In 1961, a novel written by Robert Heinlein called Stranger in a Strange Land was published. It is about a man being born on Mars and raised by Martians and coming to Earth for the first time. I am not going discuss or analyze the novel here. And I am not going discuss or analyze Heinlein as a writer. I merely brought up the title because the title aptly describes the way I feel as see myself as I walk, move, think, and make my way through all of my daily travels.
I have always felt like an outsider. I never remember not feeling this way. No matter where I went or who’s company I shared, I always felt out of place. I have never felt truly at home, in the sense of belonging, that this is where my physical and spiritual being felt nurtured, welcomed, and loved.
From an early age, we are pressured to conform, to give up independent thought, and to accept all of the societal mores of the day in the time and place you occupy. I am not married, I have no children, I don’t like parties, and I very suspicious of groups. There is a price to pay for living my life this way and I have paid it. It is not an easy road to travel down. It is not an easy way to be.
It is a life of isolation and the loneliness often seems as if it’s just too much to bear. The invisible cage which surrounds me is not gilded. But it is there. I don’t think the way I’m supposed to. I don’t act the way I’m supposed to. I am obsessively prideful and independent in all manners of living. This is who I am. And I like who I am. And I have every intention of staying who I am. A damn good man. If most people can’t accept this to hell with them.