Ten days ago, I posted something political on social media, supporting a side I’ve never supported before. It was a big change for me, and they’re still at it.I considered deleting it, but I didn’t. I left it up out of curiosity, like watching a dog gnaw a sun-bleached bone in the backyard. There’s no meat left on it, but the dog doesn’t care. He’s committed.
As of Wednesday, they’re still attacking me.
A buddy of mine called last week. “I never pledge blind loyalty to anything or anyone,” he said. “Those folks voted for one party at eighteen because their daddy did, and they’ve never looked back.” Maybe. I don’t know these people well, but do I know the type. You do, too, and it’s not just politics. “I had a sip of Miller Lite on my daddy’s lap when I was six, and I’ve never drunk anything else.” You’ve met that guy. Never mind that all lite beer tastes a little like old socks. The beer is who he is. Or the church that’s certain it’s the only one holding a ticket to heaven, full of members who’ve never sat in anybody else’s pew. “How do you know yours is the best one,” I want to ask, “if you’ve never seen another?”
I asked my AI about this. Claudia pointed me to researchers at Northwestern who found that thinking better and differently often comes from living somewhere else and having to adapt. Being the new guy, the outsider, the one who doesn’t know the rules and has to figure them out.
Think about the lite beer guy. Has he ever been the only one at the table drinking something different, ever had to explain himself, ever sat in a room where nobody thought like him and had to listen instead of talk? Probably not. That’s not stupidity. That’s comfort. That’s ease, and comfort and ease makes you confident. It doesn’t make you wise. They have all the answers to a very, very small set of questions.
So, here’s the funny part. For ten days since the social media post, I’ve been “the other.” I’m “them” whoever “them” is, and it’s been educational. I’ve learned more about how those folks think from ten days of insults than from ten years of nodding along with my friends.
Being is less interesting than becoming, and you can’t become anything without being the outsider somewhere first. I’ve got my own Miller Lite, by the way. Try telling me there’s better music than old-school, New Orleans funk, and I’ll flat out tell you you’re lying. I’m working on it, though, listening to new things. Find me someone who can tell me who they’re becoming and how they’re changing? These people fascinate me. They’re interesting. Chances are they’ve experienced something new that’s moving them to a new place.
Meanwhile, back on social media, they’re still hammering away. Gnawing that old bone, confident it’s the best bone there is. Because they’ve never tried another one. I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.
