I like humans. I like people very much, although sometimes petty people disgust me, dogmatic people despair and evil people horrify me because they obviously exist. But these are the fewest. We are the vast majority, the mediocrity, sometimes generous, sometimes selfish and cowardly. It moves me that deep down we are all the same, because deep down in each one of us is all of humanity; and it excites me that we are all different at the same time. The specifics of each are fascinating. What we sometimes call oddities.
Over the past few decades (Gods, I’m so old I can casually say, “In the last 20 or 30 years”…) I’ve gradually discovered that it’s normal to be weird. We all try to hide our differences and conform to regulations so they don’t see us as different. And this dissimulation, so built into our defense tools from childhood that we’re not even aware of what we’re silencing, makes us ignore that others are just like us and that there are more curiosities than flying in the summer in a herd of cows. Many years ago (I’ve shared this on occasion) I met a woman, a friend of friends, who struck me as, and probably was, a very sensible and easygoing person. One day he explained to me that he kept all the clippings of his nails, hands and feet in matchboxes and that after his breakup he sent one of those boxes to his ex. I found it so odd that I mentioned it in an article and the most extraordinary thing is that I’ve received several letters from readers telling me they’ve done the same thing (keep the snippets, not the ex I guess) . It was a revelation.
When I was in Madrid presenting my latest book dealing with these issues, I thought of asking people to anonymously write down their hobbies on a piece of paper and give it to me. Over 120 people signed up for the game and now I have a valuable stash of rarities. There are many very common ones, such as B. Numerical obsessions: converting every number they see into percentages, adding the seats of the amphitheaters in rows… The number plates of the cars, those serial numbers, give a lot of leeway: some think that the Capicúas bring good luck; another that seeing four of the same number is bad luck. There are several hobbies involving clothespins; for example not being able to use them if they are not the color of the garment. One sleeps for 30 years with the same sweater on his head (he washes it from time to time, yes), the other has to go to bed with white cotton socks. Then there are more quirky oddities, some hilarious, like this: “I can’t help it (when I’m alone) before I take a shower, I clap my hands three times.” Or very cute, like: “Whenever When a fly enters my house, I think it’s my mother warning me about something. I can’t use insecticide.” This one was great: “I’m convinced that death will make an exception for me.” But there was also shocking news: “I think and always think I’m annoying, so most of the time I am like I’ve disappeared.” Or: “Do nothing and don’t go anywhere if something happens to me. Wash my hands and clothes at all times” (although she obviously had the courage to go to the book launch: Bravo).
And it is that the oddities sometimes become obsessive phobias and very painful for those who suffer from them. But even in this case (even more so in this case) you have to talk about it and bring it to light; we need not be ashamed, just as we would not be ashamed of having appendicitis, for example. In addition, these disabling manias are not only curable, but far more common than one thinks and is silent.
Reality is chaotic, life is a terror, we don’t control what happens to us as the pandemic has shown. Many curiosities are nothing more than an irrational game, a small consolation of our mind that seeks order and protection. If they don’t hurt you, they’re welcome. Let’s claim the absolute normality of rarities. Let’s not agree that the normative, the desperate need to conform, means that some individuals (perhaps the most insecure) end up being school or office bullies, torturers of those who are different.
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