I grew up different. The most obvious difference (to me) was my choice of religion. From grades K-8, I was the only member of the Church of Jesus Christ in my school (there may have been a few others, but you only really care about your grade at that age, so it’s effectively the same). As a result of that choice, I also didn’t swear, drink (not a real possibility at that age), cheat, lie, steal, or anything else you may not want a person doing.
I followed rules–generally asked why–but followed, even if the rule seemed dumb.
When I moved to high school, I went to a different district, so I wasn’t among my former peers, and I retained the religious difference, although I met and became friends with a few other members during those four years. But I also lived far enough away that slumming it downtown with “friends” wasn’t something I had time for, nor was sticking around at school longer than sports practice let me.
I grew very comfortable being on my own in my head and with the contrast that was clear between me and those I interacted with daily.
When I went to college there was a silence. I went to college with others who believed similarly, and it wasn’t till I went home for Christmas and got back in the gym with some volleyball teammates that I realized the silence wasn’t. It was static. White noise deafening white noise.
At BYU, the contrast I was so comfortable didn’t exist. With everyone being so clearly similar and generally acting similar, the differences weren’t clear and obvious.
So when I got back into the gym in Monterey, and the generally coarse language was back in my ears (the most obvious manifestation of contrast), I felt comfortable again.
It was weird to realize this.
I felt the same this morning, laying on my brother’s couch in Texas, hearing a weed whacker buzz at 0700 on a Sunday morning, followed by a lawnmower.
The contrast felt good. I felt at home.