![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jun. 9th, 2008 09:23 pmCommunity is a weird thing. Or, to be more accurate, what I understand of community makes it a weird thing (I'm not of the mindset to solipsize to universality tonight). There's something of it that's about identity, something I don't quite understand. Also, something about volition, but that could be less widespread and locally defined by my own rejection of most non-volitional (or maybe default?) communities, and having the privilege to reject some of the volitional that have come my way.
I've all but turned my back on my family of birth. I can't remember exactly when the last time I spoke to my father was, but it's been at least five years; I talk to my mom maybe twice a year; my sister, as infrequently as possible; I've not spoken to any of my aunts, uncles or cousins in almost four years. I used to think it meant that something was wrong with me, that this group into which I was born chafed me so, wound me so tight I felt close to snapping in their presence. Then, I felt like something was wrong with everyone else, that they put up with this (if much of literature, film, drama, etc, are to be believed) without pushing either them or themselves away. Now, I don't miss my family, but I'm deeply envious of those who do maintain connection, who get something positive out of it. It makes me feel very xenogenetic, which is both good and bad.
The gendery stuff comes into play here, as well. If I were just willing to round off some edges, suppress bits of self, quell come impulses and reactions, I could fit in with... people who do exactly that, and seem to cling desperately to each other rather than facing the shifting sand beneath their feet (and here I said I wasn't going to universalize my own perspective). I suppose that makes sense, from a certain perspective; if you don't accept the one, how can you not run towards the other? Again, like family, there is a place, at a cost; in not having a place, there are (hopefully) some benefits, and definitely some costs (I'm almost certain to talk about life without a model very soon, but not today).
I've got friends, some of the best, most amazing people anyone is likely to meet; I treasure them beyond value. But, are friends a community? In some senses, yes, I suspect so, but in others, ways hard to define, I don't think so. They feel like a series of one to one relationships, with no clear defining focus among them all, each to each in varying degrees. That's not to diminish them in any way, I don't think, but it's not quite community.
Work: work is something that's come to stand in for a lot in the USA. Some people socialize, date, connect almost exclusively with work people. Sure, it's more efficient (in bad connotations); they're the people you see probably more than any other. I don't, really. At work, I cherish my lunch break as time alone, away from people who aren't my community or my friends, but want to insist on acting like it, sort of. I think this is where I brush up against several closets at once: my gender, mysticism, aestheticism, sensitivities, desires... There seems little place for anything far afield from the expected standard in the workplace, or at least my workplace.
This is where I always anticipate some resistance. Yes, I know everyone, at some place and around at least one thing, experience alienation. It's been suggested that this is the most uniquely human trait, feeling excluded and/or on the perpetual point of rejection, if only that one thing were widely known, but... I still feel like a sad, special snowflake. I don't feel rooted in any way that makes me more readily graspable, verstandlich to others. I don't have easy access points, and I'm not sure how to have them without rounding edges, smoothing out textures.
Maybe I'll blame it on the very permissive early 70s tv shows I was exposed to. I mean, I saw The Point when I was four, and it left a hell of a mark. Fucking acid head cartoonists.
I've all but turned my back on my family of birth. I can't remember exactly when the last time I spoke to my father was, but it's been at least five years; I talk to my mom maybe twice a year; my sister, as infrequently as possible; I've not spoken to any of my aunts, uncles or cousins in almost four years. I used to think it meant that something was wrong with me, that this group into which I was born chafed me so, wound me so tight I felt close to snapping in their presence. Then, I felt like something was wrong with everyone else, that they put up with this (if much of literature, film, drama, etc, are to be believed) without pushing either them or themselves away. Now, I don't miss my family, but I'm deeply envious of those who do maintain connection, who get something positive out of it. It makes me feel very xenogenetic, which is both good and bad.
The gendery stuff comes into play here, as well. If I were just willing to round off some edges, suppress bits of self, quell come impulses and reactions, I could fit in with... people who do exactly that, and seem to cling desperately to each other rather than facing the shifting sand beneath their feet (and here I said I wasn't going to universalize my own perspective). I suppose that makes sense, from a certain perspective; if you don't accept the one, how can you not run towards the other? Again, like family, there is a place, at a cost; in not having a place, there are (hopefully) some benefits, and definitely some costs (I'm almost certain to talk about life without a model very soon, but not today).
I've got friends, some of the best, most amazing people anyone is likely to meet; I treasure them beyond value. But, are friends a community? In some senses, yes, I suspect so, but in others, ways hard to define, I don't think so. They feel like a series of one to one relationships, with no clear defining focus among them all, each to each in varying degrees. That's not to diminish them in any way, I don't think, but it's not quite community.
Work: work is something that's come to stand in for a lot in the USA. Some people socialize, date, connect almost exclusively with work people. Sure, it's more efficient (in bad connotations); they're the people you see probably more than any other. I don't, really. At work, I cherish my lunch break as time alone, away from people who aren't my community or my friends, but want to insist on acting like it, sort of. I think this is where I brush up against several closets at once: my gender, mysticism, aestheticism, sensitivities, desires... There seems little place for anything far afield from the expected standard in the workplace, or at least my workplace.
This is where I always anticipate some resistance. Yes, I know everyone, at some place and around at least one thing, experience alienation. It's been suggested that this is the most uniquely human trait, feeling excluded and/or on the perpetual point of rejection, if only that one thing were widely known, but... I still feel like a sad, special snowflake. I don't feel rooted in any way that makes me more readily graspable, verstandlich to others. I don't have easy access points, and I'm not sure how to have them without rounding edges, smoothing out textures.
Maybe I'll blame it on the very permissive early 70s tv shows I was exposed to. I mean, I saw The Point when I was four, and it left a hell of a mark. Fucking acid head cartoonists.
