In the small rural town I grew up in, my brother seemed to reach a celebrity status at 13 years old. My mother and I were identified in the community only by our relations to him. From the very beginning of his life, people of all ages found him attractive. Older girls tried to befriend me, just so they could get an invitation to our house. Just as he is today, he could draw anyone in with his charm and wit. When he reached the age where girls started noticing boys, countless girls started calling the house, asking for my brother, vying for his attention.
One day, my mother and I stared in disbelief while my brother was on the phone. The voice on the other end kept talking, while my brother set the receiver down and made himself a sandwich. After he was finished, he picked the receiver back up. The girl had endured the silence and waited patiently for his return. Shortly thereafter, this became a regular practice.
My poor mother tried to counsel a few of these young girls. “Stop calling him,” she’d plead. “For your own sake, stop calling him.” Yet this seemed to have the opposite effect that she had intended. They usually double or tripled their efforts after such a talk.
It became a simple case of economics, supply and demand. The more apathetic he was the more valuable they deemed his affection, and the harder they tried to win it. They fought over his attention like a prize, but it was a prize that could never be won. At least not that way.
It was those who withheld praise from him, who caught his attention. Operating within the same economic structure, he valued the attention of those that he had to earn. Once everyone understood the rules of the game, it became a contest in apathy. No meaningful relationship can be based on apathy.
As a child, I successfully avoided participating in this disgusting social cycle of coolness. I wanted to be everything opposite of my brother, so I constantly chose the nerdy path over the cool path.
As a young adult, though, I found myself stuck in this cycle a few times. In fact, my arrogance that I could avoid it made me all the more susceptible to it. I would meet someone charismatic, someone who shared many of my same interests, someone who had the same ideas about the world, and I would immediately be excited, feeling like I found another member of my tribe.
A few of them, those who understood the rules of coolness, would feel my excitement and slowly start to withdraw. They seemed to feed on my enthusiasm but stopped meeting me on my efforts. I’d find myself trying to prove my value to them. The more I tried the less I seemed to have, and the less they tried the more they seemed to have.
A younger version of myself believed I was the one deficient, but as I get older I recognize that it’s just the opposite. Do I really want to further develop my apathy? Is that the person I really want to be?
No!
The best moments in my life were when I fully indulged my delight in who I was with and what I was doing. It’s a horrible practice to stifle smiles and repress laughter. Why should I court the company of those who make me second guess my value? Why should I even be conscious of my value in the first place?
Many times you can find yourself participating in this pattern, without even realizing it. I’ve recently found myself at the beginning of a few. Once I recognized what I was beginning to participate in, I found relief when I let it go.
I’m not saying that these relationships will always be bad. Life isn’t as clear-cut as it was when we were preteens. Relationships can be fluid and change. I’ve learned though to regularly reevaluate my relationships, asking periodically if they are still serving me. When I find myself participating in this cycle, I make myself stop.
I want to surround myself with people who encourage me to love unabashedly, to relish experiences, because that is the best path to belly laughs. I want to be enough without effort, and likewise, enjoy someone regardless of theirs.
I don’t need to be cool. I don’t need my friends to be cool. I’m much happier with unapologetic dorky relationships.
