We always hear about the “one percent”—you know, THE ones at the top; you know, the ones who have orchestrated these most recent stage shows for the masses.
But what about the other ‘one percent’—those who may not think and perceive like the masses, but are not at the top of this inflicted hierarchy? What about those of us who somehow have not been sucked into the consensus reality—those of us who see from such a unique vantage point? There isn’t much, if any, mention of us. We’re the fringe, the one percent, who lay off to the side—waaaaaay way off to the side. We’d barely even make it on to the hierarchical chart if one were to pencil us in.
How did we (well, I really should speak for myself) get here?
Until now, I never quite felt the animosity and misunderstanding arising from those at the bottom of this imposed hierarchy. It was typically a top-down phenomenon, as is the case with most experience on this planet.
But this newly created, albeit completely contrived (as it is still being orchestrated from the top), aggression and judgement from the bottom is indeed, off-the-charts.
Admittedly, I have always prided myself for being an outsider—nearly wearing a badge of honor that denotes me “Outsider, and proud of it.” Well, the newest badge—the unmasked face—is not self-imposed. However, I am grateful to have not fallen victim to mass indoctrination. And, I can certainly breathe better than most these days—but not optimally, because seeing covered faces somehow causes my breathing to be shallow. I feel short-of-breath, regardless. Somehow, I feel less healthy when those around me wear masks. How does that make any sense?
Well, last night I finally broke down in full-on tears. (I kind of sobbed, I would say.) It was a moment of vulnerability. The past four months, I have held strong. I have channeled any inner sadness, anger or judgement that has arisen, and then redirected it toward analyzing the situation and writing about it. I have exchanged lengthy emails and texts with people who “are on my page.”
I didn’t think I felt so alone. After all, I have some friends I can talk to about how it feels to be the outsider in the present moment—dare I say it—”the new normal”. Oh, that phrase packs a punch right there for me. But I have not seen friends in person since the quarantine was instituted. I have also made many NEW friends—simply because of this dystopian nightmare we find ourselves in. Don’t get me wrong, I am truly grateful to have made new friends. In fact, I would not have the opportunity to share this diatribe had I not engaged and developed a relationship with these terrific and highly insightful guys here at PoM.
With that said, after traveling 90 minutes yesterday to visit with friends who I have not seen since my wedding (it’s been 25 years!)—in a very destructive thunderstorm, no less—it really hit me. Suddenly, I felt forsaken. To think, I had to travel a ways just to connect—physically connect—with others who I can have a normal, healthy conversation AND commiserate over how we perceive this situation and how we are truly feeling about it. The loneliness set in. I am not one to feel lonely—at least not before this. But maybe loneliness isn’t even the right word, and I am definitely reluctant to say the “I” word—”isolated”. We’ve all heard that enough. Perhaps I would describe it as an aching void. It’s more of an emptiness, I suppose. It’s like something very key is missing—like an element of shared humanity.
I am human. I just want to preserve my humanity. So, yeah, I had a really human moment last night. The sadness all bubbled up to the top, and spilled out. I suppose it was time. There’s no weakness in that—just as there’s no weakness in humans getting sick and going about life as usual, without imposed tyrannical directives and restrictions.
As I am out and about, I notice the mask wearers are no longer wearing a “mask”—at least not from their perspective. Their face coverings have become standard practice. It’s now fully integrated into their daily attire—like putting on a necktie or prescription eyeglasses. It’s their normal.
I am now officially an outsider—and this time it’s being prescribed by the top one percent AND the bottom 98 percent. I am the obvious outsider now— it’s in your face (pun intended). I am the other one percent, being intentionally pushed aside, and it feels awful, downright awful.
I will not allow this moment of vulnerability, though, to steer me awry. I will stay my course, regardless. I will continue to find kindred spirits, and we will maintain the course together, and honor what is left of our humanity. I have much faith in this.
Thanks for listening.