Seriatim 1: I don’t know what it is, but there is something about riding my bike at night through the streets of this metropolis, that rejuvenates this love for Philly. My heart swells as I cruise through the differing neighborhoods, and by the time I get back to my apt, I just want to keep riding. No destination, no purpose, just keep going. Philly and I have this secret romance; a love affair. I know I share this town with many others, but in a certain way- it is all mine. To note: I never felt this way until I moved to South Philly, but the reach now extends out to all parts. I love the diversity, I love the culture, and I love the filth. Dare I say it? Dare I do… I love you, Philthy-delphia.
Seriatim 2: While helping out at the Obama office today, I noticed I felt a bit out of sorts. I believe it was partly due to my week long respite, and partly due to my recent euthymia. I had to take a little break, I was feeling a bit burnt out. Due to the amount of time and effort I have been putting into this campaign, I had long ago reached the status of “core team member”. Basically that means I get to do more administrative things than regular volunteers. But today I felt a bit… demoted. I know no one holds it against me that I took some time off. I’m not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last. However, as the evening progressed I realized exactly what it was that was making me feel this way, and it goes much deeper than Obama.
Every other core team member has found their niche. I have not. I have not carved out that one role where I have become essential. Sure, I am a people person, and generally when we have an event I am the one they ask to be on the front line. Also, people tend to come to me with questions if one of the staff are not available, and I do training of new folks since I’ve done just about everything there is to do. I guess that could be my niche, but if I were to disappear (which I did) there would be someone who could easily take my place.
This is a common recurrence in my life. In general, I have never found somewhere that I fit in. I always feel like an outsider. I know I am different than most folks out there. Heck, I pride myself on that most of the time. But sometimes its nice to have somewhere that you feel like a piece of the puzzle. In earnest, I told a co-worker recently, “No one ever gets me”. She laughed at me, only further proving my point. I have said that to other people in my life, to which my response is generally, “No, I get you”, but they don’t. I allow people to believe that they do, but they don’t. For once, it would be comforting to find a place, a group or even a single person who simply gets me.
Getting back to the niche, I also had another realization. The reason these people have found their niche is because they made it happen. Now, if you know anything about the last six months of my life, you know that I know better than anyone else about this fact of life: If you want something to happen, you have to make it happen. But, alas, I do believe that old habits die hard. This also goes much deeper than Obama. There have been times in my life when I have waited for things to find me, and wound up only finding disappointment. There have been other times in my life where I have been a go-getter and amazing things have come into being. I suppose my point here is that I have been waiting for the people at the campaign to offer me a role to be essential. What I need to realize is that if I want to be essential, I have to make myself essential. Not to say that I haven’t tried, and it seems that I have been refuted, but I suppose it is up to me to make it happen in the end.
Wow, I think I really started to ramble there and it kinda turned into a catharsis, only very public… I feel a bit exposed now. I hope someone out there got something from that, besides me!
Seriatim 3: I bought some art yesterday. I think that this is the first real piece of art I have ever purchased. I was walking home from the 79 bus, enjoying solitude on the city streets, when I happened past a thrift shop. Through the window my eye caught a painting. I was compelled to go in and check it out. It was part of a set of three, painted by some art student a few years ago. It had been passed through many hands before getting to the thrift shop. I inquired about the price, which was surprisingly reasonable. I told the shopkeeper that I would run the the MAC and return to purchase it. She asked that I purchase all three, to keep the set together, and offered me an even more reasonable price. But I didn’t really care for the other two pieces, only the one spoke to me. There was something in her face that seemed to reflect as mine.