Outsider

During my junior year in high school I was asked to write a story about myself. I don't remember the details of the assignment, but I know we were supposed to look within, find something worth sharing, and express it in written word. The option was given to share our prose with our fellow classmates; an option I declined, but I have a vague recollection of the general details that were shared. I remember people telling stories of their youth and others sharing tales of a beloved pet or family member. Some people shared emotionally moving journeys through life's struggles or captured their passion for a favorite hobby. I did not read my small apologue aloud, but I do remember some of my small contribution to this little piece of busy work. It was titled 'Fitting In.' I thought it was an honest, straightforward, unabashed assessment of my place in the social maelstrom of school at age sixteen. I thought it was well written and concise and expected that it would continue to serve my pursuit of the almighty grade. I felt it was solid work and would land me a precious 'A.' To my surprise what it got me was an intervention and several forced trips to the school counselor.

I will be honest, I did not save the document nor do I remember every detail of its contents. However, I do remember the thrust of the argument. I felt then, as I do now, that although we all feel a little awkward, and we all have hard time fitting in (especially in high school!), only a select few of us are truly outsiders. I did not write the document as a quiet plea for help. I did not dye my hair black and adopt the iconic emo-kid hair swoosh. I didn’t walk around with a ‘woe-is-me’ attitude and pout. I simply took an analytical look at the data that was my life at the time and formed a simple conclusion. In a house of glass where life tosses it's occupants around on a whim, it is just safer to place a brick outdoors. At that time I felt like a brick in a house of glass, and it was just best for the social order if the brick found its home outside in the yard.

Fast forward to today and not much has changed. I live alone, I wake alone, I exercise alone, I eat alone and I sleep alone. I have considered this an interim time between social circles, but the more I ponder I have to wonder if there was more to 'Fitting In' than I first suspected. Had I touched on some unseen wisdom in my youth? My intention was to write an honest paper and receive a solid grade for my efforts, but did I inadvertently channel a glimpse of things to come?

My family is comprised almost entirely of hard-working blue collar folks. They are good people, but they look at me like a strange fungus most of the time. I don't hunt, I don't fish, I spent an abnormal amount of time in school, and now I work in a cube. They were a bit more accepting when I was in 'Crush Face!' mode and playing football. However, I gave up the savagery of the gridiron for the slick wood of the ballroom and the gap never really closed.

My coworkers fit into two camps, those that report or might report to me in the near future, and those that I report to. As you might have guessed, the people closest to my age bracket are in a position where I could very quickly become their supervisor, so professional distance is required. Those above me surpass my age by no less than fifteen to twenty years, and as such it is difficult to find common ground. I am sure thirty-somethings exist in this company, but I am yet to find them and if I do, will I see the looks of future friends or of the entomologist coming to find the rare and elusive Cacao Bee…Brandonus Esotericus?

I spend a lot of time at the gym, but that is not a place I have ever sought or found the bonds of camaraderie. I have tried at times, but inevitably I quote some esoteric Latin poet or don't beat my chest with enough Cro-Magnon bravado and huzzah, the brick is set back outside on the porch.

The dancing community is far more accepting, but I often feel like a strange jell-o dessert at dance functions. I am on the table, vibrant in color and I draw attention. People are curious and will poke at me to see what I am made of, or they shake the table to see if I move, but it's a detached curiosity. Unable to really decide what I am, I end up enduring a mild neglect. I never have a problem finding dance partners, but then again, why would I? People’s dance cards might be full, but in the end, there’s always room for Jell-O.

Now, it could just be my age. People become very protective of their groups and their time as they get older. They are hesitant to let new faces and personalities enter their circles as a new voice can disrupt the status quo. The presence of a male with strong alpha tendencies can really toss order into disarray, so it’s often safer and more comfortable to leave the wolf chained up outside. People are also very covetous of their time. With work, hobbies and family, time becomes a truly precious commodity and it is a luxury not easily shared.

I do have friends, but having friends and having a posse are two very different things. I have flirted with the notion of ‘my crew.’ However, every ‘crew’ that rises as an effigy to companionship dissolves before the march of time and circumstance and the brick finds itself back in the grass. It really is not a terrible tragedy. There is much to learn, see and do outside those crystalline walls, but standing on the outside and looking in can do strange things to a person’s psyche. You begin to see yourself very differently than those you count as friends see you. Where laudatory words like unique, original, interesting or fascinating once brought a spark of pride you start to hear them as signs of division. Sometimes you feel very much like a fungus or an exotic insect; a thing best studied and observed from afar.

I am well aware that I am an amalgam of hobbies and interests that are seldom found in the same place. I could argue that I am actually my own house of glass, and most of the world is looking in. They don’t stop for very long because my home is wacky at best…perhaps an experimental dalliance into architecture; interesting to look at, but uncomfortable to enter. I also know that a casual reader might interpret this much like my teachers of bygone days and think I am standing on a precipice looking to jump. I don’t need a hug; I am not sitting here wallowing in self pity. I am simply taking stock in the facts as I see them and wondering how exactly people build up their groups, and once they are built, how do they maintain them?

Is it luck? It can become very challenging to maintain connections over distance and time and life often carries even the closest of friends half a world apart. Does it take a certain degree of sacrifice? Do the outsiders of the world simply not give enough of themselves? Do they give too much? Are they just bad at knowing where, when and how much to give? Are there certain characteristics that can be broken down like a simple equation, a social equation, to determine the calculus of friendship, camaraderie and ‘the crew?’ Maybe it is the fault of the brick. Does it weigh too much to be moved (yes, in an odd way I just called myself fat)…is it too dense to lift (and yes, I just called myself dense)? Perhaps it blends in with its surroundings. Perhaps it looks like a landmine in the grass and people give it space for a good reason.

I have no answers to my own questions. I merely have observations and a history of exploring the outer rim. Sometimes I venture closer to the center of this social galaxy and locate the elusive posse, but invariably I end up taking the path of Halley’s Comet and find myself hurtling back towards the edge…a brick of dust and ice and rock tirelessly finding its way back into the yard. I just hope it doesn’t take another 76 years to find that glass house again…