037 · Odd Won Out
Our natural magnetism...
In an early memory, I’m stretched out on a couch in my aunt’s living room with my head on my cousin Yvonne’s lap. I’m seven or eight years old, gazing up with adoration at beautiful Yvonne, thirteen years older and possessed of that magic something some people possess. People tended to moon over her and follow her around. Quiet, aloof, and observant, Yvonne and her allure were courted or copied.
Thirteen years is a pretty big age gap. Yvonne and I weren’t buddies, not at first, not for many years. Besides the age gap, a fundamental difference in our magnetism separated us. I tended toward invisibility as a survival mechanism, and my challenges felt opposite from Yvonne’s, yet our burdens dovetailed. We both grappled with the need to fend off unwanted attention, me to forestall being teased, Yvonne to keep admirers at bay.
Years passed. At family gatherings, during visits with kin hither and yon, at weddings and on holidays, Yvonne and I grew up and grew older. My interests took me on left turns away from standard family opinions. I found even less to say as I felt the gaps grow between my true self I was discovering and the expectations of the Deep South culture my family arose from. I definitely felt like a weirdo in their midst.
And then I noticed a trend in the flow of extended family dynamics, like a sudden awareness of patterns made by a school of fish. When I exhaled, for example, at a disagreeable comment from an uncle, Yvonne caught my attention and rolled her eyes. Or if I slid out of a room in the midst of a political discussion and walked around the side of the house to stare out at the lake, I found Yvonne already there, settled in with a sketchbook and a glass of iced tea.
The relief of not being alone in my weirdness made me adore Yvonne more. We talked, there by ourselves outside the church as wedding guests mingled, or on the far side of the reunion picnic, at the table nearest the woods. My mom and my brother often joined us in our unobtrusive detachment from the family mainstream.
Decades passed. Then more decades, until my mom, by then one of Yvonne’s best friends, passed away and, in a moment of revelation, Yvonne and I became equals in my mind, as if the passage of time and the weathering of all those incidents of being the odd ones out had gifted us to each other at my mother’s passing. The accumulation of small risks over time resulted in one of the best and deepest friendships of my life.
As with me and Yvonne, sometimes the exposure of peculiarities is worth it. Sometimes a calculated risk to show my atypical self to someone, when I feel safe enough, when I can resist the temptation to bend under the pressure of expectations to conform, leads to the reward of a genuine bond. Maybe the process takes a while—for trust and shared experiences to pile up, for interactions across a wide perspective of time to become visible as a trend. The risks of exposure accrue as investments that pay off in intimacy and the satisfaction of knowing someone and being known behind the masks and survival mechanisms.
I do a little wordplay in my mind when I think of how often I’ve felt like the odd one out but then connected with Yvonne and other fellow weirdos to the point of friendship: The odd won out. I try to remember that oddness doesn’t always exclude, no matter how alone we feel about a trait, an affinity, a preference, a physical characteristic, a history, or anything else. Whatever is unique about us helps us identify each other, narrow the distance between us, and recognize the secret handshake that welcomes fellowship.
Whatever is weird about you is attractive to your truest comrades.
Whatever is weird about you is beautiful, necessary, and perfect.
When you feel like the odd one out, you are more likely to be a beacon to someone else at the edge. You are making a safe space for odd to win out.
About the Photo | Reflecting Pool
Freiburg, Germany, 2013
To access greater quietude when I lived at the edge of the city in Freiburg, I took daily walks along the foothills of the Black Forest, often exploring the large cemetery at the farthest reach of my walking route, where this photo was taken. Lots to find there, and rarely anyone else to watch me as I played with my camera, lost in thought, using photographs to get to know myself, discovering who I might be out in the wild, freed from observation in an outdoor environment rich with possibilities and reminders of life’s impermanence. My priorities seemed to clarify in those times, as I wandered and pondered and settled into peace.