Threads Thursday! Literary Coziness

This is a trial run for something I’ve been interested in trying for many months now. I love clothes and live my life notoriously over-dressed. I’m not attempting fashion-blogger-y here, but I just wanted to try a fashion post. I love having ideas from other bloggers on how to extend the wear of my wardrobe. It’s nice to see how others pair their basics to make new outfits out of what they already own. Here is my attempt!

I was feeling literary and cozy this Saturday. I wore this to meet some friends for coffee and was pleasantly warm and comfy. This tan wool blazer is one of my favorite closet items and instantly classes up a casual look. I thought a sweater and a blazer would be overkill, but this is Michigan and I was actually quite comfortable in this super chilly weather. (Darn you, polar vortex!)

Blazer–Target 
Scarf–Target (Similar)
Cable-Knit Sweater–Hand-me-down
Jeans–Express
Belt–Fossil (Similar)
Shoes–Hush Puppy

I love vintage touches, like the high heels. I’ve also become a champion of a blazer… with pretty much every outfit. When I found this one at the store, it reminded me of the tweed jacket of a professor… sans, elbow patches. (La, if only there were elbow patches!)

Hope you’re staying warm and cozy in your end of the world!
xo,
         –Lex

Why is the Rug Gone?!

A few weeks ago, I had written about heading into the next chapter. About my dream internship and moving on and growing up.

…And then I stalled out.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, some things fell through at the company and there was no longer a job for me there.

The wind was knocked out of me.

I was back at square-one. Back at my old job. Back in that stage I was ready to be done with.

Even three weeks later, I am still a little stunned. I’m not really sure where to go from here. The rug has been ripped out from under me and now I just feel stuck.

It is in these moments that I feel more than a little confused. What was the point of  going through that if the experience wasn’t going to be substantial? Why did that even happen, God? 

I’m lying here, back to the floor, rug now askew, and I have nothing. No idea, very few prospects, and empty hands.

Remember when I said I wanted this year to be about godliness and contentment? God answers prayer.

So I’m here. Back where I started: job that’s not my favorite, future uncertain, and loans to pay. Am I going to thank him for this. Am I going to learn to trust him in this. Because I have a job in which I get flexible hours and work with some awesome people. Because I have a God who has promised to fill my needs and guide me in a story he is writing to his glory. Because here is not such a bad place to be “stuck.”

I have been given a talent here. Am I going to invest with this little and prove myself faithful for more? Am I going to be obedient and learn to live fully where I am placed? Is there really anything else I can do? Godliness and contentment. That I what I have asked him for. This is how it is being given to me right now.
So I can scramble to get the rug back where it was, or I can trust it was moved for a reason.

I really feel God calling me to stay put for a month or two. Some opportunities are arising that I would not have been able to look into had I still been at the internship or another job. (Don’t worry, I’ll let you know once they’re set in stone.) I have more time to devote to my novel and was just given a wonderful plot twist only yesterday. I have time to invest into my small groups and writing group and my friends. I have been given an opportunity to enjoy what I have been given. Even if it was not given in the way I would have preferred.

So, yes, the rug has been ripped out from under me, but with purpose. Even if the purpose is not yet clear, I am going to trust that I have been placed where I need to be. I’ll tell you how it goes from here.

xo,
        –Lex

P.S. Tune in Thursday at noon. I’m trying something new and want to know what you think!

What I Want Most This Year

I love Ann Voskamp’s blog. Her words hold a peace and wisdom you don’t often find in today’s culture. I was reading a wonderful post from her the other day on scripture memorization and some of her words really hit me hard.

Is Jesus merely useful to you–or is he ultimately beautiful to you?
When Jesus is merely useful to me, I want him to move my world.
When Jesus is ultimately beautiful to me, it’s my heart that is moved–and this begins to change the world.
When I see Jesus as useful, he’s a gadget to make my life better. When I see Jesus as beautiful, He’s a joy that makes me live better.
Am I a Jesus-user?
Or a Jesus-adorer?

Wow.

Which am I? I don’t really want to answer that. It’s even hard to think about. Because if I’m really being honest, I’m a Jesus-user.

I expect him to be there for me. I want him to arrange the world to my liking, and if it’s not there, I consider it a “trial.” My heart is only rarely moved to his will. He is the band-aid that makes my broken life bearable. Not the living water who gave his life to pay the ransom for my sin. He’s the last resort, break-the-glass-in-case-of-emergency God. Not Jehovah.

