Story by Mark
There are no
charities, telethons, or fun runs for the eccentrics of this world. We narcissistically feel like we are a
breed unto ourselves even though – statistically – there must be millions of us
in the world. Growing up eccentric
is an isolating experience and it’s not helped by the language in which we
describe ourselves. Most of our
terms for describing solitary people usually imply some sort of pejorative:
‘alone’, ‘antisocial’, ‘private’.
Even a Greek word for ‘private’ migrated into the English language as
‘idiot’.
So when you
grow up as an eccentric – as I did – it feels like you have no place in a world
filled with the well-adjusted.
It’s not miserable or upsetting, just unsettling and disquieting.
The escape
for most of us is literature, quirky cult classics filled with wordplay and
esoteric ideas. When I was twelve,
I was introduced to The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. The librarian very helpfully tipped me
off to the radio series which inspired the novels, the theme for which was
Journey of the Sorcerer by the Eagles.
It’s not the best song ever written, but it captures the feeling, the
mood, and the joy of being an eccentric.
It opens with the uncertainty and insecurity of the banjo, gathering
strength as it goes, until it unleashes the other instruments in a grandiose
symphony, a sound expanse, a musical map of cosmic enormity.
And if a
banjo – the instrument of choice for hillbillies – can find a place in a song
as grandiloquent as Journey of the Sorcerer, then a twelve year old eccentric
can find a place in the world.
I’m yet to
find that place, but I’m still holding out hope...
Artwork by Karin
Artwork by Karin
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