Is there a ‘place’ for you? Do you ‘fit’ there. Are you there now, or is that place waiting, for you to fit?
I have never felt like I ‘fit’.
I have never felt myself part of a group, one of the ‘set’. As I have grown older I have stopped thinking about it, my lacking a sense of place. When I was younger I was probably guilty of not giving it enough thought. Never being able to identify where you once belonged, where you might end up belonging, makes it difficult to acknowledge the past or have an eye on the future.
It would be cool to say I live in ‘the now’, have my focus firmly on the current. Put simply though, my mind, my brain, wander and wonder, too far and wide at times, not open enough at others. This inconsistency lends no attraction to planning, no foresight, no acknowledgment of previous right and wrong turns.
There is no sense of involvement. Not in the every day nor in the so called wider picture. Perhaps my lens is too narrow and as a consequence I position myself as an observer, looking in from an outside I don’t feel a part of either. This lack of inclusion, in the things and groups and series of events which intersect your everyday, can make it difficult to be inclusive. To be open and giving and caring and understanding. Any of it.
Being removed and remote is not a bad thing. It doesn’t feel it anyway. There is no lack of connection, I am not immune to what is going on around me nor do I fail attempting to understand why. So no disconnect, no reclusive desire to run and hide. Maybe a touch of disinterest, disenfranchisement. The same forlorn sense of lacking a place, identity, many a white, urban, middle class male speaks of and yearns for. If I only I could yearn too, maybe then it wouldn’t be so dull.
No doubting some of it is laziness, a streak which runs strongly through my make-up. Not to say I can’t and don’t work hard. I just don’t work hard on myself. Not because I am too busy, too distracted or too caught up in the activities of others but more because I have failed, for many a year now, to focus on what it is I might want, distinguish that from what I might need, work out how to marry the two and achieve them. It is only recently I have even acknowledged or recognised that failing and I am still undecided if it is even such, a failing. I do not believe for one millisecond I am alone in feeling a little misplaced, a touch out of place. I am no meninist, any more than I am a feminist but I think it would be fair to say a middle-class white male putting his hand up and saying ‘what about me?’ is no where near as popular as one lowering his gaze apologetically and saying yes, I was wrong.
I wasn’t. I’m not. I am and I will be. Wrong. I will make many mistakes as a person, as a man and all I can do is hope my positives out-way those pitfalls, the traps society will lead me into and the ones I open up for myself. I am a good person. I am not responsible for the woes and the worries of women, of minorities, of LBGT or whatever other bunch of letters you want to tack on there. I do not and will not carry the blame for social degradation or racial inequality or post colonial hang ups. Maybe I sympathise, maybe I don’t, because I fail to understand or fail to connect or don’t have the empathetic ability to be on your page. Your plight is not mine and I don’t have to accept it and nor do I have to try and get with it.
At face value I am a minority. I am a house husband. I stay home and look after the kids and do the chores and cook the meals and all of that. Not a heap of me out there. I can see why, better now than I ever could, because until I started living it, I didn’t give the idea of being a stay at home Dad any thought whatsoever. My world can be quite insular and for that I make no apology. I live in a small town in an out of the way spot, just the way I like and if that means I have little or nothing to offer on the public discourse of the day then so be it. I am a firm believer in cleaning up your own backyard before you go knocking on your neighbours door anyway.
Our backyard is pretty damn tidy thank you very much. Our eldest is a big fish in a little pond. Hopefully that transfers to the big bad world soon enough. The key will be to boost her confidence, encourage her self awareness, big up her achievements. No doubting she will be the bumpkin come good when she finds herself under the bright lights of the big city and she will have to lead the way as far as this family is concerned. Her siblings will learn and be encouraged, or disillusioned, by the footsteps of Number One and it has to be said, their Dad will provide little comfort there.
Mother will carry on. She will get stuck into her next thing. As said, Number One will be out there learning to play her own tune, the rest of the crew will follow in time and I will have to re-establish myself. But don’t think I will do that your way, his way her way or any way you might consider normal, usual, the same or ordinary. I may not do it at all. Soon enough I am going to have to re-introduce myself into regular society. Rawene will be no more and the evils, the excitements, the temptations and the dangers of the wider world will be once again on our doorstep.
I have spent many years regressing and retreating. Not an attempt, as I said earlier, to hide or to fade. I am just more comfortable on the fringes, as grumpy an old man as the next but one who isn’t overly inclined to tick the boxes everyone else is busy putting their mark to. No mortgage, no job, no clubs or societies, no participation. No man is an island and all that but I can at least be a peninsula. You can get to me easily enough, but that is as far as you are going. Right where it looks like I end, lo and behold, I do.
Perhaps if I had a cause. If there was something out there I felt particular disgruntled about. Thing is, I can’t help feeling those who get stuck in, stick their head above the parapet and demand the chance to have heir say, fall into one of only two categories; those with a genuine grievance, a fight to get stuck into because it has direct relevance to and on their lives and the lives of their loved ones, a wrong done to them which needs putting right, or group two, those who perceive the fight, the cause, the wrong and feel, justly, righteously or not, they are the ones to sort it all out. The former I get, the latter can piss off.
Maybe I just need a project. Maybe a job. The same nine to five drudgery everyone else seems to relish. Maybe I shouldn’t drink so much red wine and ramble in front of a keyboard. Maybe you care if I do or I don’t. I suspect the latter.
Maybe my place is out there waiting for me, or just maybe it has already passed me by and I failed to notice. Perhaps I was the guilty party, I passed that place and failed to recognise it. For all any of us knows, we are in such a place right now.
Are you disenfranchised? Itching to be part of the mans liberation movement. Are you a frustrated feminist, sure the movement has failed to achieve it’s goals or has shifted, lost sight of the target? Are you content, something completely different, more relevant and certain and long lasting than happiness? Do you need the fight, the battle, the injustice to present itself so you can rail against it, or are you one, to live moment to sweet unconcerned moment?
Do you need a sense of place? A time and space which defines you, or is you being there and then definition in itself? Are showery Sunday’s something a stay at home Dad, afforded a few introspective moments to himself, should avoid?
If so, should I just shut up, get up, and do the dusting?