Misfit

I didn’t grow up wanting to be a nonconformist. But I knew I didn’t fit very well anywhere. And I was only partly successful faking my way in society. I just wanted to follow my own path. That didn’t mean being wild and destructive, an outlaw, an asshole. I simply wasn’t interested in a lot of what they claimed everyone should want. When I tried to live 100% their way, or even 75%, it only made me miserable. But as Emerson might have said, conformity isn’t about the individual’s happiness, it’s about the group’s comfort.

Back when I was a kid, whining about something I was supposed to do, Mom would say, “There are lots of things in life we have to do whether we want to or not.” Yes, of course. But a lot of the things we’re taught are essential aren’t—unless your goal is to please the folks who claim those things are essential. What do I get out of conformity, though, other than group approval? And what if group approval isn’t that important to me?

Over time, I grew comfortable with my individuality. It was either that or sacrifice my mental health on the altar of herd validation. I became a functional nonconformist, finding my niche, navigating around the obstacles and quagmires of normalcy. In doing so, I found kindred souls I wouldn’t have known existed if I had stayed safely within the HOA-controlled walled city of conformity. (I’m not talking about the cliques of false nonconformists who all rebel in exactly the same way together.)

Now, here I am, living on the fringes of conventional society. Happier without owning a building and a patch of land. Happier unanchored and unencumbered. Happier with a few people who share my general outlook but who don’t require total agreement on the specifics.

Emerson preached self-reliance over self-sacrifice. Who are the ones preaching the virtues of self-sacrifice? Usually those who would benefit from your sacrifices. 

On her deathbed, Mom raged against the way her life had turned out, how she never got the promised payoff for doing so many things she didn’t want to do, for sacrificing herself, her soul, so totally. I think she and I were very much alike at heart, only I had escaped the leash of conformity that had strangled her. 

Emerson claimed that society resents nonconformists because we don’t do the burdensome, self-stifling things they feel they must. But society needs misfits. As Kerouac wrote (and Apple ripped off):

Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently…

So, if you're miserable doing what everyone else says will make you happy, how can you change things? How can you jettison the parts that aren’t working without losing what you value? Sorry, I only know what’s good for me. At the risk of sounding like I’m telling you what to do, you need to figure it out for yourself.