Strolling through my suburban neighborhood is a pleasant experience. The air is clean, friendly-looking people walk their dogs, the fall trees are changing, lawns are clean. Perfect.
At least that’s how I felt the first half-dozen times. Though pretty soon it still seemed very nice, but perhaps a bit predictable. Everything was kinda standard, there wasn’t much variety in the houses.
And it struck perhaps that was telling me something. That for the people owning these houses, a clean lawn, a small tree with its leaves swept, and shuttered windows was something they thought was worth aspiring to. They were striving to be as tidy and inoffensive as their neighbors.
It occurred to me then what may be obvious. That the compulsion to fit in must be born of the fear that one is less than normal. Why else would one strive for regular?
But there is another option… being more than regular.
Perhaps it seems like hubris to not ask “Why aren’t I more normal?” and instead ask “Why isn’t normal more me?” I hope not. I hope for you that seems like a perfectly reasonable question.