hen I was a little kid my mother brought to me to a specialist. A specialist of what, I couldn’t tell you. I was just a kid standing in my underpants in some old dude’s office. I was there because there was something not quite normal about me. I didn’t quite fit in at playschool or kindergarten or wherever. Or so my mother had been told. Or had inferred.
I wasn’t a spaz or a daydreamer, violent or a paste-eater. I just didn’t fit in. That was kind of the best way they could describe it. Applying my adult understanding of things, I’d argue now that it was because I was looking around at the spaz, the daydreamer and the paste-eater wondering what the fuck? Why am I in here? When can I go home?
But as that little kid, apparently I was just frustrated and couldn’t explain why.
Luckily, growing up, I wasn’t too much of an outcast. Despite having all the makings of one. This is due in large part to the friends I fell in with. Good people. Smart people. People who knew that maybe there was something a little bit off, but didn’t hold it against me.
(Note to self: Hug friends.)
When you’re kids you share a lot of the same interests by default. School activities, games, entertainment. It’s not til you get older that the division become more apparent.
College for some, not for others. Those in college choose separate disciplines. Then comes the job force. Yet more disparity between what each of us does for a living. And not just in our fields. But the language of our fields.
Many offices share a shorthand. A couple of my buddies may not work at the same company or even in the same field, but they both understand office politics. None of them, however, know what a logline is.
I’ve hung out with the same guys my whole life. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I had nothing to say to them anymore. Not about work. Not about the things that were exciting to me. Important to me.
But c’est la vie, mes amis. Only a fool complains about the rain.
You make do. It wasn’t long before I found a second circle of friends. Film friends. People who at least drank from the same pool of experience.
Lately though, a new phase of life or career or career life is ebbing in… And it’s pulling me away from the film friends. Not intentionally– They still understand my professional experiences better than anybody. But I’m starting to see that even that won’t last.
It’s a combination of regional disaccord and– how do I put this without sounding like a douchbag… My success.
Nope, still sounded kind of douchy. But that’s the fact of the matter. My film friends are Canadians trying to make a go of the Canadian system. They may know what a logline is, but they don’t know what it’s for. They may have hired a lawyer once or twice but they still don’t know the difference between an agent and a manager. I’ve quickly moved into new territory. And I’ve got nobody with whom to discuss it without an entire preamble explaining industry jargon.
Again, all sounding really douchy. Not meant to. They know what they need to know. I didn’t know these things a few years ago but it’s the direction I’ve chosen. I’m no better a writer or entrepreneur than any of them.
It’s just a new discipline. A slightly different world. Once again, I’ve lost the people that I used to be able to talk to.
I’m alone out here.
Not alone, alone. Not alone socially. Or familially. Alone professionally. Without a peer group. And a peer group could really help under these circumstances. To bounce ideas off of. To compare notes with. To ask questions. Because with what relative success I have found, I’m still way down here at the bottom and there are gonna be questions.
I’m sure it’ll change. Eventually. Like before, I’m certain I’ll find new cohorts. Pal around with them for a while until again I find myself not fitting in.
My head was too big for my body.
That’s what the specialist concluded after examining me as a child. He told my mother that I was frustrated all the time on account of having to balance my unusually large head on top of my puny body.
That’s what he came up with…
T’was a different time.
I’d have asked for a second opinion. Mom, however, presumed that as my body grew to fit my melon so too would I eventually fit into the world.
She was half right.