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After some particularly compelling conversation with friends this evening, I found myself putting away the dishes from dinner and poking around at the details of the night’s topics. I stumbled, as I am wont to do, upon the real common thread that binds my “circle”.
To know me is to know that I have a widely diverse group of people whom I affectionately refer to as “my people”. They range from beautiful, happy, shallow waters to deep, still, and murky. They are people who make me better in some way, make me more than I could ever be alone. They’re MY people. And I always thought, till this evening, that what bound them to me was, in my friend Vicki’s words, the “fringe” factor. I had assumed, wrongly, it turns out, that I gravitated toward this weird group due to some innate instinct to seek people who have felt ostracized or outcast at some point in their lives. Left of center, if you will. They really are, by and large, fringe, my people. Sloppily thrown aside as un-categorizable or easily boxed in by a society who cannot compel a single linear thought over the course of an hour’s conversation. A society who, because one person or another doesn’t fit adequately into some high school label or, conversely, fits squarely, deems these folks not fit for further investigation.
These things are true, but they aren’t the thing that binds.
In fact, every single person in my circle is nonchalantly heroic. The sort of people who save innocent animals from pain and neglect. People who would, literally, give hours and hours of their precious short time on this planet to keep a kitten or puppy company. People who protect the weak and do not expect praise or thanks, but do it because it is right and true. People who give and give of themselves to others who often do not understand the level of sacrifice being mounted. People who protect the moral nature of logic and understand how rare and precious the rational approach to life really is. People who will answer a question, no matter how difficult, candidly. People who don’t care to misrepresent themselves to you, BECAUSE they are your friend and BECAUSE they know it will make your bond stronger to disagree and still continue speaking. Mature and kind and selfless people who will share a meal with you and help clear the plates. People who know all walks of life and are genuinely engrossed in the things that you say and are not just waiting on their turn to talk. People from whom you want advice and thoughts. They are pithy and empathetic and they know better than to make sweeping judgments of others because they themselves have been judged.
These are my people. I am so privileged to have married a hero. To count NUMEROUS heroes among my best and truest friends. To find heroes in my own family. I cannot fathom a world in which I deserve such company but I am grateful for that world. And I am grateful that these people, my circle, are in it.
To know me is to know that I have a widely diverse group of people whom I affectionately refer to as “my people”. They range from beautiful, happy, shallow waters to deep, still, and murky. They are people who make me better in some way, make me more than I could ever be alone. They’re MY people. And I always thought, till this evening, that what bound them to me was, in my friend Vicki’s words, the “fringe” factor. I had assumed, wrongly, it turns out, that I gravitated toward this weird group due to some innate instinct to seek people who have felt ostracized or outcast at some point in their lives. Left of center, if you will. They really are, by and large, fringe, my people. Sloppily thrown aside as un-categorizable or easily boxed in by a society who cannot compel a single linear thought over the course of an hour’s conversation. A society who, because one person or another doesn’t fit adequately into some high school label or, conversely, fits squarely, deems these folks not fit for further investigation.
These things are true, but they aren’t the thing that binds.
In fact, every single person in my circle is nonchalantly heroic. The sort of people who save innocent animals from pain and neglect. People who would, literally, give hours and hours of their precious short time on this planet to keep a kitten or puppy company. People who protect the weak and do not expect praise or thanks, but do it because it is right and true. People who give and give of themselves to others who often do not understand the level of sacrifice being mounted. People who protect the moral nature of logic and understand how rare and precious the rational approach to life really is. People who will answer a question, no matter how difficult, candidly. People who don’t care to misrepresent themselves to you, BECAUSE they are your friend and BECAUSE they know it will make your bond stronger to disagree and still continue speaking. Mature and kind and selfless people who will share a meal with you and help clear the plates. People who know all walks of life and are genuinely engrossed in the things that you say and are not just waiting on their turn to talk. People from whom you want advice and thoughts. They are pithy and empathetic and they know better than to make sweeping judgments of others because they themselves have been judged.
These are my people. I am so privileged to have married a hero. To count NUMEROUS heroes among my best and truest friends. To find heroes in my own family. I cannot fathom a world in which I deserve such company but I am grateful for that world. And I am grateful that these people, my circle, are in it.
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