The others.

My parents were in town for a visit this week, and my mom talked for days about some article she read in the Mormon Times last week. After meeting my friends on Sunday, she promptly looked it up online and forced me to read it. (I'm not quite sure what that says.)   While it isn't exactly the experience of my youth -- I kept my mouth shut -- I can relate, given my formative years in the midst of Mormon culture:

Holding on to the 'others'

I was a good kid. I followed the rules, I worked hard, I got good grades, and importantly, I didn't talk back (...well, to people who weren't related to me, anyway). I was generally well-respected by leaders and peers at church, but not very close to any of them. I got along well with the few adults who themselves used to be nerdy kids, but otherwise I don't think anyone quite knew what to do with me. I didn't look or dress like they did. I was more interested in books than shopping or sports. More interested at the age of 15 in talking about what I might want to study in college than what my wedding would look like. Wedding dress fashion show for a Stake activity? Are there really not other life/social skills that might be more important for teenagers?

In the grand scheme of trials and angst, you're thinking, that is not a big deal. I agree. So, the rational part of me would have a hard time explaining how it could have been as painfully lonely as it was.

Also, I had questions. Lots of them. Consequently, I struggled to express myself with the certainty that was expected of the "faithful", "chosen generation". But, I was also too shy to ever bring it up and attract confrontation. When younger, I spoke up in Primary or Sunday School because no one else would, but after a while, I just stopped talking. It only make me stick out more.

I can't really explain, especially to those not of our faith, just how much of your life is encompassed by membership in such a tight-knit community. We don't really do casual. Now that I'm older, and have some life experience I'm struck by how much collective effort of that culture was spent on (a) trying to define with exactness what a good person was supposed to be like, and then (b) trying hard to fit that mold, and/or (c) trying hard to at least make it look like you did.

It wasn't really until I moved to Boston after college that I finally started realizing it was okay to be different and still have a meaningful place the church. And that, heck, I wasn't even really all that odd. (An old roommate used to call the Boston singles' wards the Island of Misfit Toys).

The saddest part to me is this: there are probably more people who feel like they're the ones on the outside than not. It's easy to think you're the one feeling out, and look around at everyone else seemingly having a grand old time. But that's not the reality. I think confidence is much less frequently the motivator than insecurity.

So why is it that we pay a lot of lip service to the idea that everyone has different gifts, but less to the reality that in a world of people from different backgrounds/interests/cultures/talents, there might just be more than one good way to talk/think/feel/act and still be True. As the author says, "It's no surprise that middle- and high-school culture usually treats young people with these virtues as if there is something wrong with them for not being like the "normal" kids — but LDS culture should be a haven for them."

It's harder and more vulnerable than it seems to open yourself up and just be who you are, however minor those differences may seem. We all want to be appreciated, and recognized, and valued. "There's more than one way to lose sheep." Basically, if you don't find reasons to value someone and their own unique contributions and perspective, someone else will. So, if we practice what we preach, it should be us.