I’ve never known anyone like me. I wish I did. It would be so nice to hang around with someone who likes the same things I do. On the surface that sounds boring. Isn’t variety supposed to be the spice of life? And how do you find out about new and interesting things if you only hang around with people who are interested in only the things you are interested in?
The thing is I’ve never had a problem finding new and interesting things in the world. My problem has always been finding other people interested in them too. And since I’ve gotten older it’s difficult to find anyone to share my enthusiasm about anything.
For years I had separate circles of acquaintances to do things with – and those acquaintances rarely overlapped. Because I like opera and other “classy” things someone thought I might like ballet – Wrong. My patience for ballet lasts about 15 minutes – max. Because I like music of all kinds and theater someone thought I would like to attend Broadway musicals – Wrong.
So there was one or two people for opera going, and different people for theatre, and different people to go out dancing with, and different people to hit the museums and still other different people to hit the galleries and I always, always shopped alone.
If you put all the people who say they know me, or were my friends, in a room and you asked them who I am you would get very different answers from all of them. Each knows one little bitty part of me. And that may be true for everyone – we reveal to any one particular person only what is pertinent for that person to know. That may be a universal condition. Probably is. So never mind about this paragraph.
I don’t seem to have much in common with my contemporaries and I certainly don’t have much in common with those either older or younger. I don’t share a common frame of reference with anyone. I am reminded of that every day when I scroll through Facebook posting or read blogs – most of the time I haven’t a clue what people are talking about. I don’t listen to the same music, then or now. Certainly don’t watch the same television shows, then or now. Don’t even read the same books, then or now. I don’t relate.
Oh and please let’s not discuss home decor. My husband is the only other person I know who likes clean, modern, minimalistic decor and architecture. Folks will post pictures of furniture, or rooms that they really like and I’m thinking “How many ways can you say ugly”. Now diversity is a great thing, and certainly I have always maintained that if everyone liked the same things it would be a very boring world, but where do I find a contemporary who likes contemporary?(This is like a big thing with me because I spend a lot of time looking at houses, furniture, designing my dream kitchen and bathroom. I have a bookmark folder filled with with tile, flooring, appliances, faucets even. It’s my little hobby.)
Sometimes I want to write about what my life has been like, things I done, people I’ve known but most of it is none of anyone’s business. It was my life…in retrospect it might seem a little – I don’t know – unordinary – but it was ordinary to me. Then. Now – I shake my head and think “What the hell!” And “What absolute fun!” Oh man I had me some fun.
And there was a whole lot of not-so-much-fun – Bad decisions – I made them. In spades. And paid for them. Some of those bad decisions started out fun…
And all that sounds so ominous – but I never did anything illegal – ever.
I’m not sure I’ve explained this well, or at all. But it’s been bugging me – this feeling of having lived my life on another planet, in another galaxy, far, far away.
I am craving “Aha- you too?” moments.