Have you seen that shirt that all the "boss babes" 🙄 sell on Facebook? The one that says, "My Tribe" or "Find your tribe, love them hard." There are many iterations. A version of it has made its way around Instagram as one of those inspirational text-images people love so much. You know, the one with arrows and feathers and cool, scripty font. You've seen it--super boho and trendy. Can I tell you something? I hate this shirt. I hate this meme. I hate the word tribe. It always irks me. I wish it didn't, but it does. Yes, I dislike the cultural appropriation, but, if I am being honest, I really hate it for one, big selfish reason: I don't have a tribe. I don't really have "people." No close knit group of gal-pals that I drink wine with or talk to daily. I don't have a group text thread that blows up my phone all day simultaneously annoying and entertaining me. I don't have this. I never have. I think I have always been tribeless.
As a little girl, I was awkward. I had boy-short hair and big, ugly teeth. I was loud and bossy. An only child until the age of 8, my parents were typical Boomers. Born in 1978 on the cusp of the millennial generation and the end of Gen X, I never have carried all of either set of their prescribed generational "traits." I am old enough to remember Regan and the 80's and AIDS and The Cure, and just young enough to have had the internet become a thing my senior year in high school and get my first cell phone in college. I was a latch-key kid who walked to and from school alone in third grade. I had a wholly inappropriate amount of freedom. I rode my bike literally everywhere, and my parents rarely knew where I was. I ate microwave meals and Little Debbie's Cupcakes and could (and often did) polish off a two liter of coke, solo, in a day. I watched an ungodly amount of TV and spent most of my time entertaining myself. I played with neighborhood kids--as long as they deemed me cool enough--but I was often alone. The kids in my neighborhood had known each other prior to my family moving in and they were all, strangely, very religious. My family was not. Were off again, on again friends. But they always let me know that I wasn't really part of their crew. I existed on the periphery.
As a teen, I sort of fit in. I wasn't really disliked, but I was never really accepted, either. I had one or two good friends. I sought solace in church and religion for a time. For a while, this felt like the closest thing I had to a tribe--that was until I started asking too many questions. It didn't take long for me to be pushed out as a faithless heretic. How dare I question god? Truth is, I wasn't questioning god so much as I was questioning the contradictions within the philosophies I was being taught (Love everyone, but also hate gay people? What?). It was enough to push me away from church forever (that's a blog post for another day). I had boyfriends and small groups of people I spent time with on occasion, but none of them were my people. I wasn't part of the fabric of any group. Still no tribe.
As an adult this trend has continued. In college, I had friends, but most I grew apart from quickly after graduation. As a mother and a married woman, I have often longed for a tight-knit group. A few times here and there I'd thought I'd found it, only to quickly be reminded that as the late-comer to whatever group I was trying to become a part of, that I would never really be "in." It usually became evident when they planned trips or girls nights and either "forgot" to invite me or "thought I'd be to busy to go." This reminder typically happened accidentally, via some social media platform. It stung every time. As an openly liberal, non religious person in Texas, I am reminded daily of how my worldview doesn't jive with those around me. The tribalism I see swallowing this insulated homogeny is nauseating, and it pushes me further into my loner status. There are others like me around here, but making friends as an adult is complicated, and finding a group of like-minded people who are accepting and available is near impossible. I am not a societal outcast or anything--don't get me wrong. I just don't have a community. And, yeah, it gets lonely.
As I was writing this blog, I got stuck. This is raw for me, and sometimes words elude me. I grabbed my phone to take a break and, without thinking, opened up Facebook to begin a mindless scroll. In doing so, I happened upon a post from a high school classmate. It was the song Creep by Radiohead. But, it was a cover by Weezer and high school band students (super cool, by the way). I loved this song when it was released in 1993, but I rediscovered it as a college student--and that is when I really began to identify with the lyrics. I'd be lying if told you it didn't hit me just as hard today as it did when I was an angsty 19 year old.
