My tribe of one

        Hello, lovelies. 

         In a world where individuality is prized, one would imagine that it’s better to stand out than to blend in, from our clothes to music, literature preferences and politics. Not being the same as our neighbours is highly regarded. So, it shouldn’t be hard for me to find others that lean the same way that I do. There must be others who share my weird dark sense of humour, have the same drunken sailor vocabulary, and even my deep love of the theatre. In all my years, I have met some lovely people who can slot nicely onto one or two of my weird eccentricities. But I have yet to find anyone who can match me in my weird and wonderful uniqueness. Does it actually matter in the great scheme of things? Surely it would be a very boring world if we were all to think and act the same. But it can be a very lonely place being one of a kind. When no one out there is just like me, is that a good thing? Or should I try to be like everyone else?

            I think that it’s universally believed that life is hard. Sometimes, it is harder than we can cope with. Between our work and home life, there is very little time left for anything else. In these past few years, I’ve hardly had time to read a book, let alone a fraction of the things to do on my ‘to-do’ list. I was so busy just trying to survive, that I began to lose sight of who I was. But this is not a new thing. When my eldest daughter was born, I would endlessly take her along to all the mother and baby groups, where I would endlessly try and fit in with all the yummy mummies. Well, as you can imagine I failed dramatically. I couldn’t keep up with their endless spending. Going for a quick coffee with the girls could cost me a vast sum of money, as I tried to match them with their obscenely expensive drinks and cakes. I always had to have at least one slice of cake. Two if it was a particularly stressful day. And then there were the children’s snacks. Some of those children had a better and more varied diet than I did. My daughter would have a snack box with a cut-up apple and banana with a handful of Cheerios in a small bag. In contrast, the other children would have exciting fruit kebabs, a mini charcuterie board with freshly pressed orange juice, all organic all expensive. The only way that I could remotely blend in was to take my Lidl food all wrapped up in my M&S reusable bags. But I never did fit in, not really. Not even close.  

          Then I tried it with acting. There, surely, I would find someone like me. But as you may know, actors can be a handful at the best of times. Massive egos, groundbreaking diva meltdowns, and toxic clicks are commonplace in rehearsal rooms up and down the country. And once you throw in an unhealthy dose of crippling self-doubt and lack of confidence, then I would, more often than not, find myself sitting alone in the corner, and never joining in and socialising with my fellow thespians. Not a good thing if you’re trying to find others just like you. 

          Even at my local church, I never really fit in. I was always passed by when looking for volunteers. I was always being blamed for something or other. But to be fair, I probably had done what they blamed me for. Mostly talking during the quiet prayers and eating far too many biscuits. They did once ask me to write the prayers for a service, a job that they never asked me to do again. And when my faith hit a bump in the road, and I stopped going to church, no one even noticed that I wasn’t even there anymore. 

          So where are my people? Where is my tribe? The smutty-minded, trash-talking, West End Wendys? The coffee-drinking, sleep-loving, plant and book-obsessed people just like me? 

         For most of my life, I have tried to hold the real Emma in. But as hard as I tried, large outbursts of me would come crashing out. Out of nowhere, I would loudly break out into song with a shuffle hop step ball change across the supermarket aisles whilst buying bread. Or I would talk. And talk. And I mean talk. I would talk to everyone. With a passion for asking questions. The more stupid the better, like, if you could only eat one vegetable for the rest of your life what would it be? If you could rename a star to whatever you want, what would you call it? And my personal favourite, if you could put on any show or musical what would you put on with who playing what roles? My version of playing fantasy football with jazz hands. 

          Then one evening at work, I was chatting to a friend about trying to find people like me, and I was shocked when he told me that he spent his life trying to blend in. For him, there was safety in numbers. When you are the same as everyone else, then the trolls and bullies tend to leave you alone. Life can be easy if you don’t stand out. Is that what I should do? Be the same as everyone else. The world would certainly be a quieter place if I did. But what would that mean for me? I am nothing special. I don’t have any useful or exceptional gifts or talents. All I have is me. Just me. Just Emma. Would the world miss me if I blended in and became ‘normal?’ Probably not. But I would. I would miss the person who I should be. It’s true that although I am not remotely important or special and very few people understand me at all, that’s okay. I’m not meant to be like everyone else, because I’m not them. 

       Being in a tribe of just one can be a lonely place, but it can also be liberating. Not having the burdens and expectations of others can free you to be your authentic self. And once you can find the peace that comes from being true to yourself, then your life will become just a little bit better.