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Last week I was in New York City on a short business trip. I sat at a Starbucks watching people rush to lunch, to the subway or back to their office. I love NYC because of the amazing diversity of the people. As a child I simply could not imagine a place like NYC. I only knew the world I lived in and in that world no one looked like me. My younger brother looked a little bit like me in that we both had brown skin but that was pretty much the extent of the diversity in my life.
I remember the first time I found myself in a truly diverse environment (and I plan to explore the meaning of “diversity” in my next post). I was 15 and my family traveled to the east coast for a vacation. Before the trip I remember being excited and curious about traveling to a diverse city for the first time. In my mind it was some kind of magical land. I realize that might sound silly to some but as someone who was completely cut off from anyone like me it was a huge deal. And the experience far exceeded my expectation. It was WAY better than I imagined. It was the first time I remember feeling that I melted into a crowd and was invisible. The feeling came upon me gradually during that week long vacation and I grew to love it. Perhaps to some people feeling invisible isn’t a good thing but for me I felt like it was a release, a feeling of freedom. Not to be noticed, to not stand out – it felt invigorating. That trip had a profound effect on me and I decided right then and there I wanted to live in that city when I “grew up” (and it is, in fact, where I live today). The downside of that amazing vacation was that when I returned to my hometown I was even more aware of how I didn’t fit in my own environment. I wanted back that cloak of invisibility but knew I could never have it in my town – or even my state. I would have to leave.
I find it challenging to write about this aspect of my childhood because I worry it makes it seem that there was a constant, dark cloud hanging over my head. Not at all. In almost every way I was just a typical kid who liked to play with my dolls, ride my bike, go to the library, and play football with my 5 brothers. And as I got older (in my teenage years) I was still as typical as could be. I participated in sports, student council, cheerleading. I had tons of girlfriends and loved to gossip and hang out at the mall. I wasn’t different from other kids in my community in most ways. But during these years I internalized my feelings of not fitting in – and I always worked extra hard to pretend I did fit in. I thought about it frequently but I never talked to anyone about it. Never. And later in life when I did talk to my parents around my negative feelings of my hometown they were very surprised. They never knew how much I disliked it – how much I yearned to get away. I don’t believe my parents missed any signs or cues because I was very careful not to give any out. I became very adept at making everything look perfect. That was a lot of hard work.
Last week as I sat in that coffee shop in midtown Manhattan I didn’t care about perfection – I just felt happily invisible. I still love that feeling.