How am I pursuing godliness when I am only using him for my benefit? I am not taking in his beauty, his almighty power and perfection. I am not submitting myself to him or his word. What good am I if I am not tender to his word or his will?

Thinking further about this, there are two things I want this year. I pray for godliness and I pray for contentment.

For my first memory passage this year, I have chosen 1 Timothy 6:6-8.

Godliness with contentment<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(J)”> is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. 

God has proved himself faithful and constant over the few years of my life. Every need and many of my wants have been provided in simple ways, even miraculous ways. He has given me so much, but I am always holding my hand out for more.

What would it look like if, instead of holding out my palm for stuff, I held out my hand for God? What would it look like to slow down life a little bit, live simply, and pursue HIM?

Paul tells Timothy this is to his gain. And not because godliness and contentment will make him rich. At least not in the way most of us would like. Godliness and contentment are to our gain because we are blessed with the richness of God’s beauty and the peace of knowing him more fully.

That is what I want this year:

Godliness and Contentment.

To become more like Jesus and trust more in his plan.

To getting what HE wants,
                               –Lex

A Year Ago Today

The bus dropped us off in an alley outside the bus station.  I was hardly conscious, my back was tense from my backpack and the winter air was cold. But we were there.

In Belfast.

To be honest, I was a little jumpy. I think research on a place your are going to visit is important before arrival. Sadly, my research on Belfast was not all pretty. Most anything I could find was about bombings, knee-cappings, street shootings, and blood baths. Woohoo! That combined with the near twenty-four hours of travel and, well, the baggage–not my luggage.

We flew out on the one year anniversary of the death of my mentor. It was a long day in the airport where I was left with little but my thoughts. Upon arrival, I felt like just a bunch of weary skin. Weary, weepy skin trying its best to hold together and hope that this trip would be something wonderful.
They say it takes about a year to grieve.

I was dropped off in that alley with the study abroad group on January 4th. It was the first day of a new year. The first day of moving forward with the heaviness beside me, hopefully no longer in me. The first day of hope. Yet as I leaned against the raised handle of my suitcase, all I now remember feeling was timidity. I had come with practically strangers. People I had had one class with, a couple girls I had lived across the hall from, but no one I was really close with. At least not at that point. This ‘hope’ was not exactly what I had bargained for.

So we stood in the entryway of the bus station, our ride to the manor late. I could only smell cigarettes of smokers past and take in the average urban grime–not exactly the Ireland you read about. Little did I know what lie around the corner.

Down the block and around the corner was the pub where I drank my first beer. Across from the most bombed Hotel in Europe. About a mile away from city center, two blocks from the bookstore called The Bookstore, all watched over by Belfast Castle. It was all there and in the two weeks we were there, it wheedled its way into my heart.

My heart broke in West Belfast, hearing the stories and surveying the heartbreak of the Shankhill road, walking beside the peace wall. My breath was taken by Carrick-A-Rede, the north shore, the rolling hills. My sense of adventure was stirred by wonderful poetry, and a regular flow of tea, conversations with locals in St. George’s Market, and live music in idyllic pubs. Around every corner was history and architecture, and music, and beauty. And the company. There were about ten of us, mostly girls. So many wonderful people that I would not want to have been on that trip without.

So many things of those two weeks I cannot even express if I tried. But here I am, trying. I was there a year ago today. My heart longs to go back. Earning my masters at Queen’s University has become a dream–pipe dream or not, only time will tell. Northern Ireland holds a small piece of my heart now. It’s hard to fall in love with a place. Especially one you know only briefly.

It’s like falling in love with the flirty barista. You give them your order, they give you coffee, you may see them the next time you get coffee, you may not. It’s a small beautiful moment that may or may not be relived. [And yes, now I’m rambling, but my blog, my world, remember?] That was Ireland–a beautiful spark of life that I hope to revisit someday. I’ve started praying for West Belfast when the longing becomes heavy. If I cannot be there in person, at least I can ask for true peace, or the steps towards it.

So that was last year: two days into my time in Belfast. Who knows what my adventures will be this year. Hopefully something international, but we’ll just see.

What were you doing a year ago?

