Something else entirely

Very often this happens: I start to write about something. An event, maybe. An idea. And then three-quarters of the way through, or even after I’m done, I realize that I was writing about something else the entire time. Usually the something else is loneliness.

I’m not really sure what to say about it. We all feel it, and yet we can’t seem to solve it for each other, which puzzles me a great deal. It seems that things get confused, like my writing. We think we want one thing, but after we get it we discover that we wanted something else entirely. Back to square one, a new post, a new project, a new something, chasing something else. And then the refinement of that. And so on.

I think the loneliest time in my life was probably during junior high. I had kind of a clique in elementary school, but it busted wide open in seventh grade, spilling its contents in different classes, separate hallways and lunchtimes, and a wide range of rungs on the social ladder. I landed somewhere near the middle-bottom. I think. No way of really knowing.

Here’s what junior high is like:

1. All the same people are cool. There is some predefined coolness that is unchangeable and unknowable until you get there. There is not a lot of room for originality, unless you want to totally give up and embrace becoming an outcast. Few people have the courage to do this early on. It usually takes a couple of years of swimming in pointless circles.

2. All of the people – cool, uncool, pretty, unpretty – have crushes on the cool people. Now this is interesting. The cool people aren’t necessarily the prettiest. They’re not necessarily the most accomplished. They’re not necessarily interesting, but the people who have crushes on them don’t know this, because they’ve never actually spoken before. These crushes are feelings borne of wallflower moments at school dances where one person seems to shine or appears immoderately happy, out of imagined intimacy when one arm brushes another in the hall, out of the aura, the mystique, created by the fatal combination of distance, new, overgrown desires, and active imaginations.

3. Everyone wants to be cool, but no one is sure why. There is some social currency in popularity , but it’s not clear what it will get you. Maybe a boyfriend on the JV basketball team. But maybe not. Nobody knows, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

4. The psyches of barely-not-children are pretty trampled on the way to the top. Example: I once had my two best friends bring me to the Guidance Counselor’s office (who, keep in mind, is there to reign in reason and protect the sanity of the innocent) to tell me that they couldn’t be such good friends with me anymore, because I wasn’t cool enough. That’s right. That was the only reason. They were magnanimous; they would let me say hi to them in the hallways. But no more weekend sleepovers. It was over.

Time passes, and a few things happen:

Sometime in high school, or college, depending on where you’re at, you realize that all the hullabaloo is a sham. The cool people are bland. Or you realize that the girl who sits next to you in homeroom is actually prettier. Or you develop some interest that allows you to interact with people in a way that isn’t based on mutual advantage. Like, you like the same things. Hey! Who thought of that as the basis for a friendship? Genius.

You become interested in and interesting to the people who are like you. It’s not really based on prettiness anymore, or status. It becomes about whole people, and this is totally refreshing. And affirming. The rate of rejection is relatively low, which, you know, ROCK, plus you actually enjoy your time more. No surprise there, but it still seems like a novel idea.

You realize that this obsession with popularity is a blip. It’s a stage. It’s developmental. Children have wholesome friendships, and so do adults, but somewhere in the middle there we lose all sense and fly at each other like dogs – and there is only one bone, and it is golden, and it is called The Perfect Social Life. But you have to rediscover either that it doesn’t exist or that there are a million different versions, once you enter the world of See and Be Seen. Because then, it’s not only about who or what you like. It’s about the consensus about who and what you like. And you can’t escape the pressure cooker of public school, so you get all twisted up faster than you can untie yourself.

Which brings me to the latent effects of this syndrome in the Muslim population. It is sad for me to say it, but some of us are kind of still in junior high. Every girl wants to marry the MSA president (or, if the MSA president is a girl, vice versa). Every boy wants to marry the prettiest girl he has spied out of the corner of his eye in the musallah. Which, you know, to each his own, but (and convert alert here, I’m coming at this from the outside) these impulses seem to miss the point that marriage is about soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much more than the ability to give a good speech, or really great recitation, or good looks. Those things, frankly, don’t matter much when it comes to being happy in a relationship (don’t say I didn’t warn you). When was the last time you gave a speech in your kitchen? And let’s face it, people – we’re all going to age. Have you ever seen a beautiful old person? That beauty is from character, and wisdom, and goodness – good genes give way to wrinkles eventually. Now, I’m not advocating for marrying someone who doesn’t appeal to you at all…I’m just saying that when it comes to domestic bliss, in all respects, and thank you for not making me spell that out, a lot more comes into play than a pretty face. I mean, we’re talking roommate for life, God willing. Not only is this person going to share your kitchen, and your bathroom, and bicker with you over window dressings, but you have to share a bedroom, too. And a bed. And the covers. And trust me, you’re not going to care how hot she is if she won’t give you the blanket in January. Trust me. If you’re going to have no refuge from someone, have no refuge from an interesting someone. From a nice someone. From a merciful and loving and patient and kind someone. No refuge from a hot someone gets old pretty quick, if that’s his/her crowning virtue.

So let’s all make an effort to get along. Let’s be mavericks and throw middle school to the dogs! Let’s dig each other for the important things. Things that matter to us. Let’s be nuanced individuals, and be, like, interesting, and stuff. I mean, I know it’s hard, and you’ve all been good, and you feel like your kiss with the prom queen is ten years too late and you deserve it already, but overvaluing the transitory elements of people, allowing yourself to be guided by the intoxicating cocktail of an aching desire and a rich fantasy life, amounts to shooting yourself in the foot. And besides, what happened to the prom queen of your high school? Do you even know where she is now? Do you care? You see my point. Balance in all things. If middle school was raging, repressed hormones, and high school was discovering your angst, and college was finding your niche, be in college. Marry the girl/guy who likes pina coladas (virgin, goes without saying) and taking walks in the rain.

Sometimes I feel like I’m looking around at this plethora of lonely, awesome people, and I feel like: what is our problem? Can’t we hook up, already? It’s all most everyone wants. But nobody manages to pull it off. (Well – some do – and may God bless them all, and bless us poor single folk with the same happy fate! But not enough do it. Not nearly enough.) And I’m not sure this is the solution, but I figure I’ll throw it out there just in case. Fuel the brainstorm, you know. I’m nothing if not brazen. So here are my brave ‘n brazen two cents for the day: we need depth in our interaction, and nuance, and love. We need to let each other be a little quirkier, and embrace it. Join that knitting group! Or dig on your hopscotch! Or whatever it is, rock! Be it, and be it like whoa, and find other Muslims who will do it with you and support you and make you feel like a million bucks. And who knows? One of these days you might wake up and look at that brother you get along with like peas & carrots but just aren’t that into (he’s no Brad Pitt) and think: smokin’.

It’s been known to happen.

[Comments, please. Stop being so shy. For those of you who have already – thanks!]