Being Different

Walking home from the gym this afternoon in the surprisingly warm Montreal weather (16°C/60°F) I was struck at the number of people adjusting to the temperature change in various ways.  One woman, late fifties, was bundled up in her winter coat and scarf, gloves, hat securely placed on her head, large sunglasses covering her face, revealing only her perfectly red lips.  Crossing the road she was passed by a young kid in his twenties, shorts, loose t-shirt, and flip-flops talking on his cell phone.  Further down the road a man and his wife, dressed for church, he in a chocolate brown suit, she with a cream dress and burgundy shawl, hurried to their car while a man, shirtless, fat, hairy, holding a dog, waved to them from a doorway.  There were sweaters and spandex, tank-tops and cut-offs.  Gloves and scarves, sports bras and sneakers.  Personally, I was walking in a plain t-shirt and jeans, carrying a sweatshirt that I had brought just in case.  One temperature, numerous responses. 

We are such unique creatures, we humans.  It is amazing to me that in a world such as ours – with so many people – we can all be so different.  One size fits all is a convenient way of marketing socks or parachute pants – but it doesn’t seem to apply to human beings.  No matter where I’ve been in the world – a constant theme of humanity is difference.   

Recently I was comparing Myers/Briggs personality types with a friend (okay, maybe more than a friend . . . or someone I wish was more than a friend . . . or someone that is more than a friend but not quite a . . . anyway . . . ) I was relatively surprised to find that we are almost exact opposites (INFP vs. ENTJ).  He’s extroverted, I’m introverted.  He’s a thinker, I’m a feeler.  He’s a judger, I’m a perceiver.  We’re both intuitive but at different degrees.  So, what did this mean?  Did this preclude us from being soul mates?  Were the differences too great to surmount? Perhaps these are just silly letters without meaning?  Does any of this really matter?  Well, I suppose it does because in the long run it means we respond differently to the world.  Our lenses are different.  We are different.  That’s the simple truth. 

There was a time when I would have wished for homogeneity.  I would have loved for everyone to be the same.  That way, I could better predict behavior, I could better understand motivation and it would take some of the surprise and uncertainty out of my life.  Imagine a world where everyone thought the same as me?!? (While slightly terrifying, it was also potentially reassuring.).  I imagined there would be fewer mind games – less time wasted on trying to “figure” someone out – less speculation.  Perhaps THEN I would be able to find a relationship that worked . . . (is that what this is all about?)  Sameness could be the cure for my frequent sense of insecurity and isolation.

But, I suppose, as they say, variety is the spice of life.  When it comes down to it, I wonder whether or not real attraction could exist without an element of difference – without question marks – without the need to check in, to verify, to explore.  Mystery and uncertainty seem to be key ingredients in the glue that connects us together.  If there was not difference, would we need each other?  Would we still be drawn to each other?  Sure, there could still be attraction – but it seems it would resemble narcissistic attraction more than anything else.  It is my belief that to come together, we have to have difference.  While sameness has the potential to unify – difference has the potential to connect.  Two identical puzzle pieces will seldom fit together.

This idea of different worlds coming together was recently illustrated for me in a TED talk and subsequent YouTube video.  (TED=genius)  The talk was by Eric Whitacre, a composer and conductor who through a series of events decided to create a virtual choir on YouTube.  The most recent piece can be found here and features 2052 voices from 58 countries.  When I initially watched the engaging talk and then the latest video I was incredibly moved.  What moved me most was not the potentially cheesy graphics or even the stunning music – but rather the idea that these individuals, each in their own isolated corner of the globe, uploaded a clip singing their part and thus became a piece of a stunning and beautiful whole.  In the talk, Whitacre tells stories of different participants isolated in far regions of the world connecting with a larger community through the project.  A woman whose husband told her she couldn’t sing – submitting her part from the far reaches of the Alaskan wilderness.  A nine-year-old from England.  Sisters on opposite sides of the world, once again able to sing in a choir together.  Along with these were many stories not told, but imagined.  As the stories were told and the songs played, tears filled my eyes (I am an INFP, after all) and something touch me.  Something shifted and I was changed.

In this large, expansive world of ours, I have hope that it is still possible for us, in our uniqueness – in our difference – to come together.  And while our comings together might only be for a brief time, I also believe they change us.  Perhaps our encounters with difference allow us to see our own uniqueness in a new light – and give us a chance to appreciate it.  Yes, sometimes this might cause us to curse our difference, to wish that connection was easier, faster, longer lasting.  Similar thoughts have, on occasion, propelled me to try and find someone just-like-me.  But, ultimately, I think it is clear to see (at least in my case) that just-like-me is in no way what I want.  When I’m honest with myself, when I sit and truly acknowledge my feelings, I realize I want something . . . different.