Do We Click?

Years ago, I was involved with a group called Vote Kids ‘92 that was promoting candidate awareness of child poverty. During the meetings, I bonded with a genteel and wry older lady I’ll call Edna. Edna told me about a similar group that she had joined, but quickly left.

“I went to one meeting,” she said. “But I walked out of there saying to myself, ‘These are not my people.’”

Do you ever find that certain phrases just stick with you, and you find yourself using them again and again? This one went platinum at our house. These are not my people. It’s the perfect way to describe that feeling of not fitting in. And we need a phrase to describe it, right? Because it’s a rare soul who can fit in just anywhere.

Of course, there are a few lucky people who can. My son knew a kid at Winter Park High who seemed to be friends with nearly every person in the school. I gave this boy a lift to a nearby destination one day and felt like he was my friend after the five-minute ride. This boy will rarely need the phrase, “These are not my people.” But I’ve needed it. Ever since I got it from Edna in 1992, back when our kids were 3 and 5, I’ve used it just often enough that both kids picked it up.

“These were not my people this summer,” said our son at age 9, when we collected him from his annual week at camp. “I just realized that these are not my people,” my daughter told me through tears at age 19, after she’d moved away for a summer job. It’s our official family phrase for new ventures that just don’t work out. (Mark has said it, too, but those are his stories to tell.)

Now, please don’t think I’m talking about judging people and rejecting them! The “not my people” notion is not about dividing people into worthy and unworthy, and it’s certainly not related to age, ethnicity, or any demographic factor. It’s just the presence or absence of that magical CLICK! that happens when someone “gets” you and you “get” them.

My personal theory about groups is this: to feel like you really belong in a group, you need a certain percentage of the people there to be…well, CLICK!-positive, if you will! Otherwise, you get that creepy, odd-duck sensation that makes you feel bad about yourself, or about the group. And when you consciously notice the mismatch, what else can you do but quote Edna? “These are not my people!”

If you’ve read all the way to here, I suspect that what I’ve written has caused a little CLICK! with you. I hope so. My best days at Our Town are when I hear from a reader who has recognized, through what I write, that I am one of their people. Thanks for reading – I’m so glad I have “my people” — even if it’s just through the mailbox!

Happy Holidays!
Sandy Bailey Lipten and Mark Lipten

P.S. Lucky me – a local artist sent me a print of the gorgeous piece of art shown above, in thanks for the CLICK! he got from reading a recent column of mine. You can’t tell much from this tiny version, so check out Bob Goldberg’s gorgeous “photopaintings” of wild Florida at bobbogoldberg.com.