F.O.N.F.I.

It is powerful and persuasive – the Fear Of Not Fitting In. A relative of FOMO (the Fear Of Missing Out), FONFI motivates us in ways that we often fail to recognize. It is typified by behaviors of the young but not restricted to any particular phase of life. It can be obvious, especially in hindsight; my life path is littered with decisions and situations large and small when I said, did, or skipped saying or doing something because of my fear of not fitting in. I can smile at most of those sillinesses now, even if that smile is connected to painful memories and experiences. Tears, however, are more appropriate for certain circumstances. Selective amnesia offers welcome balm for the wounds incurred in life from wearing shoes that do not match the contours of the metaphorical feet we work to shove inside.

What though of the innate desire to belong? Surely there is nothing wrong with that. Have we become so individualistic that any pull to participate must be recognized, rebuffed, or expunged?

Not at all. Because the drive to fit in, to be part of something more than ourselves, is not the problem. Instead, it is the fear of isolation that is the culprit, the trepidation or terror associated with separation and distinctness that can cloud our judgment or fog our focus and decision-making. It is the running from rather than to which is problematic, the avoidance, for its own sake, of separation versus the embrace of the liberty granted to most of us to choose, as individuals with free will and autonomy, the affiliations we make, the directions we take, and the groups or traditions we join.

What I do not imply: individualism is supreme. What I intend: we each have accountability for what we say, how we act, and which causes we commit to.

What this is not: an indictment of FONFI and its excesses. What this is: a celebration of the human capacity to collaborate and the courage required to do so.

When I began this post, I intended to relay some stories from my past, examples of FONFI manifesting in my own journey. Some, like the time I joined the college football team as a barefoot kicker, are amusing. Others, such as my initial career choice of surgeon, are more substantive. I could probably fill many pages with memories of my own FONFI moments and escapades, selections from the various chapters of my timeline, recent and remote. Yet I know, as I type these words, that is not why I chose this topic to write about. There is something else that needs to be said – if only I can overcome my hesitancy to say it. I am, you see, reluctant to share too much of myself, lest the external world, contemporary or future, judge me unkindly for it. What if you misunderstand me? What if you misinterpret my intent? I am, simply put, fearful of not fitting in.

And yet –

When I kneel each night by my bed, when I relearn what it means to offer thanks to God and the Creator for the blessings of the day that is ending and the one that is yet to be, I do not feel alone. When I find solace and truth in the prayers accumulating on the bedside table, especially the one to St. Joseph the Worker, I do not fret about ostracism or exclusion. Spirituality has slowly unveiled itself to me through readings and experiences that are not specific to one religious denomination. I am learning that memorization and recitation of an invocation within the Christian, Hindu, or Buddhist traditions does not confine me to a label of Christian, Hindu, or Buddhist. Hand mudras or the sign of the Cross are not relinquishments to spiritual norms. They are attempts at connection with humility, with purpose beyond myself, with soul.

I began kneeling each night somewhat furtively. What might my wife say? Would she think that I was re-adopting the Catholic faith that I had left so long ago? Would she wonder if I was seeking to urge or impose that tradition upon her own spiritual framework? One evening, I simply told her. “I started kneeling each night before sleep as a reminder of my good fortune,” I said. “I don’t want you to be surprised or think that I’m trying to do convince you of anything.” She looked at me with slightly widened eyes, making me suspect that she already knew about the practice I had adopted. “Kneel away,” she smiled.

… to work with purity of intention and detachment from self, having death always before my eyes and the account that I must render of time lost, of talents wasted, of good omitted, of vain complacency in success…

Can you identify the tradition for this quote? Does it matter? It is, I believe, a good intention. It helps remind me of a greater flow within the universe, one that my spirit seeks to join, one for which my days might find useful framing from the guiding course of its current. When I release myself to that flow, when I relax inside the gentle embrace of an acceptance so much more than my mind can fathom, I feel that I fit in. I can breathe without chest wall movement. I am fleetingly free of the pains associated with confinement to a single human form.

My fears are washed away.