Shademp
420
The human experience is multifaceted. So multifaceted in fact that most lifetimes are not enough to take in the true breadth of manifestations that our daily- and nightly lives may take. Whether it be intellectual, emotional or tactile, every person knows something that a notable portion of other people do not. Therefore I should, ostensibly, not highlight in my own mind how separated I often feel from the human experience. Entire realms of the world will pass me by regardless, whether it pertains to topics of academia, hobbies common and rare, communal activities, countless roles of employment etc.
Yet perhaps some aspects of humanity can be said to be more fundamental and basic, think for example of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, thus justifying this splinter in my brain that declares my own "otherness" : My introversion, social anxiety and tendency towards emotional overheating.
Adjacent to a forest nearby where I live, there is a place with a name that can be translated as "Oldtown". Buildings from the late 1800s and early 1900s are preserved here. Old-timey houses, shops, cobblestone streets and a fancy dance floor define the aesthetic. Actors, dressed for the time period, roam the streets and sometimes enact short plays out in the open. Their devotion to the craft is especially impressive when they wear all those thick layers of clothing even during the worst summer heat. Enter the forest and you'll see the aesthetic continue with old wooden fences marking animal enclosures.
People of all ages, and especially families, come here to socialize and take in the sights. During these pandemic times it is arguably a bad sign that I often see this place brimming with activity. Limited social distancing and nobody other than me wearing a mask. But my social brain overtakes me and I am instead filled with joy. The sight is too classically idyllic. People, young and old, talking and laughing. Families eating ice cream. Children playing. Athletes running in- and out of the forest tracks. Dancing couples on the dance floor, sometimes to the accompaniment of actual musicians playing on physical instruments.
The scene promotes certain phrases to echo in my head.
Mayhaps that I am suffering from the outsider's illusion. I am not privy to the anxieties and troubles that may be occupying the visitors to this lovely place. All I can truly say is that from the outside it looks like the people who come to this place, actors and visitors alike, are in their element. They look free and jolly in this Swedish Hobbiton.
When I imagine what it feels like to be human, at least in this idealized sense, I imagine the feeling of being "out there" and NOT being afraid. To enter a café not with a trembling psyche but with breath so steady you don't even think about it. To not always fear that your gaze, however temporary, might offend somebody. To be able to join in the dance, hearing the music of life in the same way that the other dancers do.
I've caught glimpses of this precious experience of feeling in tune with the fundamental social life of being a human. Moments, sometimes during or sometimes afterwards, where I realized I was not consciously "acting" human, but just "being" human. Precious moments bereft of fear, awkwardness, tense shoulders and mental exhaustion. Harmony rather than dissonance. Sometimes transcendence, sometimes an unusual sense of...normality.
My story from visiting Oldtown reveals that even in my supposed "otherness" I am still tapping into a very important, positive human trait: Appreciating life where life happens. Thus, even when I don't know how to dance, I can still assure myself and confidently say that, fundamentally...I belong.
Yet perhaps some aspects of humanity can be said to be more fundamental and basic, think for example of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, thus justifying this splinter in my brain that declares my own "otherness" : My introversion, social anxiety and tendency towards emotional overheating.
Adjacent to a forest nearby where I live, there is a place with a name that can be translated as "Oldtown". Buildings from the late 1800s and early 1900s are preserved here. Old-timey houses, shops, cobblestone streets and a fancy dance floor define the aesthetic. Actors, dressed for the time period, roam the streets and sometimes enact short plays out in the open. Their devotion to the craft is especially impressive when they wear all those thick layers of clothing even during the worst summer heat. Enter the forest and you'll see the aesthetic continue with old wooden fences marking animal enclosures.
People of all ages, and especially families, come here to socialize and take in the sights. During these pandemic times it is arguably a bad sign that I often see this place brimming with activity. Limited social distancing and nobody other than me wearing a mask. But my social brain overtakes me and I am instead filled with joy. The sight is too classically idyllic. People, young and old, talking and laughing. Families eating ice cream. Children playing. Athletes running in- and out of the forest tracks. Dancing couples on the dance floor, sometimes to the accompaniment of actual musicians playing on physical instruments.
The scene promotes certain phrases to echo in my head.
"So this is what life looks like"
"This is what it means to be human"
"Life is out there and it's beautiful"
Mayhaps that I am suffering from the outsider's illusion. I am not privy to the anxieties and troubles that may be occupying the visitors to this lovely place. All I can truly say is that from the outside it looks like the people who come to this place, actors and visitors alike, are in their element. They look free and jolly in this Swedish Hobbiton.
When I imagine what it feels like to be human, at least in this idealized sense, I imagine the feeling of being "out there" and NOT being afraid. To enter a café not with a trembling psyche but with breath so steady you don't even think about it. To not always fear that your gaze, however temporary, might offend somebody. To be able to join in the dance, hearing the music of life in the same way that the other dancers do.
I've caught glimpses of this precious experience of feeling in tune with the fundamental social life of being a human. Moments, sometimes during or sometimes afterwards, where I realized I was not consciously "acting" human, but just "being" human. Precious moments bereft of fear, awkwardness, tense shoulders and mental exhaustion. Harmony rather than dissonance. Sometimes transcendence, sometimes an unusual sense of...normality.
My story from visiting Oldtown reveals that even in my supposed "otherness" I am still tapping into a very important, positive human trait: Appreciating life where life happens. Thus, even when I don't know how to dance, I can still assure myself and confidently say that, fundamentally...I belong.
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