[1238] Pop Psychology

I doubt this is the right way to say it , but I’m jealous of people who find themselves in a worthwhile bubble.

The types of bubbles that come to mind are about family, music, and comedy. I know people with big enough families that it’s seemingly every day it’s someone’s birthday, or graduation, or new job. There’s a ton of get togethers and vacations planned. You don’t need to know anything else about that family other than they’ve got a persistent recorder and shout-outer who seems genuinely enthusiastic about the job. In music, it’s seeing artists I like pop up in random places; their talent being recognized as belonging in any band or on any stage. In comedy, it’s imagining sitting at “the table,” and casually working out jokes with people who keep you in the back of their head as a bit player if they get a sitcom.

I’m not confused or naive about the amount of work it takes to fit in anywhere. I know how often people have to bend over backwards to make peace with the messiness of their families. I know there are an endless list of sorrowful and ridiculous tales as it pertains to the entertainment industry. But you can definitely see when someone fits. You know they’re being looked out for, celebrated, and people want them to be around.

I thought I had something like that both at my first job at the movie theater, and then for a few years in college. It’s times where it felt like I was in something of a surrogate family. I’ve had individual members of my actual family contribute to that feeling, but one or two people does not constitute a group vibe and environment. I could point pretty quickly to all of the fucked up things within those spaces, but they were genuinely irrelevant to something “higher” that seemed to be going on in how we worked together or joked. Many things didn’t need to be said, and you could truly trust people do what you needed of them in service to that shared dynamic.

Of course, people grow up, move away, get fired, or die. New management comes in. Life stressors pile on and less-vocalized dreams get pursued and crash into the reality of the attempt. All of a sudden nostalgia might rear its ugly head. Now, you wonder if you should have spent more time checking in and talking out alienating gossip. Or, and I think this is what most people do, they either isolate or force a new kind of togetherness that scratches a basic human itch, but maybe never quite tastes right.

Increasingly, I’m suspicious that the type of vibe or connectedness I’m exploring can be created. It has to be an accident, no? My first job had like 60 people, in pretty active rotation, working at any one time. Certainly those that hung on long enough formed a certain core, but also separate from others who hung on just as long but remained cunts. In college, there were regular groups and dorms who partied together, and you can do a certain amount of filtering out those who puke on your shit or fight. But a third of that crowd I went to high school with, and we weren’t close there. Then the saddest T. Swift fear comes creeping in that they never loved me, or her, or anyone, or anything.

The next closest things I had to that kind of, at least informal support systems, have literally betrayed me financially, on several occasions, and/or threatened my life. I didn’t wish my ex-best-friend’s family a Merry Christmas or Happy New Year. They didn’t reach out to me either. Nor was there an exchange between me and my actual brother. I went home for a couple days, ate dinner, collected my few hundred dollars, and retreated back to my fort.

I’m carrying on as though I don’t spend time with my friends, and none of this is meant to dismiss or downplay the significance of their impact on me or my appreciation for them. They, too, have vibes and environments that I don’t. They’re close with their messy families. They’ve got “real jobs.” They join sports leagues or faith groups. Most of them I bump into maybe once every 3 to 6 months, if that. We’re close enough that I can be trusted to house-sit for a week, but finding the time for a regular dinner or game night would be a stretch given our habits, obligations, and limitations I surmise. If we get jobs at the same spot, that’s kind of like bowling together, right?

I also have my little bizarro community in Last War. People I’ve never met, heard, or seen consistently laugh at the goofy shit I put into the chat, and you get drive-by conversations of human connection about IRL things. Am I addicted to incrementally increasing my troop power? Or, is it hard to shake the feeling of being wanted when my account was locked out for weeks, and they didn’t kick me out of the alliance?

I can’t tell sometimes if I write in the world’s most useless bid to build a community. That was a random thing I often forget about, getting 213 followers on Sondry before it went dead. Like, if I had started a Substack at the right time or adopted Wordpress sooner, could I be one of those niche voices who’s making just enough money to “do whatever is they do” with my reflections? Is the community there, but also knows you shouldn’t try on reddit? I retain this belief that my life can systematically change on the back of one conversation or one connection. And not just for the worse as someone says, “Time to die, mother fucker!” before pulling a trigger.

I’m always doing the math. I’m trying to put numbers behind my “objective” good place I exist in nearly every moment of every day. If you read through my writing, you’ll see dozens of times where I speak to being fed, clothed, having nice shit, creating memories, and exercising my options and creativity. I’m trying to be at peace as though I’ve been doing what I want/need to all along were I to die tomorrow. I’m trying to exercise my voice and choices in a manner that I observe an incredible amount of people seemingly unable to do. The dark side of these places you fit is that it’s perhaps hard to distinguish where “you” exist. Indeed, the more “I” stuck out, the less anyone, generally, has wanted anything to do with me.

It’s disorienting to feel like you have to stumble into the kind of place I miss by accident, and be as intentional as I try to be. Surely, I should just fix my situation and go make friends, right? Talk more on the Discord with the other people who go to too many concerts and get deep into their interpersonal lore and inside jokes. Get paired up with a bunch of randos in a bowling league. Organize the Google Meet with your Last War compatriots. It’s. So. Simple. Once you power through the contrivances, your newest bestest friends will manifest. It’ll be just like when you threw the house parties.

It won’t be the 150th time you were the inviter instead of invited. It won’t be creating a dozen cringe faces as those who aren’t used to you hear how you joke or speak when you’re trying not to perform to get along. It won’t be filling you with dread and sadness as you clock the holes at the center of your group that aren’t getting filled by the activity anymore than yours is. It won’t be any of that you have to shuffle aside in regular blogs as you argue for the utility of being social and moving around more often. It won’t be an awkward series of adult play-dates with people you would have bullied in high school, because you’re kind of a dick, and no amount of getting old or more nuanced and understanding erases based animal impressions. That sounds remarkably like the exact excuses to keep not doing the things, no?

But also, I’m almost too much a man of action. My inaction is something I can rely on as telling me earnestly what I do or don’t want. Nothing’s stopping me, and I don’t have the patience that you need in being the one who’s trying right now. I’m more than mollified going to shows with my friend or dad. I’m comfortable doing things alone. I’d take another group, but I’m not going to live or die by it.