I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What they hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
Even at 42, Radiohead still gets me. So, maybe I'm not tribeless, after all. Maybe there are other 40-something moms out there, aimlessly scrolling Facebook, coming across 90's alternative songs and being reminded they still don't belong. Maybe they're my tribe. Or maybe, just maybe, tribes are bullshit and we are all just doing our best to keep it together. Either way, I think I will blast some Radiohead and, perhaps, I'll resurrect my Nirvana t-shirt. In this thought I am reminded of my once grunge persona, and of course, of Prufrock. So many revisions I have put upon myself in my seeking of a tribe. Haven't I revised myself enough? Sometimes I scarcely remember who I am. Yesterday, I told a teacher there is beauty in the messy revision. So, I'll sit with that. Something in this is beautiful. It is the struggle in us all--tribeless, wanderers hoping for a place to land.
If I were to list everything I like about and identify with in this post I’d be here an hour. I live in Idaho, the very LDS part, the part where all the LDS team players living in the same neighborhood go to the same church. Our neighborhood FB group functions more like a subset of the LDS church. It’s not easy being a heathen in this geography. I love “Creep.” Most of my closest friends live in other places, and my LDS friends and I will always have a divide. Religion does that. I also dislike the word “tribe,” but mainly because it is a term of cultural appropriation. Anyway, fantastic post. Have you noticed the “cliques” w/in this community? They exist, but as one liner to another, you can find your people here.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for this comment. It's funny how the internet can make us feel either more or less alone. You did the latter for me today. :) I totally relate to the Facebook group. I feel that way about the moms groups I am in. I haven't yet noticed any cliques, but I am kind of new here. And I am forever on the lookout for my people. Thanks for reading. And for making me feel like part of the community.
DeleteAnd thanks for the reminder on the cultural appropriation. I, too, really dislike that aspect, but failed to mention it, so I fixed that. :)
DeleteI admire this brave piece of writing, Melissa. It takes courage to put something like this out into the world, especially in a new writing community. But you did it.
ReplyDeleteSo, welcome to the Slicer Community. We’re just that — a community. We are not a tribe. I hope you enjoy being part of this group. :)
Wow! I totally feel like this could have been written about me. I was also born in 1978 and have never had a "tribe" either. I have had a close friend or two, but have always craved more. Thank you for sharing your story.
ReplyDeleteAs I read your raw and vulnerable blog tonight, I couldn't help but think about how you identify as both an Enneagram 4 and 7. Our search for belonging is intricately connected to our personal histories and the expectations of who we think others want us to be. Writing helps us wrestle through it all.
ReplyDeleteOur friend Brené Brown reminds us, “True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”
The cultural appropriation comments caused me pause, and I now want to dig into the word origins of tribe.
Ummm...how did you know so much about me to write about me?? Down to the birth year minus the state I live in though...ok never mind. Your post is heartfelt and raw. I love that about it. I am tribeless as well and kind of okay with it.
ReplyDeleteI think I am becoming okay with it, too!
DeleteSo much of this resonates with me. Tribeless. Radiohead. Messy revision. Thank you for writing the truths of your life so the rest of us know we're not alone.
ReplyDeleteThat lil' blond thing running amok in your house will become your bestie before you know it. She will be your biggest ally and your best friend for life. It's going to be a while and it probably won't be without angst, but the reward will be so worth it.
ReplyDeleteI hope so. Right now I see much of myself in her...and I hope she is able to find a tribe.
DeleteThis. All. Of. This. I wonder if everything you’re describing (which is how I feel about a lot of things) is just something about being a kid who “came of age” in the age of angst.
ReplyDeleteIn rejecting the hyper materialism and vapid excess of the 1980s, what else could we 90s kids do but question/reject/suspect — everything. Even, and especially the idea of “fitting in”.
I’m not sure if my tendency to linger on the periphery is self imposed by my suspicion that, to be too comfortable in any given group, is to give up what makes me - me.
If it’s comfortable or easy, I must be doing it wrong - even friendship.
Or maybe that’s just what I tell myself when I find myself on the outside of another “tribe”.
Wow, my comment got a bit long winded. 😬
DeleteI love this comment so much. I often wonder if my periphery lingering is of my own doing...because of insecurity or trauma or all the things you mentioned. The angst of the 80s is still so palpable. Thanks for your comment and your commiseration!
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