Lent 26: The Edge
I've always been on the edge of coolness. There was the in-crowd, the secret club, the people who glittered with sophistication. And I wasn't one of them.
I wouldn't label myself as a "loser" back then. But I was definitely on the periphery of the trendy social crowd. I often wished that I could connect and belong. I didn't. So, I befriended those who were similar to me in their status, who also resided somewhere between blah and wow.
I believe it was a good thing, a divine intervention, so to speak. I found many of my dear friends in the same social space. We shared the fact that we didn't draw the gaze and admiration of the majority. And that was okay. Because we were different from them, for different reasons such as ethnicity, age, faith or life experience. And while we were outsiders looking in, we found camaraderie in each other. Eventually I forgot I didn't belong there and embraced that I fit here.
Lately, I've been reminded of my past as I contemplate my life in prairie suburbia. It has been 3.5 years since we moved here and I still feel like a social misfit. While I have made some very positive connections in the community and have discovered beautiful friendships, I would not feel utterly devastated if I packed up my belongings today and moved. While I would not label such a move as easy, it wouldn't be gut-wrenching either.
Don't worry kids, we are not moving. You two are thriving here. Your Daddy enjoys his job and values the colleagues he works with. And I appreciate the small town atmosphere of this place. Yet I long for something more, something significant, something that connects me to this place in a meaningful way.
At this moment, you may be wondering why I haven't brought up the church. Isn't church a place where I can connect in a meaningful way? Ideally, yes. But not necessarily.
I believe one of the challenges of a small town or city such as ours, is that a huge percentage of people know each other very well. They have grown up here. Gone to school here. Married here. And now have elected to repeat the same cycle with their own families. In many ways, people start thinking the same. This is true of people inside and outside the church. Thus, if someone from the outside enters the dynamic of local, established relationships and that someone does not have a Guide to negotiate social norms and protocols, a deeper connection may not occur. And while I agree that smaller centers have remarkable potential to be welcoming, smaller centers also struggle with entertaining new ideas or different ways of thinking.
Interestingly enough, I have lived most of my life conforming to the majority. Tell me the rules, and I will follow. Give me the handbook, and I will check off each point. Teach me the cultural norms, and I will adapt. Yet, something happened when I moved here. I didn't want to conform for the sake of conforming any longer. I wanted to be true to who I am and what I believe in, in spite of the consequences. Maybe this freedom has come from letting go of my eldest role and engaging in my life as a wife and mother. Maybe this release has occurred because nobody really knows me here and I have nothing to lose. Nonetheless, I realize there is a cost of not conforming. You live on the edge, the periphery of acceptance and popularity.
And I'm thankful that I am there.
I wouldn't label myself as a "loser" back then. But I was definitely on the periphery of the trendy social crowd. I often wished that I could connect and belong. I didn't. So, I befriended those who were similar to me in their status, who also resided somewhere between blah and wow.
I believe it was a good thing, a divine intervention, so to speak. I found many of my dear friends in the same social space. We shared the fact that we didn't draw the gaze and admiration of the majority. And that was okay. Because we were different from them, for different reasons such as ethnicity, age, faith or life experience. And while we were outsiders looking in, we found camaraderie in each other. Eventually I forgot I didn't belong there and embraced that I fit here.
Lately, I've been reminded of my past as I contemplate my life in prairie suburbia. It has been 3.5 years since we moved here and I still feel like a social misfit. While I have made some very positive connections in the community and have discovered beautiful friendships, I would not feel utterly devastated if I packed up my belongings today and moved. While I would not label such a move as easy, it wouldn't be gut-wrenching either.
Don't worry kids, we are not moving. You two are thriving here. Your Daddy enjoys his job and values the colleagues he works with. And I appreciate the small town atmosphere of this place. Yet I long for something more, something significant, something that connects me to this place in a meaningful way.
At this moment, you may be wondering why I haven't brought up the church. Isn't church a place where I can connect in a meaningful way? Ideally, yes. But not necessarily.
I believe one of the challenges of a small town or city such as ours, is that a huge percentage of people know each other very well. They have grown up here. Gone to school here. Married here. And now have elected to repeat the same cycle with their own families. In many ways, people start thinking the same. This is true of people inside and outside the church. Thus, if someone from the outside enters the dynamic of local, established relationships and that someone does not have a Guide to negotiate social norms and protocols, a deeper connection may not occur. And while I agree that smaller centers have remarkable potential to be welcoming, smaller centers also struggle with entertaining new ideas or different ways of thinking.
Interestingly enough, I have lived most of my life conforming to the majority. Tell me the rules, and I will follow. Give me the handbook, and I will check off each point. Teach me the cultural norms, and I will adapt. Yet, something happened when I moved here. I didn't want to conform for the sake of conforming any longer. I wanted to be true to who I am and what I believe in, in spite of the consequences. Maybe this freedom has come from letting go of my eldest role and engaging in my life as a wife and mother. Maybe this release has occurred because nobody really knows me here and I have nothing to lose. Nonetheless, I realize there is a cost of not conforming. You live on the edge, the periphery of acceptance and popularity.
And I'm thankful that I am there.