Dispossess

So what drives me crazy- well, really, what bothers me in life- is that when you stereotype someone, that stereotype becomes their identity to you. And a stereotype, you know, is something very shallow. I mean, think of the stereotypes that you know of, not necessarily ones that you hold, but ones that you know about. Are they in-depth analyses of the historical culture and general life experience of any given type of being? Does it allow for details specific to anyone’s life story? No, of course not. It's a stereotype. Stereotypes are a societal shorthand, and a sloppy one at that. So when you stereotype someone, when you make that often-insulting assumption that you can blame this characteristic or that on a person’s gender, race, religion, or country of origin, you’re limiting your knowledge of this person to a small number of choice adjectives or nouns that the stereotype allows.

I don’t say all that because it’s new information or because I want to point fingers or anything like that. We all stereotype. It must be useful because we use it all the time, and you know, people associate different stereotypes with different types of people for a reason. I say this because I am more often than not frozen into inaction because I’m afraid of being stereotyped. I’m afraid of being judged without any chance to defend myself.

We process a good plenty of information in any given day, more now than ever before. We’re bombarded by story after story, image after image, video after video, and with all that information to process, we need a shorthand, and the shorthand we pick tends to define us to other people. Oh, this story is from Fox News. This one is from CNN. This is from a left-leaning blogger. This is from a young mother. This picture was posted by a teenager. This one’s from someone I know from back home. This movie was made by a producer that I respect. This one was made by some Hollywood exec I don't recognize. This came off of Pintrest. This was posted by somebody I follow on Twitter. I can almost color the things I read and see and absorb based on their sources and my opinions of them. Nothing good can come from Nazareth.

I know that I do this. I see it the things I choose to read, the links I choose to ignore, the information that I accept with a smile, the claims I secretly roll my eyes at, the news story I post to facebook, the one I don't. And if I know that I do it, I have to assume that other people do it. But not just to some faceless person on the other side of the internet. I have to assume that people do that to me, out in the physical world.

How do I escape that? How do I run away from the people who want to rob me of my depth? How do I dispossess them of their impression that I’m another millennial who can’t put down her phone, or just another one of those awkward sci-fi fans, or the Christian girl from a small town, or the hometown girl who went away to one of those liberal schools and changed? Because, you know, I am those things and some of those stereotypes hold true.

But, no. You’re not allowed to limit me to your idea of what I should be. You don’t live in my body or think with my mind. You can’t tell me that I can’t be just as good as, if not better than, my male counterparts because I’m a woman and you can’t dismiss me as a feminist because I don’t sit quietly in a corner when women’s issues come to the forefront. You can’t just label me based on my politics, because you don’t know what I feel or why I feel it or the push I experience every day to make a positive difference in the face of such negativity. You don’t know You don’t know why Buffy resonates with me or why The Empire Strikes back will always be my favorite movie or why I will never say no to watching Moulin Rouge- despite your best guesses, you will fall short of analyzing the complexity that is me. And so will I in analyzing the complexity that is you.

The thing is, though, the infuriating thing, is that you’ll try anyway. I’ll try anyway. And then we’ll miss each other’s points and pigeonhole each other and in general misunderstand our needs and wants and desires and hopes so profoundly that it’ll be a wonder, an absolute wonder, that we’re able to accomplish anything together, unless it’s the fulfillment of a need or a want that we share.

So that’s why I haven’t gone to Moral Monday. That’s why I haven’t written anything substantial (that, and the fact that I’m uncomfortable writing about work). That’s why I stop conversations mid-stride or I leave arguments unfinished and stories unshared. I don’t want to do anything outside the norm because you will judge me and label me and do such a complete job of removing the depth of my personality and existence that I’ll wonder why I ever thought there was anything more to me in the first place.

I have the luxury of that kind of angst and I exalt in it. I let it paralyze me and hold me down with its insinuations, because as long as I have it to blame, I don’t really have to try. I don’t really have to attempt to move forward. It’s even better than not having to justify my actions to others- I don’t have to justify my actions to myself. I can stand at the bottom of the brick wall of Fear of Judgment and shrug my shoulders and say, “This far was I meant to go and no farther.” I can walk away, safe in the conviction that I tried and I was stopped.

That conviction is wrong. It’s time to dispossess myself of impressions of me.

So here’s to tearing down the wall. Here’s to understanding that fixing problems with my body and my mind doesn't make me a health nut or a nut job. Here’s to embracing the tightrope walk of holding onto my opinions and conclusions while lending an honest ear to yours. Here’s to holding a sign because I believe in certain unacceptabilities. Here’s to learning and thinking and above all doing with reasonable abandon. I've always been one to stop at walls, but I think it’s time for a change.