The other
weekend, the bus that took me to New York City went through Lake George, NY,
and our timing was such that we beat (by the looks of it, by only a few
minutes) the start of a parade of classic cars.
The main street of the village (which is a jumble of arcades, tattoo
shops, diners, souvenir shops, etc.) was lined with chairs, and people had even
climbed onto the roofs of cars and the beds of pick-up trucks, eagerly awaiting
the start of the procession. On the edge
of town, a huge park seemed to be crammed to the gills with classic cars, some
of which were lining up to drive through town.
As happens
a lot recently, I was aware of both “the old me” and “the new me” at work. The old me was the snob. There was nothing, nothing about the town, the people (with their sunburns,
cigarettes, short shorts) or even the cars, that interested or
appealed to me in any way, and I recognized the old impulse to critique, judge or even
make fun of the scene we were driving through.
And yet
there is nothing like finally identifying and embracing your own “weird”/unique
passions to soften your judgmental side.
I mean, let’s face it, there may be millions of human enthusiasms – bug
collecting, chess, Cajun swing dancing, mountain climbing, organic farming,
meteorology, astrology, astronomy, archaeology, scuba diving, liberal causes,
conservative causes, quilting, bird watching… And in 2015, there are 7 billion
or so souls on this planet, all with an utterly singular imprint of
nationality, gender, age, beliefs, work skills, and hobbies or passions. This is life, this is the Divine continually
growing, expanding and expressing. And
yet no one of us is meant to be enthused by all options, all passions. It would be impossible. We may have had the kind of excellent liberal
arts education that helped us appreciate a full palette of human experience and
expression. We may be bombarded every
day with news, information, books and magazines, and other people’s (or news
organizations’, or advertisers’) enthusiasms.
But we don’t need to confuse them with ours, and in fact we will find
life profoundly confusing if we
confuse them with ours, as I did for too long. As we proceed through life, we gradually
identify what “floats our boat” and
then are drawn, Law of Attraction-style, to the people who love the same thing,
the place where our passion is best nurtured, and the organizations or events
where we can learn more about our passion or passions. This is how it should be.
Looking out
at the classic car scene, yes, it felt alien and boring to me, as would a
conference on information technology, a class on genetics, The Wall Street
Journal, a country music concert, a roller derby or a poetry slam. Heck, I’m beginning to realize that relatively
few topics interest me in the least (the
handful I love, I really love.) But the
“new me” recognized the passion, curiosity and appreciation in all those people
pulling folding chairs out onto the curb, and gave them the inner “thumbs
up.” You go, folks. We’re all in this together. We all have our “thing” (with its parade or
procession!) Mine isn’t yours, and yours
isn’t mine, but that’s OK! It sure felt
better, as the bus pulled back onto the Northway, to feel a sense of common
humanity rather than condescension.
That’s not my tribe. That’s not
where I want to be or who I want to be with.
But in the larger scheme of things, we are part of the same tribe.
The tribe of passion for something. The tribe of life. Nice to meet you!
