Most people are weird in one way or another, so this isn’t like some special characteristic that I hold. But in my teenage years when most everyone I knew was doing a great job of hiding their weirdness from the world; I was oozing mine. Not on purpose of course; I just didn’t know what to do about it.
I went to college and met a lot more people with this special skill. I did my best to assimilate; but ended up forming mostly superficial (albeit perfectly enjoyable) friendships.
It wasn’t until around May of 1989 that I met my people. I decided not to go back to Troy to live at home for the summer and instead took a three-month lease at an apartment complex near campus. It was practically vacant (because everyone else did go home) and was cheap enough that I could live by myself.
Within a few days of moving in, two inhabitants saw that I had landed on their planet and stopped over to investigate. They brought me back to their small colony where I met the rest of the natives. That night, we stayed up until the sun rose the next morning, playing music, sharing ideas, and contemplating the meaning in the stars. One of the leaders walked me home, and I accidentally fell in love with him sometime between my front steps and about 10:00 a.m.
Over the next few months and into the year, I became a part of their culture. I made sense to these people and they me. More weirdos joined us. We all moved in together, and my affection grew for that initial one, even though he was the only one of them all who actually didn’t want me to be me. I tried again not to be weird, even though it made no sense after knowing what I knew and being where I’d been.
When it eventually fell apart with him, I realized (over a painful length of time) that it was never him that I wanted. He was merely the tangible form of my deep awakening, and I was so profoundly moved that I feared that in losing him I was losing my connection to it.
It turned out to be just the opposite.
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| Going native, circa 1989. |
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