Happy travels!

xo,
        –Lex

I Live in My Parent’s Basement with 50,000 Cats…

The title is what it says.

No, I did not get a cat. I will not get a cat. Gross.

In the house my parents recently bought, there is a huge bathroom in the basement where me and my sister’s rooms are. And the walls are covered in cats. Lots of cats with staring eyes and odd facial expressions.



I love our new home. There is plenty of room to entertain people and I’m really figuring out how to make my space my own. It’s wonderful.

But the title is what it says. I live in my parent’s basement with 50,000 cats.

Not exactly living the dream.

Here is a close-up of my lovely cat friend. I think
the hearts beside the names signify some sort of
rating system, though I’m not sure why Fat Cat
is better than Calico Cat…

‘Tis the season for engagements. ‘Tis the season of remembering that those engagements are not my own. ‘Tis the season for discontentment and materialism and poor-me-ness. ‘Tis the season to forget what this season is truly about and wallow in self-pity and loneliness.

This season is not about me. Not the Christmas season, not this season of life, and not life in general.

And yet I feel entitled to pout. Pout because I live in my parent’s basement with 50,000 cats. Pout because I am alone at Christmastime. Pout because I have been alone for a while. And pout because its just easy.

Honestly, I often hold a negative view of singleness because I am lazy. Rather than seeing each season as the classroom God has placed me in, I wine and belly-ache, trying to get my way with no avail. I am wasting what God has given me in the hear and now.


Rather than spending this time investing in the friendships, opportunities, and time he has given me, I allow myself to sit and do nothing. By doing nothing, I get bored. My days become filled with discontentment, loneliness, and honestly too much Netflix. Rather than investing in a redemptive friendship, I watch White Collar reruns. Rather than deepening my relationship with God, I deepen the butt divets on my couch seat. Rather than taking time to better myself and my craft, I piddle away my creativity trying to formulate witty tweets and statuses that will garner numerous retweets and likes. I am wasting this season.

I am not seeking God more fully, I am not growing in community, and I am not becoming a better writer. I’m hardly traveling beyond the basement!

If this is singleness, then yeah! This is shit!

But I have fallen for the grand lie. You see, I have not been doomed to singleness and a life among the cats. I have been blessed so completely with opportunity up the wazoo!

This is the cat I can seen from the shower. Notice his
disturbed facial expression. I call him Peeping Tom Cat.


Here is the truth:
My parents are wonderful God-fearing people who have encouraged me to live my dream and pursue the calling I believe God has given me (aka. writing.) My parents are sensible people who understand that writing pays nothing…. sometimes negative nothing. As such, they allow to me live in their house RENT FREE as I pay off my schooling and pursue a job in the publishing industry. Let me repeat: I live in an awesome house, complete with pool and cat-laden bathroom RENT FREE.

As such, I have an opportunity to gain experience in my field of study. I have a splendidly patient supervisor who wants me to learn and make industry connections. God has equipped me for this position in oddly comical ways and has provided wise counsel exactly when I need it.

I have time in the evenings to work on the novel I’ve been itching to get to for the last three years. I have a chance to host small groups in my home and grow in relationship with the word of God, the people of God, and the spirit of God.

Because I am living rent free and have a wonderful job that helps me keep the loans in check, I can begin to save to travel. I have the chance to invest my time, treasure, and talent into so many things that I would not be able to be as devoted to if I had married right out of school.

God has blessed me with the season of life that I need right now to become who I am called to be. I am not settled yet. I am not all he is going to make me. I am not ready to be married and it is not until I get off the couch, and out of the basement, and into his word that I begin to realize there is more to this season than my wants and desires. There is a God who is shaping me to be his servant no matter what lies ahead. 

I live in my parent’s basement with 50,000 cats.

Title is what it says. I live there as God trains me to go out and embrace his will. I won’t have the company of the cats forever. Time to devote to my writing won’t be so generous in the future. The quiet moments with my Father won’t be as easily gained.
I need to enjoy and embrace this season while it is here. This is one chapter of many more and the next one can’t begin until this one is written.

It’s gonna be a good chapter. I can feel it.

Last Minute Gift Idea: December Favorites

Many many moons ago, I decided I was going to have lists of five favorites every month and that only happened once. I was going to call it “Friday Favorites” and every Friday rolled around with no dice*. Well, if you’re looking for last minute gifts for the bohemian in your life, here are five ideas that may help you finish up your shopping!

