Life, after a few days of -30F temps, is returning to normal. With no frozen pipes, a working internet connection, and each family member off in their own corners, no one died or killed the other – the best possible outcome for a polar vortex. While I would wish this weather on no one, I have a slight dread about the thawing out, the required assimilation with the rest of the world, the lack of excuses to not be social.
In the past, I would have likely come down with some mysterious, communicable illness that prevented me from say, using the phone or making eye contact with other humans. These days, I just drop out of sight for a bit. Most people who know me get this. Or they simply don’t notice. Either way, they’ve been conditioned not to be alarmed. Should I ever live alone again, no one would be alerted of my death until the smell hit the neighbors at the end of the street. C’est la mort.
You’re weird…no, you are!
Being the planner I am, when I saw the predicted temps a few days back, I stocked up from the grocery store, rescheduled appointments, and let people know I’d be absent from meetings/groups. Part of me thought things would be cancelled for safety reasons, but Minnesotans seem to take pride in denying whatever weather scheme is in play. And it would not be the first time in my life I’d been called overly-cautious.
While I rarely change my mind once I’ve arrived at what I think is a logical decision, I do spend inordinate amounts of time doubting myself. When meetings were not called off and people were saying things like I’m braving it or this is nothing or when I was a kid…, I went down my defensive, self-doubting rabbit hole, because that is where I live. Inevitably, because I’m overflowing with rationality, I ended up on well, screw them.
That seems to be as far as I take most of my inner arguments. Maybe it’s because I can’t be bothered or that fitting in/getting along/going with the flow hasn’t rendered much in the way of reward. I’ll say something contrary and friends will say you’re so funny, mostly because they don’t know what to say to a 90 year old curmudgeon in a 51 year old brain. From the outside, I’m a suburban housewife in flannel shirts and jeans. I am the very definition of ordinary, yet every day, at some point in the day, I feel like a weirdo.
This sense of never quite fitting in, is part of the human condition. Introverts usually have an easier time of weirdness – it’s subverted by lack of exposure. I’m the normal-looking person you might start to chat with at the bus stop, lightly grousing about the weather, and ten minutes later we’re in existential fisticuffs about the nature of human existence. Small talk is for novices. My weirdness is camouflaged by mom jeans.
As a writer, I sense it’s important to keep abreast (or two) of current culture and events. I am less and less interested in this idea the more I read Twitter. After awhile, there is a sing-songy nature to outrage and wit and pictures of animals in clothes and repeating memes. This is about as much current culture as I can handle.
In the evenings I’ve been huddled under my blankets, reading Lord Tennyson’s poems out loud. To no one. I’ve been thinking about rhythm in language and the oral traditions of storytelling and if this might not be useful for strengthening my ear for language.
I have no interest in sports, religion, fashion, reality TV, except as peripheral academic interests – literary allusions to be read or employed. Analogies others can understand. Connections that create a broader picture. It’s being a writing mercenary – life is only to be observed and written about, but I’ll skip the participation trophy. Elementary report card comments clearly define my future: She seems very reserved and not a great participant. She would rather work than have free play time. She gets so carried away with reading books that she forgets to do her other work. Yeah, there was no way I was ever going to be a fun-time gal at the tailgate party.
Socrates allegedly said the unexamined life is not worth living, but one can go too far. And there is little about my life or my character that I have not dissected, ruminated over, or researched. The problem with this approach is that at some point, you no longer give credence to your intuition. Everything becomes a Google search, a process of finding multiple sources, a constant skepticism directed at one’s own thought processes. In reasonable doses, this is a good thing, and would have a huge impact on the national discourse, should more individuals practice it.
Intuition is not a namby-pamby new age concept. It’s simply the culmination of your knowledge and experiences disguised as a feeling. People like to feel superior by demanding “facts over feelings” while having no real understanding of emotions and their role in our survival and decision-making abilities. We get very silly when we try to base everything on data alone. Myopic science is not much better than mysticism when it comes to judgment calls.
