Inside one head

Randomized - to exclusion. That is - in a sense - the way most of my life has gone. It never occurred to me that there was a name for it, let alone a treatment. I never wondered, as some others did, why I did so poorly in subjects like history, government, or other social studies when I enjoyed them so much and could usually come up with correct answers on the tests. It was never troubling that my involvement in a conversation always led off on a tangent - at least not to me. But, it was also never mentioned (within my hearing) that the way things ran through my head was not the same as most people.

I was never really ostracized. But, I never really fit in with the usual categories of people either. Typically, I would find other people like me - that is to say, misfits: the All-Star jock who aced all his classes and dreamed of being Spielberg or Lucas; the 17-year-old HS freshman stoner who could out talk the debate team (when he wasn't high); the fashion-plate princess who would not demean herself to discriminate against anyone's "lack"; or the suburbanite who knew everything about, and was able to do, everything domestic, but hated to actually do - or even talk about - any of them.

These were my friends. Not really the bulk of society. Not really the fringes. More like the "ether" that connected and buffered all the various sub-cultures of society - letting them interact or pass each other as needed. These were the people toward whom I gravitated. These were my people.

Myself?... I was - and am - less of a contradiction, and more of a randomization. I could play with the jocks, discuss with the brains, game with the geeks, move with the shakers, or fit myself in with almost any group I chose. I could be about average in any of them. A sort of jack-of-all-trades for social groups. But, I was never content in any of them. I was never satisfied to stop and do one thing - period. And that seemed to piss people off. ---Who are you?---What are you?--- Just fit in!--- Define yourself.

What about just being myself???

I do not like giving definitions to things. I am not happy with labeling things. Boxes are adaptable structures, not containers. Lines are meant to be erased, redrawn, and incorporated into something bigger. We are what we are...which is only what we want to be.

And yet... I find myself trying them on. Taking that caption for a spin around the block. "Hi, I am John Catholic" or is it "Joe Mormon"? I am a "nature-freak" and/or a "computer-geek". Am I a "multi-taking-go-getter" or is it just "ADD"? Tommorow, I will be something else... or maybe not. Whatever seems appropriate at the time. Until I find one or two that just fit. Those stay with me - whether I want them to or not.

So ... the labels I have accepted? Husband, father, smart, ADD patient, know-it-all (even though I do not), shoulder (for crying on), blunt. There are others that I am on the verge of accepting, but I do not want to mention them and predispose people to treat me a certain way before I actually deserve it.