My Theory of Alienation

I do not fit. They are faultless square pegs and I’m perfectly round. I do not belong in my family. I mean this in the most literal (and figurative) terms possible. I do not jive to their jukebox music; I have no rhythm. I cannot blend in or even camouflage my way in. I am bright orange in a sea of calm blues.

I do not fit.

It’s not a downhearted situation but rather an epiphany for me. A splendid enlightenment because it provides answers which in essence, enable me to move on to the next engaging chapter of my life.

I implore no pity, sympathy or even empathy. As awkwardly as it may resonate, it feels good to define an emotion.

I’ve been a part of my family for 32 years and I’ve always felt like a distant cousin or maybe even an adopted red head but during this past family reunion weekend, I felt more like an unknown than ever before.

I opted not to isolate myself yet to mingle and test my theory of alienation. I fancied topics of discussion to see if I could ‘fit’ in with my siblings. I even danced a jig of make believe—in hopes of rekindling a spark of recognition of my placement—in this family. I delved into the realm of sci-fi; which defines my family movie-isms whereas my resume echoed more of a romance and comedy movie-ism. My search for normal family interactions was in full gear. I betrothed my nephews and niece in a journey of understanding—while providing open ended questions laced with engaging and light banter. I was eager to bend, stretch and even succumb, convert to anything and everything to be proved wrong by my theory.

I desperately and sincerely yearned to belong.

My tests revealed what I had downtrodden to the bottom of my livelihood for so many years. My tests supported my theory of alienation.

I do not fit.

I am not upset or even sullen about this new found revelation but rather relieved—in sorts. Finally, I have closure.

I still love my family but that doesn’t mean I need to break bread with them.
May I just love them from afar?
Would that be so wrong?