Writing for Weirdos
Over the last few weeks I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve been trying to fit into the “writing world” and ignoring my intuition. I’ve done workshops, conferences, classes, and over the last year, it’s been a writing group and getting feedback from others. Each of those things serve a purpose, but they are only peripheral to the writer I’m working to be. It is what it has always been – a solitary experience – and anything beyond that holds the danger of draining much-needed energy.
The combination of being an introvert, autodidact, and a writer is not weird – there are many people like this. But there’s no workshop to tell us hey, you might not need so much of this peripheral stuff to write. There’s no fee to be earned by telling people that. There’s no acknowledgment to say hey, you need to be alone more to get where you are going. There’s no conference to say you really shouldn’t be here. Go home and write. My intuition says these things are not really working out for me and my time is a finite resource. It’s an unsettling acknowledgement, but one to which I need to pay heed.
Keep writing. Stay weird.
15 thoughts on “Thawing Out from the Deep Freeze”
I absolutely loved every morsel of this. There were more than a few moments I thought you could be describing me. I must say I was quite disappointed 😉 at the end to see you were not offering a ‘Writing for Weirdos’ workshop. I was ready to sign up. 😁 Have a great February.
Glad you enjoyed it. That would be some workshop, wouldn’t it? You’d have to have breakout sessions for the introverts, so they could all go be alone somewhere. February is shaping up to be a productive month in spite of (or maybe because of) the cold. I hope your February goes well, too!
I live in Minnesota too and the way you described the deep freeze is simply amazing. I hope we all thaw quickly😀
It’s supposed to be 36F tomorrow. I always enjoy it when we all lose our minds and are running around in summer apparel as soon as it gets above freezing! Stay warm!
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Hahaha… so true Michelle! Thanks, you too.
I love how you frame your thoughts Michele and how you interject humor into serious discourse. I also relate to much of what you have shared. I am not in the least bit interested in how to drive up the numbers of followers, likes or shares I get. I’m simply driven to write what I write and how I write it. Which is why I will most likely never earn a cent doing it. It’s been that way with all the art I’ve done–sold a few, gave more to charitable causes for fundraising auctions, gave some to loved ones, sat through art fairs chatting and smiling with the public and never once pitching a sale. Not that I think it’s sacrilege to do so, I just really really suck at it.
Glad you are seeing some hope for a little more warmth in your future Michele.
Yes in the end what we write has to come from inside us. I did courses when I first started out, but my writing is different from what is taught, and I do not fit “literary” or “academic” criteria. The approved styles and topics just do not relate to me at all.
I think the education around writing is useful – it’s good to know the rules – right before you break them. Like most distractions, though, it can lead you away from the core of writing, which is the time you spend alone doing it and the fact that we all have different motivations.
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Yes it is good to have a groundwork of skills, but they should not box the writer into a restricted style of writing.
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The writing world has been knocking on my door since high school. I finally opened that “door” and let it come in. Never thought of myself as “weird” but I’m sure others have done that for me. Love your dry sense of humor.
Whether it was inherent in my upbringing or not, most of my life I’ve carried a strong sense of alienation from the world around me. While it’s more perception than reality, it does contribute to my observational skills. I do more watching than engaging. On the upside, it likely makes me a better writer. On the downside, I have to work harder to find connection. Always two sides to any coin. Best wishes in your writing endeavors!
One day when you live alone and I live alone I would like us to be neighbors. Not in the actual next door sense … more in the sense of being approximately equidistant from the same bus stop or coffee shop. I’d enjoy those fisticuffy conversations, I think.
I think I may love you. Introvert writer here, although I live in the Southeast, so I generally don’t have the excuse of life-threatening cold weather to use as a reason to avoid interaction.
Having brittle weather is useful. Not only do you not have to go out, but nobody else is dropping by, either. I suspect I’d do very well, dropped into a cabin in the woods with decent coffee, a lot of books, and about a 30 day lease. But since I can’t “Thoreau” my way through these phases when human interaction feels exhausting, I’ll take wind chill and black ice. I’ll have to come up with something new when we thaw out. Incurable contagious rashes, a relative or four dying, pets with separation anxiety, an odd allergy to the human voice…
I also absolutely love your style! Thank you for the invitation to stay weird.😊