I have squirmed, wriggled, pushed and begged without success; the world simply won’t welcome me into the order of things. Even as a child, skinny and unkempt, I hovered at the edge of the flickering circle of humanity like a stray dog, patiently vigilant for the morsel carelessly dropped from the table. Eavesdropping on the banquet guests while I waited.
There have been times in my life, I’ve masqueraded inclusion. I’ve pretended to join, I’ve faked communion, I’ve partaken of the flesh, without swallowing. There is almost always a thin membrane, a wrap of impenetrable film that keeps me in exile. Sometimes so close, other times, I’ve hovered near the ceiling and watched someone fuck me and felt guilty for being absent even in the moment of my orgasm. I have become a master in the art of pretending to be present.
I can count on both hands the number of times I’ve really been in the world. Always they were moments of intensity. Of fear or pain or ecstatic joy – which are all very much the same thing when one reaches a certain level of intensity. And I hang onto the memory of those moments with frantic determination. They are my proof of having lived life instead of having simply observed it.
As I’ve gotten older, the determined clawing to get in, the flinging of myself against the barrier, came to seem more and more pointless, and more and more painful. Now I realize I’m an exile and I always will be. Perhaps, had I accepted this sooner, I would have enjoyed the world more.
But I can’t dwell on that. Regret hatches nothing but bitterness, the worst of all sins. It’s time to release the long-held breath, accept, and exhale.
RG, the power of your fiction, to pinpoint the intensity of real life, is immense. This piece and the one before feel so confessional that you’ve jumped the distance between author and reader. I love the way your work invades my personal space. I stand in awe and wish my characters had this sort of power.
cheers,
Nan
The principal in this piece speaks volumes to me. I recognize that I have always felt somewhat apart, and have sometimes intensely lamented the lack of inclusion. But, I’m not sure to what extent that is due to others’ exclusion vs. my own pulling back. Either way, no regrets. Thank you for inspiring a bit of introspection.
For me, it’s definitely entirely my inability. Most people are welcoming and inclusive with me. I just find it very hard to step over that threshold.
You have to live and with living comes the good, the bad, the acceptance and the rejections. I’ve had people walk away from me while talking to them. I try to be social and I suck at it. I am always the quiet one observing. I never really feel intelligent enough to talk or don’t know enough to engage. It’s a frustrating existence and I just don’t have a problem with saying, “I don’t know.” I ask a ton of questions and they seem stupid or silly but it’s because I want to know.
But you are older, we are older and I came to this realization years ago that I can’t hover or hide. I just need to do. I don’t know what your beliefs are but we only get this one body and this one existence on this planet. Living doesn’t necessarily have to be with others all though that does make nice company but you have to make the moments count and more than just on your two hands. Life is dark and beautiful. Experiences are meant to be had. Life is meant to be lived. Keep taking risks because eventually it will go in your favor.
We have a right to be happy. We have a right to live. Only we can make these things happen for ourselves and no one else is going to do that.
Live. See. Feel.
Rest assured, I have thousands of ‘countable’ moments. Very few of them are with anyone else. And that might just be a function of my psyche. I am, essentially, a loner. Society mythologizes loners in fictional stories from Rambo to Amelia Erhart. But in reality, there is a great pressure to ‘belong’ and this is perpetuated throughout stages in your life – probably because we are essentially a ‘tribal’ species and we evolved that way because there is safety in numbers. There is also far more fluid communication within and between members of ‘communities’ whether it be new mothers, or football fans or Lady Gaga aficionados. Groups engender agreement, not only in the language they use, but in the relative values they put on things and behaviours.
But in any given population of living creatures, there are mutations – either genetic or through nurture. And it took me a long time to realize I was one of them.
This post was in no way a complain of non-inclusion or rejection. I find the vast majority of the humans I meet, in the diverse groups I encounter to be enthusiastically welcoming. It’s the old cliche – it’s not them, it’s me.
Touching cords again RG…well done.
I feel this so very much. I’ve wondered if it’s a passing phase of youthful angst, or an insecurity that is felt by everyone at one time or another.
Then again, maybe some of us are just meant to watch. Cheers to voyeurs…
Thanks so much for taking the time to comment. I’m really glad you felt it.
It has taken me many years, and even more anguished nights for me to understand I am unable to simply relax when getting thrown about in the undertow of the universe. I have again forgotten my key, and can only watch the proceedings through the dirty and steamed window. One day, I hope someone else forgets their key. I wonder if I would have the nerve to speak to another looking in.