Fitting In

I am still sick, so if this post sucks, bite me. A good friend used to say "bite me" all of the time – it was so annoying. I was tempted to bite her. But I didn't. The nun in me trying to get out; compassionate, reserved, forgiving.

One of my favorite people in blogdom is Georgia Peach. She recently had a contest, where she asked several multiple choice questions about herself. Well, actually a lot of questions – ten or so. They were thoughtful questions, and a bunch of us tried answering them. I ended up "winning" the contest – but Ms. Peach will not have to generate a Form 1099-G (IRS form for gambling income and other winnings). I won a bunch of yummy half-nekkid men. Sort of cramps the nun style, but let's face it, I am no nun. I love Ms. Peach, not in a "covering her privates with Saran Wrap" sort of way, but in a sister sort of way – she reminds me of me when I was younger. And I think I had a bit of an advantage – I am her. Not really. I have read her blog since she started.

She got me to thinking. She placed an Enya song on her site – because she knows I like Enya. And Enya is not her cup of tea. She said that Enya and Stevie Nicks sort of hurt her brain. She actually said, "my head is still spinning from my attempt to listen to Enya and Stevie Nicks......whoo." I get that was when listening to rap. It is so complicated music to me – when you look at the words, it is poetry. And then there is a complicated beat, and all of a sudden, my head is spinning, and I really don't get the full meaning of the song. Some of the songs I like immediately, but I can't really truly appreciate all of the nuances of the music. My ears are not trained to distinguish the differences.

And then my mind started drifting to differences between cultures. You see, I am white, and although I have several black friends, I don't fit into their culture. Don't get me wrong, we are good friends, but I have completely different experiences – and I cannot claim to be part of this culture. It reminds me of a discussion I had many years ago. A black friend explained it this way. When she enters a room and she sees someone else who is black, she breaths a little easier. Even if she does not know the person, there is some sort of connection. I don't know if this feeling is universal – probably not, as nothing seems to be universal. But I have heard similar things from Jewish friends.

And, you see, I am white. And I don't have that feeling. I see another white person and I don't really think anything. I am not more comforted. I don't feel connected. And as strange as it sounds, I sort of feel cheated. I mean, had I been brought up in an Italian family (a la ~Deb), maybe I would feel some sort of connection with other Italians. Who knows, perhaps Video X feels the same way about hashers. I don't know.

I want to belong to a group – but I am white. I know there have historically been disadvantages from being in certain minority groups. But being white, I don't really belong to a group, not in the way described. Part of the reason I like reading others' blogs is that I get to know a bit more about others. People from other cultures, people from other nations, people from other sexual orientations. It might not be obvious from my posts, but people fascinate me. Not in a scientific and test tube way, but in a relationship, awe-inspiring sort of way.