1. Ipsy Glambag 
Do you have a make-up junkie in your life? Ipsy is a great site for make-up tips and tricks as well as product recommendations and deals. I recently subscribed to the Ipsy Glambag and have fallen in love. For $10 a month, you can subscribe for you or a loved one to get name brand, full size beauty products sent to your door. I have recently come into the possession of some great products not to mention a fabulous little make up bag. If you subscribe, be sure to add me as a referral! I’m on their site as LexFromBohemia.

2. Frozen
My love language is not gifts. Don’t get me wrong, presents are nice, but they don’t make me feel any more or less loved. My love language is time spent. One of my favorite ways to spend time is dinner and a movie… and maybe coffee afterward. This month, I had the pleasure of going to see Frozen with a couple friends. Disney has done it again. On a scale of Princess and the Frog to Tangled, it is definitely on the Tangled side of the princess spectrum. It’s a wonderful story about sisterhood that really makes me wish I could watch it with my own sister! Buy movie tickets for your loved one and spend a night on the town!

3. Decomposition Books
Looking for a gift for the writer in your life? Look no further! I love a new notebook!… Maybe a little too much since I have more empty than filled, but still love a good notebook. Decomposition books are made out of recycled materials and have great vintage designs on both the inner and outer covers. I bring mine whenever I plan to write but won’t have my laptop. It’s been a creativity saver for sure.

4. Jane Austen Novel’s
Unless you haven’t realized, Jane Austen is one of my writing heroes. Actually, if God wasn’t writing my life, I would hope Jane Austen was. I love reading Jane Austen around Christmas. There’s just something about reading about regency life in front of the Christmas tree that just feels right. This year, I’m reading Persuasion. Canterbury Classics has a beautiful leather bound copy any Jane Austen fan would love to own.

5. Black Pumps
I have a shoe addiction. And I love getting wardrobe staples as gifts. H&M has some wonderful classic pumps that have easily become my favorite shoes. Any shoe-loving lady will love these simple, timeless pumps. Comfortable and stylish. I have worn mine with cocktail dresses, dress paints, and jeans. Pretty much any chance I get to wear them, I do.

I hope this helps for the preppy bohemians in your life you have yet to buy for.
Merry Christmas! I hope you are blessed by this season!
xo,
        –Lex

*You see what I did there?

Scandal in Bohemia: A Sherlock Halloween Party

I guess I should just come out and say it. Just in case you haven’t figured it out on your own.

I’m a nerd.

Books, movies, TV shows, pretty much anything with a plot, I can get behind. There are few things I will go full nerd for, but BBC’s Sherlock is one of them. 

My splendid writer’s group threw a Halloween party last week in honor of the splendid show. Everyone was invited for evening tea and asked to come in costume. My friend and fellow
Inklykr, Anna let us host at her house and helped me put the party together and I am so proud of the result. The pictures below are the results of a spectacular evening! Hopefully you will be inspired for your own murder mystery party or a Sherlock series three viewing party on January 19!

Both above and below are pictures are pictures of our tea table. Everyone looked splendid and really enjoyed the look of the dining room. The long black candles were my favorite touch! The candles added a great effect on such a rainy Halloween night. The table runner was made up of pages from The Return of Sherlock Holmes and the placemats were full-page spreads from an obscure novel I found falling apart at a used bookstore. I hated tearing apart the books, but the look was totally worth it.


Our food table decorations are pictured above. I printed off antique poison labels and taped them to empty glass bottles my mom and Anna had around the house and from various antique shops. I also came across an old battlefield map which looked great beside my Complete Sherlock Holmes. Anna also let us use her antique Underwood typewriter to put on the desk in her entryway. She made a wonderful arrangement on the desk which is pictured above center.

No party is worth its salt without a photobooth! Above, you can see we’ve made our own copy of the wallpaper, which you can print for yourself here. (It’s not perfect, but in the pictures, can you really tell? We printed eight panels on 11×17 paper to cover our photo-space.) Anna made the amazing props which we all had plenty of fun with.

