Being Weird (in a Culture of Sameness)

He who joyfully marches in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice.

Albert Einstein

Imagine a world in which there is no racism, sexism, or conflict over religion. Now, imagine a world in which those things do not exist, because everyone is exactly the same. Sound like a theme for a dystopian novel? That’s because it is. The idea of sameness, a perfectly homogenous society, has been repeated in so many utopian and dystopian novels, that the novels as a group have begun to reflect their own theme. Sameness.   Swimming against the tide

We shudder to think of it. Because on the surface, we pride ourselves in being members of an enlightened culture, living in a time when our differences no longer divide us. A culture in which people can differ in appearance, in philosophy, in politics, and in socioeconomic class, and yet still coexist in harmony.

Or do we?

In a neighborhood where every house is painted a safe, neutral shade of tan, beige, or taupe, we cringe to see when a homeowner chooses to paint his home blue. What a crazy neighbor, we say. Doesn’t he know that his house is supposed to match the others? In a community where men wear their hair short and trim, and women wear it long, we are taken aback to come across the opposite. Oh, the woman with short hair must be a lesbian, we decide. And the man is probably a redneck, or perhaps a poor artist. And a family who owns a pet pig instead of the usual dog or cat or parakeet? How odd!

We shun what we cannot classify. We make fun of that which we do not understand. We alienate those who do not agree with the majority.

I am weird. At least, that is what people tell me. I have been told this so often throughout my life, that now I wear it as a label, even offering a warning to the people who dare to grow too friendly – “You should know right off that I’m weird. You know, just in case you only like ‘normal’ people.” I say it jokingly, in a better-to-laugh-at-yourself-than-let-words-hurt-you kind of way, but the truth is, the label still kind of hurts. Rudyard Kipling Conformity

And I have always wondered, what is it about me that people find so unusual? I certainly don’t go out of my way to appear different. I don’t dye my hair zany colors, or boast tattoos. I don’t have an intense or boisterous personality. I’m pretty sure that I have a healthy sense of humor, and can usually hold up my end of a conversation (as long as the conversation is not about celebrity gossip, golf, or reality TV scandals). But still, somehow, I am weird. Is it because of my classification of INTJ on the Briggs-Meyer personality scale (0.8% of all females in the population)? Is it my I.Q. score that makes me different? Is it because I am comfortable being alone? Because I enjoy alternative rock music, learning different languages, and geeky computer technology? Or the way I like to quietly take in the world, then reflect it back through stories and poetry?

non conformist

Whatever it is about me, it makes me weird. It means that other people do not know how to classify or relate to me. And so, in their discomfort, they slap on a hurtful label and cluster in their homogenous groups, where everyone gets along, because everyone is the same. They listen to the same music, eat the same foods, and share the same philosophies, or religion, or politics. “Want to join us?” they say. “Then you must become like us.”

We must be the same. It is the only way to achieve perfect harmony. Ironic, isn’t it?

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2 responses to “Being Weird (in a Culture of Sameness)

  1. Great post! I kind of revel in individuality, and I had such a strong upbringing in that area – my parents’ highest values were questioning authority and forging your own path in life and being nonconformist, so it was really celebrated and lived out in daily experiences. And then on top of that I love nature so much that being away from people and having solitude and freedom to think and ponder and being out in the wilderness or on the coast in the Pacific Northwest or camping at a remote hot springs have been some of my happiest experiences in life.

    • That sounds like a cool upbringing. Mine was more or less the opposite, but I guess I eventually just stopped caring. You know the nicest thing about being an individual? Resistance to peer pressure. The ability to refuse to go along with the rest of the mindless sheep. The trade-off? Loneliness. But I have learned that one can come to accept her loneliness, perhaps in the way a wheelchair-bound person comes to terms with his physical limitations. It’s there. It stinks. But that’s life.

      The outdoors is the best. Not that I have ever had the pleasure of camping/hiking solo (not exactly a wise thing for us girls, y’know?). But yes, enjoying nature’s canvas can be rejuvenating and peaceful. Navigating trails is so much easier and more rewarding than navigating relationships. Less frightening and confusing, too.

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