Guest Column: Fitting in

In the mid-1990s, after many years in the states of Colorado and California, I returned to my home state of Washington hoping to find a job. Eventually I did, and I was asked to attend a day-long orientation for clergy newly arrived in the Diocese of Olympia (western Washington). The session was to help people become acquainted not only with the diocese, but also with the region. For that portion, I sat quietly and observed the comments of people who had lived elsewhere all their lives.
I remember listening to two people from the East Coast — I think Boston and New York City — speaking indignantly about Seattle culture. “People come to a four-way stop here and wave the other driver through!” “I know, can you believe it?” (Imagine scoffing and even dismissive tones of voice.)
It was obvious that they did not want that to happen. They wanted what they were evidently used to: impatient, rude drivers who grabbed the right-of-way even if it didn’t belong to them. They were unable to understand or even tolerate a polite driving public.
I had been told to show up so that I might learn to fit into a place where I already felt at home, but in that room, I definitely felt like I didn’t belong.
The hardest part of school for me was fitting in — or, rather, failing to fit in. The things I liked to do, the people I admired, the way I talked and the way I thought never seemed to match up very well with the people who were around me. Fortunately, after I graduated from high school, I was able to have more choices about what people were around me. At that point, I finally began to find ways to feel at home in the places I lived.
But becoming a member of the ordained clergy put a crimp in that for me. In the church, people of all sorts are welcome. I couldn’t join a clique, I couldn’t take my ball and go home, I couldn’t choose to just hang out with people who were like me or agreed with me. But as I gradually adjusted to this new reality, one of the things I discovered was that, unlike my experiences in school, these different sorts of people had decided to respect each other enough, and even love each other enough, to stay together despite their differences.
Another thing that helped this process along was moving back to a small town.
During five years of my childhood, I lived in a small town, and I looked back on that as the happiest part of my life for many years as we lived in major cities for decades without a break. My wife, Elizabeth, had also been in small towns and larger cities as she grew up. Then, the job I took in the mid-’90s in Washington was in a small town, in a coastal area where there was a string of small towns. We discovered right away that much of the stress in our lives had come from the urban environment. When we moved to Washington state’s Long Beach Peninsula, we reconnected with the relaxed pleasure of those childhood memories.
People who don’t like small towns often state that everybody knows everybody else’s business. I didn’t mind that. In fact, I started to like it. I couldn’t hide behind pretense. I was who I was, and everyone else pretty much knew it, too.
When we moved to the Santa Cruz Mountains, we discovered that, culturally, we hadn’t moved too far. Though it is 800 miles from our former home, culturally it is pretty similar. The big cities are closer than they were in Washington, which makes it easier to take advantage of the things that cities offer, but we can drive just a few miles and we are back in small-town country. Everybody knows who we are, and we are OK with each other.
One of the things my past has given me is an empathy with and feeling for people, younger or older, who feel outcast and alone. One of the things I had trouble feeling in those years so long ago was a sense that anybody understood or cared what I went through. But I see now that there are a lot of us out there, and there are ways to find an extended family to relax with.
If you feel like you can’t find a way to fit the mold, know that there are others like you and there are better times ahead. If you find it easy to fit in, please find ways to be kind to those of us who have more trouble doing so. You will need each other some day.
Blaine Hammond is the rector at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Ben Lomond. He has served in the post since September 2009.