For my costume, I decided to go as Irene Adler from the second season. I’m not a big cosplay person, but I figured this was a go-big-or-go-home affair, so I paired my peplum top with my white pencil skirt and called it good. My mom was a life-saver with my hair. I found a great tutorial online, but found it too difficult to do myself. The make-up was fairly simple. Green eye-liner and red-lipstick and you’ve got Irene. Here’s a great make-up tutorial that explains pretty much what I did to achieve the look.

I had such a wonderful time on Thursday and am so proud of how everything turned out. Pin and share the pictures and let me know what you think!
xo,
        –Lex

Dear Courtney: A Postcard to My Sister

My younger sister Courtney left a little over a week ago for a five-month stint with YWAM in Kona, Hawaii. I jokingly told her I would writer her a letter on my blog rather than on paper… and she thought that was an awesome idea so here is this post. I apologize in advance for any references you don’t understand, and even more for the ones you do.

Dear Courtney,
I haven’t gotten used to setting the table for only three. And you room is cleaner than mine right now… which is weird. And I’m writing this for the whole internet to see, which is weirder, but here goes:

YES! Your yamaca stage and my… that was just a
really awkward phase for me. Alright?


Eighteen years ago, I can imagine that I was probably not entirely happy to have you home. My three-year-old mind was probably reeling, thinking, “What is this screaming thing doing here taking all of the attention and when is it going to get the hell out?!”… Or at least the three-year-old version of that. I distinctly remember plotting against you as I hid around the corner from the kitchen. I jumped out from the side of the stove to scare you and you just stared at me and laughed and called me “Awahky.” (In my defense, I had just watched an Arthur episode in which D.W. plotted against Baby Kate. Obviously, I just had to try it.)


And now you got the hell out, off having wild adventures. Life has shifted. Changed. Somewhere around seventeen, I stopped plotting against you. Sometime shortly after that, we began to actually be civil toward one another. And then sometime after that, we became friends. Change came slowly and unbid, but we welcomed it. And things will continue to change.

We’re moving out of this house. I’m trying to move forward in life.Mom printed something by herself today. (Seriously! I know!) Things are changing here. You are going to change. 

You will grow and mature and discover and I won’t be there to see it like I have. It excites me. Hell, it scares me. But in a good way. (Not like the other night when you turned off the headlights because you thought they were the brights. If it was that kind of scary, I wouldn’t be this okay with you leaving.)

What is happening here? Why do we both have
such bad hair?!?!?!?

I’m scared because I’m going to miss you.With everything shifting around here, I’ll want you around for that. The night before you left, I was in bed crying, thinking about how it was out last night in this house together. And I thought about all the stupid things we did in your bedroom… Because we always did the stupid things in your room and not mine. I remembered the first time you got a haircut and I was put in time-out because I told you it looked stupid. I remember playing house and you always had to be the dad…sorry about that. I remember that one time when we…well, I’m not going to disgrace us both over the internet. But the Lysol kept Mom from questioning, so that was a plus…we were disgusting children.

I’ve fought with no one like I have fought with you. Heck, I’m surprised we didn’t murder each other. But we didn’t. And now I consider you one of my best friends. You’re honest when I’m being an idiot. You are great enough to pull off “half-calfs” and “adventure bags” and “fanny* packs” or whatever weird trend that should not be happening. [*Read “spinster.”] You make me laugh. And not just because you think it’s “fahnny” to go to the “mewzaam” because is “ocward.” But because you are always you and are so different from me. You are a gift. The person who gets me out of myself. You are the optimist, this wild card, the spaz. I love you. 

And I’ll miss you.

But I can’t be selfish. God has called you to go and so you have. And it is going to be an awesome, thrilling, slightly-messy, self-finding, stretching, sunburn-to-tan, wonderful five months. 

And in those moments when doubt comes in, know this: You have been equipped for every good work, both through the experiences God has blessed you with and what he has written in his word. Cling to that and know that there is a bunch of us here praying for you everyday. Praying that you are bold and strong. that your love is evident to any you come in contact with and the reason behind that love is made clear.

“A friend loves at all times and a brother is born for adversity.”
You have seen me through great adversity and I am praying for you through any that you will face while you’re away. And, my friend, I will always love you.

So pack your adventure bag! And don’t fore-go the sunscreen. We all know how that turns out. Hawaii doesn’t know what it’s in for and neither does wherever this adventure will take you.

