaze. Confidence and proper etiquette could so easily have been my downfall. I had seen NOTHING. To this day, at random moments, I am filled with that same dreaded sense of creepy disgust. I have only recently realised that it is my own naïveté. Is this perhaps my instincts telling me that something is amiss? Certain aquaintances will leave me with this feeling and I find myself urgently needing to disassociate. Or am I entirely incapable of protecting myself and will I forever need a good friend and a trusty steed? There have been many, many instances like the park of my youth. Not necessarily all flashers or would-be pedophiles but other incidents where I have trusted, innocently, in the face of what others have had to explain to me. How the hell can this be? I am intelligent and generally socially adept. I am an actor, for goodness' sakes. I can read character. So why do I have such a blind spot for potentially disastrous situations? I do think it comes back to a kind of naïveté--an honesty, an openness. A sort of optimism perhaps and an inability to accept real human cruelty. It's not that I haven't suffered in my life (indeed I have--my school principal used to get me to counsel other kids on how to cope with trauma because I was so well-adjusted after facing issues of my own) but that my suffering has perhaps been somehow elite. I can't seem to grasp the real, gritty, down-in-the dirt fabric of some peoples' tragic lives. My husband occasionally rails at me that I don't notice what is going on because of my academic focus. I get so immersed into what I am doing that all else is irrelevant. The capacity for concentration despite distraction is a skill I have used to my advantage many, many times. But I sense that it--both a gift and a curse--will my ultimate downfall. I have just finished reading J.K. Rowling's novel "Casual Vacancy". The cruelty and malicious intent of the characters is indeed casual and heartbreaking. It reminded me that I am both oh-so privileged and so very at risk.