You Are Not Alone. Seriously.

There’s a whole lot of theorizing and research these days about why we humans seem prone to following instead of forging a new path, why we imitate instead of innovating, and why we repeat instead of recreating. Inquiring minds are wondering why we can’t seem to think straight when we’re land-locked in a crowd, why we’re so willing to go along with “whatever”, even when it means sacrificing our safety and well-being, as well as that of others.

It’s not like these are new areas of concern. More than a thousand years ago, writers noodled on this in “Beowulf”, weighing and measuring the effects of being part of the crowd versus being on the outskirts. The “bad guy” Grendel, who by description seems fairly human, spins out of control after a lifetime of being excluded and royally poops a royal party (i.e. leaves bits of celebrants hanging from the rafters). Nietzsche, in pondering the Uber mensch, spent a great deal of time sorting through the ins and outs of being a follower, a leader, or choosing to be neither. You can open a history book to any random page, and you’ll probably find a story of some poor soul who was shown the door because they presented a dissenting opinion.

There are so many theories about why we’re hesitant/terrified to step out of line, why it’s so easy to toodle along with the crowd and say nothing. Psychology, philosophy, economics, sociology, politics, they all have their two cents to give about our troubling tendency to march in line. It’s all very interesting, but I want to focus on one particular consequence of sticking one’s foot in it, of sticking out and being noticed:

It can feel really, really lonely. 

Being the only one to think a certain way, the only one willing to point something out and take a closer look, the only one wanting to talk about something difficult, t’s all profoundly lonely at times. As hard as it is to live in a world, in a particular period of history when everything seems upside down and backwards, the very opposite of what it should be, it’s downright disconcerting to think of wandering through it by yourself. There’s a constant, niggling feeling that if we stick our hand up to ask a question, even just to get some clarification, we’re imposing on everyone else around us. Any act of disruption, even when it’s in service of something that will be better in the long run, gets you a whole lot of side-eye, at least. We praise the idea of new ideas, new points of view, originality, and rugged individualism, but when the brown stuff starts to hit the fan, we actively shush all of these things. If it weren’t apparent before, it’s been a big, wet slap in the face over the past few years.

But there’s something else I’ve experienced, especially over the past year, that actually feels reassuring. Maybe you’ve experienced it too.

I’m not alone. 

I know, I know, there are all kinds of facets to this too. The poet John Donne tells us “No man is an island.” Jean-Paul Sartre laments that “Hell is other people.” A myriad of faith traditions and worldviews insist on the interconnectedness of all life and being.  This feeling of “not alone” part is complex and tricky.

Here’s the good part: As hard as it’s been to be geeky, artsy, observant, and generally weird in a time and place when it’s expected that we just smile and nod, I’ve never felt a sense of community like this before in my life.

To clarify, it’s a very different sense of community than I felt five years ago. I’ve had to revaluate a whole bunch of institutions and connections that used to make me feel heard and accepted. There’s nothing like a pandemic, a climate crisis, and many flavours of social upheaval to force a person to do just that- take things apart and have a closer look. As scary as it has been to make a leap away from what used to make me comfortable, I’ve found all kinds of inspiring minds and kind souls who have been busy doing the same. There are people out there with whom a weirdo can be vulnerable, be curious, be rebellious and disruptive, and they’ll value you for it. They’ll share holy #### moments with you, life hacks, resources, and yes, even fun stuff.

Here's the hard part: this kind of community, this kind of connection, doesn’t just show up. You have to be relentless in your search for it, honest, vulnerable, open.  You have to go out and howl into the void, perk up your ears. You have to be willing to upend the life you knew a little and redraw some of your own outlines. But if you’re the kind of person who questions, who isn’t okay with status quo, you were probably going to do that anyway.  

If you’ve been itching to step out of line, but you’ve been putting it off, shrinking from it because you thought you’d be doing it solo, you don’t have to worry about that. If you look hard enough, as you’re sitting on the periphery, you’ll see others doing the same. Maybe you’ll wave and say hello, and you’ll compare notes on life, the universe and everything. You won’t be alone. Promise.