The Grand Inconvenience of Nonconformity
I find it amazing how the mind wanders in the wee hours of a dark morning while being fueled only by a cup of coffee and a curious mind. Armed with silence and a pen and paper, I spend my time daydreaming about the future. Within moments, however, I realize my thoughts are situated in the past.
Following the invisible string in the series of one’s labyrinth-like life choices can be quite perplexing, to say the least.
Following the invisible string in the series of one’s thoughts in the wee hours of a dark morning, fueled only by a cup of coffee and a curious mind, can be quite fascinating, to say the least.
This morning, that string began with re-opening last night’s text message from my ex-husband, showing a photo of a page in a book he is currently reading. He said the words reminded him of me.
“I have refused to live
locked in the orderly house of
reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
is wider than that. And anyway,
what’s wrong with Maybe?
You wouldn’t believe what once or
twice I have seen. I’ll just
tell you this:
only if there are angels in your head will you
ever, possibly, see one.”
How beautiful. How beautiful that these words called me to his mind. This could only come from a person who knows the other deeply, intimately, and from a space inside of the soul that is recognizable to no one else but them.
This is what is called love.
I don’t think I’ve ever had someone see me so clearly, understand me so little, and know me more intensely.
This is when I begin to ruminate on the head-shaking and grand inconveniences in my life. One of them is the sad and tragic act of falling out of love with the only man who took the time to truly know me, love me, and do everything within his power to care for me. He was loving, thoughtful, introspective, fun, smart, witty, and funny. Before you start calling me names and thinking I’m crazy, you should know he was also self-righteous, unfair, judgmental, patriarchal, and terribly controlling. But he did his best, and he’s the closest thing I’ve ever come to knowing true love.
Looking back over our relationship, I can pinpoint one of the few disasters-in-waiting to come that would shake the foundation of what we both thought to be unshakable: he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, and I did not. That may seem trivial but when someone has no idea who they are or what they want, they typically believe that what the other person is and wants is what they should be and should want.
That, my friends, is a disaster-in-waiting.
When I met my ex, I was in awe at what a bonafide grown-up he was to me. He had his shit together, owned a home, had a job, and was living a “real” life. I was floating, completely untethered and without grounding, and all over the place. Looking back, I can see how I believed he was the missing piece to my wayward life. He offered stability, security, direction, and safety through conventionalism. He came fresh with a cul-de-sac family, complete with cookie-baking in-laws, altar boy nephews, and a long list of life and holiday traditions, such as church on Sundays, caring about what the neighbors think, family vacations at the beach, and never speaking the truth.
I fit in like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
They were the kind of family that would have steered clear of mine and that suited me just fine. At the time, I thought the opposite of what I had was the salvation I had long been looking for, and the further I could get away from my life, the better.
It truly wasn’t a conscious thing but I can see it all clearly now. It was as if he and his family’s longstanding membership to Societal Acceptance would naturally include and rub off on me. I could be “normal”, and the thought of that tickled me pink with gold glitter. Unfortunately, neither of us knew at the time of our fated union that I was trying on conformity like a new pair of shoes that were two sizes too small. Yet, his pair fit him just fine.
Oof.
I thought that pretty little pair of shoes would finally make me acceptable, yet all they did was strangle my poor feet. For twenty years, I twisted, squeezed, and contorted myself into something that was never, ever, going to fit. Eventually, the seams couldn’t hold any longer and I burst right out of them.
The beauty of this was that I finally began to understand that nonconformity was who I was and what I wanted. The tragedy was the destruction that was left behind in the rubble of that revelation. Who could’ve known how painful it would be for everyone surrounding a person whose one of many life mistakes was simply not knowing who she was or what she wanted?
How grandly inconvenient.
Nonconformity sounds salacious, doesn’t it? Almost sexy. Oh! It makes one seem mysterious, eccentric, confident, and even magnetic! Be careful, it smells like a rose and stings like a nuclear bomb. It’s not easy to live outside of the norm and that’s because nonconformity doesn’t just infiltrate one part of your life; it seeps inside all of them. This isn’t a terrible notion for those of us who understand how we tick early on. But for those of us that took almost half of a century to figure out this itty bitty part of their parcel, it’s utterly catastrophic all over every part of our lives.
No, my lack of self-knowledge didn’t just blow up my marriage; so lucky was I to also witness the dismantling of the only other strong and secure creation I built: my career.
All while losing my passion for my marriage, I was also losing my passion for something I was so damn good at and made such a wonderful living doing, and it’s downright infuriating. I spent almost two decades photographing everyday women to bring a little beauty and love into their lives. I look back on my work and it’s so beautiful. I’m so proud of what I created. I’m so proud of the photography but even more, the way I guided women, opened their minds and changed their perspectives not only on the concept of beauty but the vision of beauty they had for themselves. It was nothing short of magical for me. I’m also proud of the writing I shared that opened hearts and minds to the concepts of self-love, empowerment, and sovereignty. I brought visual beauty to the onlookers and inner beauty to the women which allowed me the privilege of serving them. There needs to be a much bigger word than gratitude. Whatever that word is, that’s how I feel.
That time in my life was a true gift. A gift to express my creativity so powerfully, yet with such femininity. Sometimes, I think what I felt when releasing my creativity through the camera must be akin to what a singer feels like when she belts a note from her center in a way that feels like a purge no one could understand. It leaves one so exhausted, yet so free.
It wasn’t only a journey into the self for the incredible women I photographed; it was also a magnificent and extraordinary journey into the same for me. Have you ever heard the term, “we teach that which we need to learn most”? That could not have been more true for me in this context. I’m overjoyed to have been even the tiniest part of moving the needle a tick forward on any woman’s self-love meter, but the astounding effect this had on my life was nothing short of miraculous.
The deeply profound and personal growth that resulted from this time in my life changed the trajectory of everything for me.
This all sounds marvelous, doesn’t it? Phenomenal, glamorous, and even transcendent? Oh, my friend, it was! So, imagine my surprise when, starting more years ago than I care to admit, I began to see that I was losing my fervor for it. I ignored my lack of spirit like any strong woman would. I pushed and shoved, cajoled and sweet-talked, elbowed and beat my indifference right back into that torn-apart old shoe. Once again, that shoe disintegrated right in front of me.
Most people would simply dig in and soldier on. Most people would appreciate such a gift that they would never consider chucking it all away simply because it lacked something as trivial as purpose and joy. Most people would never walk away from a successful, well-oiled, full-steam-ahead, running-like-clockwork business that was created from mountains of blood, sweat, and tears. A business that provided a sustainable income and a creative outlet that produced a beautiful platform for self-expression, all while serving others. Apparently, I’m the asshole that does.
How grandly inconvenient.
So, here I sit, amid my blasted unconformity, at fifty years of age, starting over. All because it took me forty-eight goddamn years to figure out that I have a very inconvenient allergy to conformity. Sure could’ve used this information a long time ago.
In the end, I know this is what’s right for me. I know that a life of nonconformity also means a life of authenticity, freedom, peace, and contentment. I’ll get there. But in the meantime, it’s taking more courage than I ever thought I could muster to reimagine an entirely new life. Perhaps someday I’ll pat myself on the back for that but for right now, I’m watching the slow creep of the flame in the fire of nonconformity look for its next target in my life.
“I’m getting tired even for a phoenix
Always risin’ from the ashes
Mendin’ all her gashes”
No one ever says it better than Taylor Swift.
