Not Included

I've been thinking a lot lately about inclusion.

I'm someone who has always felt excluded. I distinctly recall my alienated early days at Lower Merion Elementary School. My parents had sent me to kindergarten and first grade at a preppy local private school, The Haverford School, but when I didn't fit in there with the offspring of the Great Families of Suburban Philadelphia (even the phys. ed. teachers teased me), it was off to the closest public conformity factory. I had a great deal of trouble making friends at the new school, preferring to sit under a large tree and daydream about films and television shows, starring myself, that I'd produce and possibly direct one day. Produce, though, always produce.

The memories of those days have informed my social behavior ever since. I suppose one could argue that the anxiety which pervades other areas of my life extends to social interaction as well...I feel disconnected from other people because I fear their rejection. So, by choosing to remain an outsider, I avoid providing them with any opportunity to hurt my feelings or shun me. I can deny the problem entirely by regarding myself as a "loner," as if it's some choice I made years ago and have decided to live with, probably around the same time that all those gay guys "decided" to become homosexual.

But it runs deeper than that. I think there are simply different kinds of people - those who are willing to extend themselves into any situation, to refuse to be exclused, and those like myself, who wait for an invitation to interact. It's really what we mean when we say that people have "confidence."

Think about it. Someone who is truly confident in everything they do all the time is basically going to be a jerk. Every reasonable, relatable person knows that the possibility for failure exists at all times. If you met a guy who was totally confident in himself, who thought he'd never made a mistake, and in fact was incapable of making a mistake, you'd say, "Nice to meet you, Mr. President. Please stop trying to kill everybody."

No, seriously, you'd think, "What an ass." Because failure and rejection are part of life, and people who don't know that are trying to tell you something or taking too much Klonopin.

But what we call "confidence" is really just openness, the rejection of the idea of rejection. It's walking into the already tight circle of people talking at a party and relating the story about how you once dropped the only key to your company's new office down an elevator shaft. It's asking for the cute girl's phone number even though you've only had a brief conversation, and she probably isn't terribly interested in sleeping with you any time soon anyway. It's throwing your coat over the three movie seats your friends are saving, even though the tall, surly-looking guys walking down the aisle are probably going to argue with you and take them anyway.

So, here's the question: Is it possible to change what type of person you are? If I hear my roommates laughing in the next room, can I force myself to go in there and ask what's so funny instead of sitting in here wondering why they don't come and tell me the joke? And, if I do it this time, does that mean I'm affecting a positive change in my personality, or just acting differently this one time to convince myself I've changed? And isn't this the same paradox you always run into when trying to affect positive change in your life?

So, that's just what I'm sitting here thinking about. Thought I'd let you all in on it. I'll put up a review of Ocean's Twelve in a little bit here, when I get my head straight.