I love you, kid!

xo,
                   –Ducky


And just so you know, when I commented this morning, after doing my hair, that it was the best blow-dry I’d ever done, Mom and Dad started laughing because you told them what I accidentally called it the last time I did my hair like this. Thanks for that.

P.P.S. DON”T TELL HARRY!!!!!!!!

Technology is Not Neutral

I have attended a marvelous church for the past seven years and have always felt privileged to be challenged by thought provoking and convicting sermons. We’ve just started a series on technology, exploring what seems amoral and neutral.

This past Sunday’s sermon resonated with me as I thought about how much time I spend plugged in to social media and what effect it has had on my relationships, writing, and education. We all spend so much time in virtual reality, when was the last time we really pondered our actual reality? And why do we feel so lonely when we have more connections to more people than ever before? 

I want to go into detail, but I would just be rehashing the lecture, so I’ll just cut to the chase: Below is the video from the service. I will warn you that it is a little long, but worth the time. I encourage you to take a look and let me know what you think.

Also, I have heard tell that some of you are having trouble making comments. Never fear! If you email me your thoughts, I will add them in to the comments section under your first name or alias of your choice. Send me your comments at preppybohemia@gmail.com and I will post them at my latest convenience.

Enjoy and think deeply!

xo,
        –Lex

Pete is Different

My dear friend, Pete Ford is today’s guest blogger. Pete has been a huge supporter of Preppy Bohemia from day one and is a fellow Inklykr (My amazing writing group). He just launched his own blog Pete Tweets which features samples of his creative non-fiction and poetry and lots and lots of haiku. I have been so impressed by the growth Pete has made in the past couple of years, both as an artist as well as a young man. He loves writing, philosophy, and swing dance and often does all of them simultaneously… or not. In this piece, Pete writes about fitting in and acceptance.

