A Toast To My Kind
Some people make me realize that I’m not crazy. I call them one of my kind. Kindred spirits that value the same things as me. I don’t interact with these people often, but when I do, I feel like I can breathe a little easier.
That’s why I’m a Trump supporter.
No, I’m not serious. What if that’s where I was going with this? Be with your kind, you degenerates!
To me, Trump supporters are a good example when the one of my kind feeling goes wrong. I don’t think Trump supporters are as racist or as stupid as they’re portrayed. In fact, I think those negative portrayals hurt us from having any progressive conversation. I think Trump supporters suffer from the not on my lawn syndrome. I don’t hate Mexicans, I just don’t want them on my lawn. There’s a fear of the unknown. An inability to welcome people that, at first glance, aren’t one of their kind.
This isn’t what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about the beauty of finding people like you. I wasn’t even intending to talk about race. Because for me, the one of my kind feeling isn’t reserved for people that look like me or even my friends and family. They’re just people that I click well with.
But maybe it’s healthier to talk about the pitfalls of this feeling. I like to open up to people that I feel safe around — but maybe that’s where things get dangerous. When we only keep like-minded people around us — then all of our thoughts are reinforced, even the flawed ones.
So yes, it is a relief to find your kind.
But maybe the world runs a little better when we start to open up to people that we don’t immediately click with. Maybe the click test is just as bad as the first glance test.
I’m sure it takes some patience and an unraveling of layers, but maybe I’m not too different from a Trump supporter. Maybe they are one of my kind. Maybe we’re all one of the same kind.
Or maybe, just maybe, everyone can get the fuck off my lawn after all.