You can lose yourself if you spend too much time living up to the expectations others place on you. I have learned over time that temperance (or balance), one of our favorite cardinal virtues, is the key to navigating expectations.
Occasionally, I can be oblivious to what others expect of me. When I'm confronted with the impact of my distraction, for lack of a better word, it typically surprises me. Awareness is the key; for me, sometimes it is on, and sometimes that switch is off. Being unaware of other people's expectations can make the world confusing.
In my writing, I explore the perspective I’ve gained as someone who doesn’t “fit like a glove” in many situations. I suspect most people have felt this way and have at least one "tribe" where they feel comfortable, accepted, and loved. I know I do. Is there a minimum member requirement to qualify as a tribe? I am curious about tribes and want to know more from you:
Once you acknowledge your tribe, some questions may arise: what does that mean? What does the membership cost? Is it a flat fee, or are there recurring dues? Should membership feel like a burden? And how important is it to belong to something? Is it worth the cost? Are you allowed happiness outside of your tribe? My life does not revolve around any tribes. I must confess to the occasional envy of people with apparently large tribes of people around them. I am not sure if I could ever do that or if I would want to; privacy and solitude are too important to me. Accepting my social awkwardness has been a good start.
I used to think that my social awkwardness was related to my sexual preference. But as I have grown older, I concluded that I would be socially awkward whether I was a gay man or not.
Being a gay man is the best part of me, and I am reminded that throughout my life, there has been an assumption from others about what that means for me. One theme is that as a gay man, I must have this whole community surrounding me. When I worked at the William Morris Agency, I recall an ongoing conversation with the other assistants about networking in the industry. This one conversation stands out; it was with an assistant named Alex, a cute, straight Jewish guy from New York who worked for the lovely and wonderful Gayle Nachlis, a straight yenta of a television talent agent in Beverly Hills, who sadly passed away earlier this year. Alex referenced both the “Jewish mafia,” and the “gay mafia,” and he was clearly assuming I was “in” with the gay power brokers in Hollywood, of which my boss at the time, Jonathan Howard, was a small part. But I was not a part of this group of people. And no matter where I lived, traveled, or worked, I have never been in with “the cool kids.” And I am grateful for that because sacrificing my authenticity just to “fit in” would be a “flex” that would not be possible.
While I love my gay self and the life I have built, our society ascribes tribes, names, groupings, and titles to people and makes assumptions about your life experience that may or may not be accurate. For some people, particularly young people, this can become an obstacle as they move through life's developmental phases and find out who they are as human beings.
We are individuals and a collective. Humanity is all one and broken down within that singular; it is a collective of individuals with values, experiences, souls, heartaches, and lessons to learn that serve their own evolution and that of the whole. However, defining your behavior based on the movements of your assigned tribe is how individuals surrender their executive functioning. When we do that, we lose ourselves, and when we lose ourselves, the whole is weakened.
When my son was born 11 years ago, my husband and I decided that I would stay home with the children. We knew we wanted two children and didn’t know how it would all come together; we knew it would be a challenging but worthwhile journey. We knew we did not have “examples” on how to build this life, so we decided right then and there that we would make up our own rules on how we built and lived our lives as two men, in love, raising children.
My husband has been a serial entrepreneur throughout his life. Our decision that I would stay home from my job worked out better than either one of us expected. When he was ready to leave “big law” and start his law firm, I was able to help with operations and marketing. As my children grew older, I became involved with various philanthropic organizations in my community and beyond. In every community, non-profit organizations usually work for people in need, and if you have something to give, they are there and need help. I am full of gratitude for our good fortune, and paying it forward is just something that is a part of me that I want to teach my children. I approached any philanthropic volunteer work as a personal reward for supporting causes close to our hearts. Whether you find yourself in a volunteer position, in a family business, or a standard work environment, everywhere you go, you exist differently in the minds of everyone you encounter. They have expectations of you that you may not understand. Assumptions about who you are, where you belong, what you think, and how you feel will be made. Your job is just to be yourself.
In several situations, I faced a divide between what different organizational stakeholders expected from me, who I truly am, and how I wish to make a difference. Like my old friend Alex at William Morris, there were assumptions about me being a part of the LGBT community in a way that I wasn’t. I am far from being a subject matter expert on the issues affecting my LGBTQ community. Yet, the assumption exists based on the mere fact that I am a gay man raising two mixed-race children, that I speak to these issues in a certain way—or that I am a DeFacto representative of a community that never really “fit like a glove.” I can only speak for myself, and my life experience is not typical enough to talk broadly and on behalf of many people. I have 12 years of work experience in higher education management and an M.Ed. from Northeastern University, but nobody asks me questions about education. But most want me to be an advocate for the vastly diverse and complex LGBTQ community. Many people are much better prepared for this role than me.
If we meet at the PTA social and I am the only gay parent in the school, it doesn’t mean that I am a good dancer or that I will dance, drink, and be silly with you. So NO, I am not going to be your new gay BFF automatically; I will, however, give my honest opinion about whether your husband or boyfriend is a closet case, but that is more like volunteer work to me—a public service, closet cases are annoying and exhausting. One major hint is that you already know the answer if you are asking. I am far too serious, chubby, and cranky to represent the community. I have no idea how many genders there are or the proper pronouns and when to use them. I don’t understand and can't name or explain all the kinds of sexualities that exist now, and honestly, I am not inspired to become an expert. It’s all too much complication for my liking – which is precisely why you should never look at me as a representative of my “community.”
Now that I have said all that, I support an individual's freedom to live as they want to live, to love who and how they wish to love. Please don’t ask me to explain anything to anyone because I will probably not do a very good job. My desire to live authentically and be who I am prevents me from faking it.
Years of life at the margins, a bold commitment to self-awareness, a desire for happiness, and a rejection of pain have led me to this place where I can live authentically, love my family, and work at being the best parent I can be every day.
I have spent too much time trying to be a version of myself I perceived others expected. This was and is not the path to happiness. I did this in school and throughout my life: in friendships, with lovers, with work, and with my extended family. But something in me shifted over the last few years. The stresses of grief and loss and my toxic need to fit in where I was unwelcome caused a seismic shift in me, and I walked away. I pivoted.
What helped was letting go. The process of letting go came with feelings of shame for the six years of decisions that negatively impacted our lives. But from these storms came powerful lessons for each of us—lessons I try to write about here in Life at The Margins. I felt exhaustion and relief once I stepped back from what wasn't working and realigned our lives. Letting go has never felt better.
Aristotle defined happiness this way… happiness is an activity of the mind, in accordance with virtue, that you sustain throughout your life. I remember a college professor, Bill Ball, saying, "You must do something if you want to be happy." Sometimes, “doing something” means making course corrections. Don’t be afraid; course corrections always pay off.
It's not always perfect, but as long as you do the work, you can usually find yourself, even in the most crowded spaces.