Tommy is different. Jacob is different. Jacob is popular, captain of the football team, has tons of “friends”, even a girlfriend. Tommy sits alone in his wheelchair at lunch, has never had any friends, has never been the champion of anything. Tommy is “special”. Jacob is “extraordinary”. If racism is dead, then why is discrimination so rampant?
Jacob and Tommy have some things in common, though. Both were created with the dignity of humanity and uniqueness. No one talks to Tommy and everyone talks to Jacob, and yet no one really cares about either. If you hang out with Jacob, you’re cool by association–and he is cool because someone decided he is. Yet if you are seen saying hi to Tommy, you are uncool by association–and he’s uncool because we decide so. Whose opinion counts, anyway? Why do individual opinions always bow to “public opinion”–which is made up of multiple individual opinions? Why does the minority always bow to the majority rule? Because the majority has more power from more members. Yet the majority could switch its decision. Why do we chase after something so fickle?
Tommy is different. Jacob is different.
Pete is different. But you wouldn’t know that by looking at him–or so he hopes. He tries his hardest to fit in and be unnoticeable. He does anything to avoid detection and especially avoid conflict. If only he can please people then maybe he can avoid conflict, and obviously what everyone wants is to be left alone. So be it. Or so he tells himself. If he stands out too much, he is scared of being treated like Tommy, as “different”. So Pete hides. Tommy hides. Jacob hides. Each in different ways; but each is hiding.
Pete is afraid of being like Tommy, but being like Jacob doesn’t sound too bad. Popularity sounds good. He longs for a place to belong, a place he is accepted. What if standing out–in a good way–would help him fit in? Why is it always easier to see the fun parts of being like Jacob than the hard parts? Why do we assume being like Tommy is bad and never see any of the blessings? What if having less is really more? So if Pete can’t achieve standing out in a good way–popularity– then he is determined to aim for a balance between the two and never stand out.
For how different they seem, Jacob and Tommy are remarkably similar. Neither Tommy nor Jacob have friends. Which is worse: shallow “friends” or none at all? If they leave during hard times, are they even real friends during the fair weather? Pete doesn’t have friends because he is still hiding.
To fix these problems of everyone being different, we pick the lowest common denominator. We teach to the level of the dumbest student. (And with our low expectations, we don’t offer anything to strive for.) But what of the smart students? We waste potential in some because others don’t have the exact same potential. “Fairness” is unfair to everyone because it demands conformity in place of uniqueness. So is saying that one is “better” at something also saying that (s)he is a better person? If we admit that one person is special, do we deny the specialness of everyone else? By definition, special means unique. We kill uniqueness. We all dress the same, learn the same, act the same.
We are also told to tolerate the differences of others–or at least you must tolerate me, but I don’t have to tolerate you. Apparently, we should tolerate diverse evil, but good doesn’t need to be tolerated because it claims to be too exclusive. We are told tolerance is acceptance and acceptance is participation. Is it even possible to respect something and not participate at the same time? And if you don’t conform, you are spitting in the face of the minority by not “tolerating” them. Boy, those people really can’t tolerate intolerance. Because they absolutely know there is no absolute right or wrong.
Why all this confusion? Because the majority rules, and the majority has declared that we must especially tolerate the minority–because it is a minority. Minorities deserve better treatment. But what happens if the minority becomes a majority: is it to be less protected? Somehow, the minority of people has the majority voice through media. We have bought the story that “everyone buys into it.” “All scientists believe in Evolution.” “99% of people are homosexual.” And if you don’t participate, you’re an outsider, going against the wisdom of the times. But since I don’t fit into the majority of “tolerators” (and by this I mean “participators”), I have become a minority, yet I am still not “tolerated.”
We band together based on similarities, yet to figure out who a person is, we ask how they are unique: that’s what makes them cool. When we describe a person, we point out how they are different from us, yet we also associate them with a group they are similar to. A white man tells his wife that he met a black man–this is not negative discrimination, it is description. He uses himself as a basis for introducing the other person: he points out differences between himself and the man and similarities the man has to an ethnic group. When a white man reads a story, is it wrong to naturally assume that the main character is similar to himself? Must he assume that the character is white, black, hispanic, Native American, and tribal African (all at the same time), just to be inclusive?
I understand that the language we use reflects our beliefs, but why do we have such specific euphemisms for “Native Americans” and such? Why do we get our shorts in a knot because someone uses a “politically incorrect” phrase to describe us? And if he’s a white male, he must be racist! Why are we so sensitive?
Yet for all our desire to fit in, we still create reasons to celebrate our uniquenesses from the crowd and our bonds to a group. Even though Pete wants to fit in and be accepted, he hates being stereotyped or lost in the shuffle. He wants to stand out somehow. Yet for all this trying to be the same and fit in and assimilate, we compete to be differently hipster to stand out. We feel the need to stand out and defy stereotypes. We take pride in being different (positive different, not negative different). We avoid using cliches and create our own brand of uniqueness to distinguish ourselves from the other 6,999,999,999 people in the world. But the different is only cool until the different becomes the same. Hipster ceases to be cool as soon as it becomes mainstream. Then we have to search for a new form of hipster. Because of this, we are protective about our differences and hold others at arms-length because we don’t want them to adopt our brand of uniqueness. Uncool is cool until it becomes cool.
Well, I should say that uncool is cool only as long as you associate with other uncool people. Uncool is not cool in and of itself since uncool is lonely. But together, with others who are “uncool”, we can be cool. And here lies a paradox: Association is required both to be cool (hang out with the cool kids) and to be coolly uncool (hang out with the geeks)–yet we are told that if we let others come too close, they will rob us–so we only let them get so close. We need other people to validate our worth, so we use them. But what if everyone else is trying to figure out life just like me and is just as vulnerable and self-protective as me?
There is a unique bond in being different so even outsiders band together based on similarities. We have a deep desire to fit in, belong, be accepted, find a home. Geeks hang out with other geeks–even if they geek about different things. Outsiders become insiders amongst themselves–even though they are different. The things they share in common include being outsiders and being passionate about something.
What would the world be like if everyone decided that being a geek is cool and people became geeks to “fit in” with the crowd? For one, there would be a whole lot of counterfeit geeks: being a geek requires passion and a willingness to be different, not a need to fit in. But if geek became mainstream, geeks would naturally separate themselves off again.

Pete finally asks himself why he cares about what people think of him, what people call him, if he fits in. He realizes how stupid it is to base everything he does on what he thinks others will think of him because of that. Indeed, everything we do, we do out of our self-image: not only what I think of myself, but also what I think others think of me (which usually isn’t true). Now, Pete is different. Pete is unique. Pete has friends who care about him because he isn’t always self-protective and can be vulnerable. He can trust. And just as much as he doesn’t want to be judged and stereotyped, Pete also extends the same grace to others.