Lost in Translation

About two weeks ago I signed up for Freak Revolution. Freak Revolution is basically about a bunch of misfits changing the world, and not being judged for who they are in the process. “The world will not be changed by those who fit in” is the title of the manifesto (I think; it’s what’s on the cover, anyway). It’s a good cause and a good bunch of people, and I figured I might benefit from being a member and other members might benefit from my presence. I filled out the application and Pace and Kyeli, who organized Freak Revoluton, approved my application and invited me to hang out and introduce myself.

I haven’t been back to the site since.

It has nothing to do with whether or not I want to be part of the site, part of the movement. I do. And it has nothing to do with any of the people who are in Freak Revolution; some of my favorite people – Naomi, Havi, Seth (I feel like I should call him “Mr. Godin, sir”, although I think that defeats the purpose) – are part of Freak Revolution.

I just feel insufficiently like a freak.

It’s a strange thing to say, especially since I’ve largely been an outcast – whether or not it was self-imposed, whether or not it stemmed from my own social anxieties and depression – for most of my life. But it was never because I was weird. It was because I was a recluse and horrible in social situations – not Asperger’s so much as crippling shyness – and so I pretty much defaulted to introvert and outcast, because the other option was extroversion and life of the party.

I’m not the second-best practitioner in the world of a branch of yoga that turns your brain into a delicious, salty pretzel. I don’t forget to wear a shirt to an impromptu video-conference. I’m just me. I’m not weird at all. I’m not really much of anything. I have depression and social anxiety and a degree in Classical Studies from which the only fruit harvested is the subtag of this blog (Radices cocta simul illo cupisne?, and according to my generally-prevailing philosophy, that tells you just about everything you need to know about me.

But I’m tired of boiling myself down to nothing, like a hard-boiled egg forgotten on the stove. So tonight I’m going to list five weird things about me, and maybe that will give me the nerve to go talk to the people at Freak Revolution. Here they are (the weird things, not the people), in no particular order:

1. The pets outnumber us three to one. I don’t mean fish, either. We have lots of animals in this house. They’re generally free-range, too, although most of the dogs sleep in crates at night.
2. I have a degree with which I do not ever intend to do anything. I started college in 1997 intending to be a professor, left in 1999 to raise a family (this stemmed from a birth-control failure; readers, do not fool yourself into thinking that any method has a 100% success rate), and came back in 2005 to finish my degree. At that point I had two years left, and I could either finish in Classical Studies and get my degree in two years, or find a major that actually appealed to the 2005 me and take 3-4 years to finish. I chose the route that got me the degree, and graduated in 2007 with a BA in Classical Studies. Now I have eight years of Latin and three of Greek, plus countless hours studying ancient architecture, art, literature, and culture, and I have no real desire to ever put it to professional use.
3. I would rather help others than help myself. I put off getting things for myself in favor of other people getting what they want. I help with no expectation of recompense, and am always surprised when people want to pay me back. It’s not a self-sacrifice thing, or a holier-than-thou thing – one of the things that really recharges me is making other people happy, so I do it as much as I can, even when it means I don’t get something else that I want.
4. I used Apple’s GarageBand to create a fifteen-minute “song” of a thunderstorm. It helps me relax and concentrate.
5. I really want to write music for aquariums, planetariums, and zoos. I loved the National Aquarium, the Science Center, and the Zoo in Baltimore when I was growing up, especially the music they used to enhance the experience. I’d love to be one of the people writing that music. It ties in to another of my lifelong goals – to design theme parks and other educational/entertainment venues.

I still feel insufficiently weird. Naomi successfully faked being English for six months. Havi tended bar in Israel. I have cats and dogs, and want to make theme parks. Still, I guess it’s better than nothing. Here goes…

Here’s the big secret: I don’t know a goddamned thing.

This isn’t one of those Socratic “The only thing I know is that I know nothing” bits, either. Socrates was talking about logic and reason, and never taking anything for granted – begin everything by accepting that you might be wrong, and go from there. That’s a good goal, and it’ll get you a lot farther than blind dogma, but it’s not what I’m talking about.

No, what I mean is this: I have no idea what I’m talking about. Seriously, I don’t know why you people are reading what I’m writing. I have more than a thousand people (or robots or small dogs with evolutionarily-improbable opposable thumbs) following me on Twitter, and I’m making this up as I go along. I have no business giving anybody advice or speaking on any subject, really, because life has shown me that what I’m really, truly good at is taking a good thing and screwing it up. Seriously, if I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth it would have been tarnished by the time the doctor slapped my ass. (Speaking of which, I managed to screw up being born – I got stuck coming out, and the doctors had to push me back in so they could do a C-section. You’d think I would have taken the object lesson more seriously.)

On the other hand -

I suspect that most people in the world feel like this.

I don’t have any proof. I sure as hell don’t know, and there’s an interesting fallacy that makes us feel like other people are like us, so maybe I’m totally wrong, but I have a suspicion that the overwhelming majority of us feel like we’re in the tall grass most of the time. We’ve got a tenuous grasp on whatever it is that we’re supposed to be good at, and we fight and struggle and kick our own asses to live up to the expectations of other people, in part because even the people who feel like they’re falling apart at the seams feel like everyone else has it together.

So maybe I’m not alone in not knowing anything.

And maybe knowing that helps.

Reposted from Twitter:

For the last decade and a half I’ve been dealing with depression. This is not news to anyone who knows me well, but it informs pretty much everything that I do. Even when I’m cheerful I feel like I have a bowling ball in the pit of my stomach. It’s easier to deal with some days than others. For the last few months it’s been almost intolerable. The only things keeping me going are @copygeniusgirl, certain friends, and the knowledge that if I just let go I’d let my son and @copygeniusgirl down. Some days that’s only barely enough, and even on the good days I’m still mired in despair.

“Cheer up” does nothing; neither does “just get over it.” It’s amazingly hard to live with this, especially when I don’t have any kind of treatment for it. Twitter and blogging are my only outlets and lately they haven’t been doing as well at letting me out. I really don’t know what can be done to fix my depression or the pretty much constant emotional (and occasionally physical) pain I’m in because of it. Maybe nothing can. But —

I just wanted to say that out loud, here in the open where everyone can hear it. I’m tired of repressing my feelings for the sake of not offending. For the sake of maybe, possibly, losing readers/friends/clients/whatever because I’m not upbeat. I haven’t talked about it out of fear. And I’m tired of fear, of being MORE miserable because I can’t TALK about being depressed.

You can probably expect more out of me here now that I’ve gotten that out of the way. And to everyone who commented and backed me up – thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

My beloved Macbook stopped working this evening. It was working fine – I stepped away to get clean sheets out of the dryer, while one of the cats walked over the keyboard in my absence – and when I came back, the screen was black and the Caps Lock key was lit and wouldn’t toggle off. I couldn’t do anything but hold the Power button until the computer powered down.

Now it won’t power back up at all. No noise, no fans, no nothin’. I’ve tried resetting the PMU/SMC (remove battery/power, hold Power button 5 seconds, replace and start up), starting without the battery, starting without the power supply… nothing seems to work.

I’m going to let it sit overnight, but I’ll be honest: I’m not hopeful. If you have any advice, I’d love to hear it; otherwise I’m going to have to salvage the hard drive and – I guess – start hoping for a new one for Christmas.

Pam Slim, the author of Escape from Cubicle Nation, has a new article up on Open Forum: How to Choose a Business to Start. It’s well-written and speaks to my condition. I highly recommend it!