Welcome to our final edition of the "Tracking Your Wyrd" course.
Well Friends, it's the end of the road for this course. I hope you've had some insights during this time we've been tracking your wyrd, and I hope to share a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with you someday and hear all about them. Like I've said before, you're my kinda people, which is really what this last love letter is all about.
Let me begin this winding down by winding up a story.
There are some moments and days that are so deliciously indelible that even a person with a shaggy memory like me can’t shake them off. One of mine is my first day of school.
Not my first first day of school—that’s long gone. I’m talking about my first day of my last school, my first day at Pacifica Graduate Institute where I had enrolled in my early mid-thirties to pursue a PhD in Depth Psychology. But in order for you to understand why that day was so memorable, I have to back up for a minute.
Not my first first day of school—that’s long gone. I’m talking about my first day of my last school, my first day at Pacifica Graduate Institute where I had enrolled in my early mid-thirties to pursue a PhD in Depth Psychology. But in order for you to understand why that day was so memorable, I have to back up for a minute.
I was living in Sacramento, teaching English to high school students, and I had a nice group of colleagues I enjoyed visiting with after classes were over to process our days, perfectly nice colleagues, but I had nothing in common with them beyond the walls and halls of the school and our shared group of (mostly nice) students. I had a friend group I’d hang out with on weekends, a nice group of perfectly nice people, but I shared little in common with them either, other than by that time we had pretty much all dated each other or each other’s exes. Their idea of fun was bars and breweries, sports and dancing, fairs and festivals, and just hanging out shooting the shit and gossiping about whoever wasn’t there (did I mention we had all pretty much dated each other?).
Yes, I was surrounded by perfectly nice people. The problem was, they just weren’t my people. If you asked me what I did for fun, I’d tell you I loved to read James Hillman and all the depth psychologists and mythologists and I loved to write about what I was reading. Bars and breweries, sports and dancing, fairs and festivals, and hanging out shooting and dishing the shit was what I did for companionship, but it wasn’t what I did for fun (though of course there were fun moments—did I mentioned we all pretty much dated each other?).
Yes, I was surrounded by perfectly nice people. The problem was, they just weren’t my people. If you asked me what I did for fun, I’d tell you I loved to read James Hillman and all the depth psychologists and mythologists and I loved to write about what I was reading. Bars and breweries, sports and dancing, fairs and festivals, and hanging out shooting and dishing the shit was what I did for companionship, but it wasn’t what I did for fun (though of course there were fun moments—did I mentioned we all pretty much dated each other?).
My James Hillman bookcase
So fast forward to my first day of school at Pacifica. We started at 9:00 and went through lunch, and I don’t remember anything really about those first three hours. What stands out in my mind is lunch itself. Not because the food was good (though it was), but because when I sat down at a table with five of my classmates, they asked me what brought me to Pacifica and I said James Hillman. Instead of the blank stares I was accustomed to when I mentioned reading his books—a conversational non-starter back home—the table proceeded to discuss our favorite books and ideas of Hillman’s. At some point I just sat back in my seat and I swear, I coulda cried with sheer joy. These were my people.
I had found my tribe.
I had found my tribe.
Some of my tribe during a class reunion
That was the fall of 1998, and ever since then, “Pacifica people” have remained my tribe. I found my mentors there, who eventually became my colleagues when I came on the faculty in 2005, and then became like family. I found my very best friends there. A couple of years ago, I found the love of my life there. Almost all the people in my orbit, I found there, or I found one degree of separation from there. Most of you reading now, you found me there, or one degree of separation from there. That’s how I know you’re my tribe too, my fellow wyrds.
So this love letter is a tribute to our tribes,
to seeking and finding and following and treasuring our wyrdmates.
Seth Godin’s book We Are All Weird: The Rise of Tribes and the End of Normal has a very promising title, but if you know of Godin’s work, you know he’s an entrepreneur and marketing guy, so his angle in this book is that we no longer live in a culture of mass (think three television stations in the mid-20th century), but a culture of smaller interest groups (think about the sheer number of YouTube channels devoted to—well, devoted to everything imaginable and unimaginable). Our new normal is not normal, our new normal is infinite tribes of weirds, and he wants companies and entrepreneurs to recognize this and adjust the way they target and reach and serve and market to those tribes.
