Finding My Tribe

I’m lousy at small talk. Ever since I was a child, I’ve hovered along the edges of social gatherings, fearful of stepping forward to join people who have formed conversation circles, unsure what I might say, worried I would be unwelcomed.

So, I was labeled by some as “socially awkward.” Closer to the mark would be those who’d say, “That Sally, she’s always so serious.”

I’ve come to realize that they’re right about me. I do take even incidental, seemingly trivial matters seriously. Simmering in my core has always been an edginess. a sense of uneasiness about this ugly, beautiful, confounding world we live in. I’m driven to ask questions of myself and others, not necessarily to seek answers, but to try to zero in on what we should be asking. Is it any wonder that I’m quickly labeled as “too serious” by those made to feel uncomfortable by my questions?

That’s why, for so much of my life, I’ve felt like the oddball out. I went through periods when I’d try so hard to fit in, that I’d exhaust much of my energy twisting myself like a pretzel. I’d avoid making waves by not talking about the things that matter the most to me. And I’d laugh at jokes that I didn’t find funny. The more sociable I tried to be, the more awkward I became.

Not that I don’t relish laughter – at least laughs that are shared in camaraderie, with no one needing to be the brunt of the joke. And yes, I’m interested in hearing where a great new thrift store is, or how to make a friend’s signature butternut squash soup, or especially about a puppy’s antics. But those lighthearted moments are gum drops, when I hunger for a full meal – conversations, experiences, and writing projects that dig deep and demand thoughtful responses that don’t come easily. When I don’t have that level of stimuli, I become quickly bored. Or worse, I lose that inner spark that defines who I am, causing me to question why I am.

Then, in recent years, I stopped trying to fit in, and little by little, I discovered how many people there are like me. They have also been deemed “too serious” by most who’ve met them. But it’s in a way that shows how much they care about others they may never know, about the consequences of even small actions, about somehow leaving this world a better place than they found it.

Inevitably they’re people who love books that make them think, pushing them beyond their comfort zone. I run into them in rare book libraries like The Rosenbach in Philadelphia or The Grolier Club in New York. I’ve seen them in museums, where they sit contemplating a single painting, while others rush about accumulating iPhotos of the most famous works in the exhibit. And sometimes, I’ve been lucky enough to engage with an individual in long explorations of ideas, creating syntheses neither of us would have come to on our own.

But it was at The Authors Guild Foundation’s WIT Literary Festival that I found my tribe – an entire conference filled with people like me. No wonder: WIT stands for words, ideas and thinkers. Its entire purpose is to challenge our preconceptions, to push us beyond our comfort zone, and get us talking and questioning and doing.

From Ralph, the volunteer parking lot greeter, to anybody I happen to sit next to in the audience or during a lunch break, on up to the on-stage speakers, everyone WIT is there to engage in all seriousness – and joy -- with questions that haunt us all.

The program (curated by the AGF’s Bernard Schwartz) is a series of on-stage conversations among accomplished authors, playwrights and other creatives whose works have made waves. As Rachel Maddow said at last year’s WIT, “Dramatists and writers and artists pry our line of sight off our feet to put it back up on the horizon so we can see further ahead so we can make broader and better decisions.”

The theme for this year’s WIT was The Power of Words: Authors & Activism, with session topics that included: “To make inroads on the vast terrain of what cannot be said,” “The future is not preordained,” and “Listening is a form of activism.” As usual, the speakers were all knowledgeable and intriguing. And the breaks between program events were long enough for the audience to become engrossed in conversations that took the on-stage topics in new directions.

As usual, this year’s WIT (my third) ignited my mind with new perspectives. The first thing I did when I got home was plow right back into my novel-in-progress with renewed faith in the questions it asks and the challenges it poses. As I edited the manuscript, I realized that the creative verve I share with the people of WIT and all the ideas and potentialities that we generate as we build on one another’s energy is what I needed back when I thought I was the odd girl out with little to say that others could want to hear.

There are probably more people like me than I imagined – people driven by questions and a sense that the human race needs to keep pushing forward, do better… And our numbers are growing.

I feel like I’ve blossomed at WIT, becoming the social creature I always wanted to be, because I’m no longer an ugly duckling in the wrong pond. In fact, WIT has taught me that there are probably more people like me than I imagined – people driven by questions and a sense that the human race needs to keep pushing forward, do better. What’s more, with the current sociopolitical climate, our numbers are growing. We just need to find each other despite the noise of a world going crazy.

That’s why I’ve finally initiated this Substack, which has been sitting waiting for me for some time. I hope it will be a launching pad for ongoing conversations with you and other members of our tribe. Over the next few months, among the various essays I’ll be posting will be ones inspired by my experiences at this year’s WIT, and I’ll include links to videos of the on-stage conversations when they’re available. In addition, I’ll post my video podcasts in which I interview writers, doers and thinkers. The name I’ve given this Substack is the one that I’ve been using for my blog and podcast: What If? Why Not? How? because I believe that the kind of questions we ask define who we are and the shape of world we’re driven to activate.

I look forward to hearing your questions and continuing the conversation with you. Thank you, Sally

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