Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on Patreeya’s blog on February 11, 2020. It has been reposted here with the author’s permission.
I am the kind of person you’ll find at home on a Saturday night because I hate crowds. Bodies crammed into any sort of restaurant, venue, bar are a surefire deterrent for this girl. I experience that uncomfortable proximity with groups of strangers every day on my train ride home, my head so close to a stranger’s armpit that I could kiss it if the train were to break suddenly (a disturbing visual for you, I’m sure, but I want you to experience the true joys of my daily commute).
A few nights ago, I woke up, and before falling back asleep, a thought popped into my head that I couldn’t shake: My life is being shaped by the choices of others. I’m being controlled by the crowds.
I recently listened to a podcast that interviewed Senator Mitt Romney just before he would vote to impeach President Trump — the sole Republican senator to do so. He knew his decision, and the distress in his voice was palpable. In describing Romney weighing the cost of his choice, the reporter said, “His face was red, he had distress in his eyes, it’s as if he knew a chandelier was about to drop on his head.”
The interviewer went on to describe the potential calculation of this move and the cost of separating himself from the rest of the Republicans versus “stick[ing] with the team,” as someone shouted at him to do. But I don’t think this calculation was unique to Senator Romney. Every person who cast a vote in that trial had to make the same decision — weighing the cost between what everyone else would choose, and what the gains or the repercussions (politically, morally, socially) would be in choosing something different.
This isn’t meant to be a commentary on the trial or the choice — I don’t know how many succumbed to the temptation to vote based on how they wanted to be perceived by their peers. But Republican or Democrat or third party, this was what stood out to me in that moment: The choice everyone has to make is whether or not to let the crowd determine their actions.
For some, the temptation to be a part of the crowd is stronger. As someone who grew up frequently in the minority — in an area of the country where the color of my Asian skin was considered exotic and strange — I developed an internal drive to fit in. This influences the language I use, the clothes I wear, and the things I choose to share or not share on social media.
“The choice everyone has to make is whether or not to let the crowd determine their actions.”
For others, the temptation is to stand out from the crowd at all costs. Their joy is in being the dissenting voice, and to be lumped into a group feels like a loss of identity. While I grew up longing to be in the majority, I also developed an aversion to this very thing. Even now, I feel slightly uncomfortable when I’m in a group of all women, all Asians, or all Christians. I am wary of being swept away by the tide of groupthink, and I detest being lumped into a category or stereotype.
Whatever the temptation, when the choice becomes about whether or not you’ll stand with the group or stand apart from them, you’ve already lost. Even in my desire to avoid the crowds, the crowds end up controlling my life as much as someone who is drawn to them — chasing the latest trend or newest obsession or greatest approval ratings. Neither of these impulses allows us to bring who we really are to the table or represent what really matters to us. And making the decision about which side you’re on is the quickest way to kill a dialogue.
It’s a trick choice that daily overrides our ability to be present to our purpose in the world. The real decision isn’t which side you’re on, or if you stand with the crowd or stand alone. The real choice is between a false self and a real self. Can you honestly say, between yourself and God, that the choices you make — big and small — embody the things that matter most to you? Or have they been influenced by the choices of others?
“The real choice is between a false self and a real self.”
This false choice controls me more than just what I choose to do on a Saturday night. It controls what I say, what I believe about myself, and what I believe about the world around me. It controls how I show up in the world around me. There have been so many things I’ve tried to do (like snowboarding and watching The Office), not because I liked them but because I knew so many other people liked them. And there have been a great many more things I haven’t done because I thought far too many people were already doing them or because I thought whatever contribution I might make would be insignificant.
But what if the most impactful thing you could give the world wasn’t your dissent or agreement with an issue, but yourself? What if you lived your life to contribute to the world, regardless of whether your contribution is assenting, dissenting, redundant or unique?
When you let the crowds determine who you are in the world, you aren’t really showing up. And how you answer that question — of whether you let the crowds determine who you are — will determine what group you’re really in.
Because at the end of the day, the world won’t be split up into red and blue, although it may feel that way. It’ll be divided into those that show up and those that don’t. The kind that do something and say something that matters in the world regardless of the cost and the kind that only do it if it benefits them.
You’ll find the people in the not-showing-up category sitting and critiquing people who do show up on both sides of whatever issue makes the headlines that day. It’s a lot easier and safer to pick a side of the bleachers than it is to play the game.
I went to a university with one of the strongest football rivalries you’ll ever witness. You would think we were preparing for war when we got ready for a game day (which I tried to avoid when possible because, you know, crowds). But when it came down to it, regardless of whatever colors people were wearing, I realized the players had a lot more in common with each other than the people cheering or booing from the stands.
If you choose to show up, to really bring who you are and what you believe to the world regardless of whether they love, hate, or forget you, you will be applauded by some and booed by others. But you’re not on the same playing field as those in the stands — you’re not even playing the same game. You can win or lose the masses, but that’s no longer what you’re playing for. You’re there to find the other people who have shown up to play.
And when others do show up, even if they’re on the other side of the line and wearing a different color, you have far more in common with them than the people who came to be part of the crowd. So remember that — look for the ones who have shown up. You don’t have to agree with someone to respect the courage they show in bringing who they are to the field.
When you make a decision based on being in the majority or the minority, you’re just choosing which bleachers to sit in. You don’t affect the score. Because at the end of the day, whether to adoration or to disdain, the people who have chosen to show up are the only ones actually there. They’re the ones who may actually make a difference and who know the satisfaction of a game well-played.
The rest of us are on our couches, wearing our college jerseys, yelling at the TV.