Of course, he’s not using “weird” like we’re using “wyrd.” He uses weird as in someone’s passions or interests that are particular to them and a handful of people on the planet, and though our weird may be connected to our wyrd (it’s weird to revere the ideas of James Hillman so much, as in odd or peculiar, and it’s connected to my wyrd genius strength of ideation), sometimes our hobbies or passions are not our vocations but our avocations, not connected to our genius at all but something we do for fun. |
Still, those caveats aside, he does say some interesting things in the book that I find inspiring to this idea of seeking, finding, following, and treasuring our wyrdmates. Godin encourages us to “embrace the freedom we have. The freedom to choose. The freedom to choose to be weird.” People who make the choice to be weird instead of “normal,” are, he says, “paradoxically looking to be accepted. Not by everyone, of course, but by their tribe, by people they admire and hope to be respected by.” It means more to us to be accepted by, not the nice people, but by our people, the ones in tune with our wyrd.
Godin writes, “The weird aren’t loners. They’re not alone, either. The weird are weird because they’ve forgone the comfort and efficiency of mass and instead they’re forming smaller groups, groups where their weirdness is actually expected.” What a joy, right? To find your tribe where your weirdness is both accepted and expected. He continues, “Because you can find others who share your interests, weird is perversely becoming more normal, at least in the small tribes that we’re now congregating in. The community you choose can be a mirror and an amplifier, furthering your interests and encouraging you to push ever further.” Push ever further—my admonition to you in Love Letter #11--BE MORE WYRD!
Godin acknowledges that “it’s human nature to be weird, but also human to be lonely.” I would add that until we find our tribe (defined as wherever two or more are gathered), our wyrd may make us lonely. It certainly did for me—I had nice friends and nice colleagues before I found my tribe, but I was existentially lonely and mostly alone with my wyrd, though I found companionship in books for sure. Godin believes that in the age of the internet, everyone can seek and find and follow their fellow weirds, and if you’re in a position or a place where you don’t have wyrdmates, both Godin and I would suggest you google your way toward finding those who share your genius.
Godin writes, “The weird aren’t loners. They’re not alone, either. The weird are weird because they’ve forgone the comfort and efficiency of mass and instead they’re forming smaller groups, groups where their weirdness is actually expected.” What a joy, right? To find your tribe where your weirdness is both accepted and expected. He continues, “Because you can find others who share your interests, weird is perversely becoming more normal, at least in the small tribes that we’re now congregating in. The community you choose can be a mirror and an amplifier, furthering your interests and encouraging you to push ever further.” Push ever further—my admonition to you in Love Letter #11--BE MORE WYRD!
Godin acknowledges that “it’s human nature to be weird, but also human to be lonely.” I would add that until we find our tribe (defined as wherever two or more are gathered), our wyrd may make us lonely. It certainly did for me—I had nice friends and nice colleagues before I found my tribe, but I was existentially lonely and mostly alone with my wyrd, though I found companionship in books for sure. Godin believes that in the age of the internet, everyone can seek and find and follow their fellow weirds, and if you’re in a position or a place where you don’t have wyrdmates, both Godin and I would suggest you google your way toward finding those who share your genius.
For those of you who make it a practice to journal after each installment, you might spend some time looking back at your history of friendship. Who were the friends you had at various stages of your life who shared your wyrd, or who encouraged and accepted it? Have you ever found yourself envious of tribes of people and wish you belonged? (This could be tribes you know, and tribes you've read or heard about in history.) When have you been part of a tribe of wyrdmates, even if only for a short time? Where have you found fellow wyrds? If you haven't found enough of them, where might you look to find them now? If you could form a "Meet Up" group with your wyrds, how would your group spend your time? What would you do for fun?
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So in this final letter, my parting words upon our temporary goodbye (because we’re wyrdmates, I trust our paths will cross again) are these: if you want to track your wyrd, track it with trusted companions, companions on the trek who accept your wyrd, who expect your wyrd, who encourage your wyrd. They may share your wyrd or share portions of your wyrd, or they may not, but if they don’t, it’s critical that they love you for your wyrd, not in spite of your wyrd. They might not be wyrdmates, but wyrd sponsors, or wyrd cheerleaders, and they’re welcome too, if they encourage you to be more You.
It’s been a profound pleasure, to write these love letters for You.
Until we meet again,
love, Jennifer
We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love. |
Being weird adds spice to life. Having weird friends just deepens the flavor. The more you embrace the weird crazy things about you, the more you find your tribe. |
If you’re interested in a more in-depth study of how to bring your wyrd and your genius into more congruence in your vocational life, consider my course Deep Vocation: Restoring Your Soul’s Purpose, Power, and Pleasure. Click here to learn more.