The Underdogs that Don't Win the Game
In the last few months, I have been faced with multiple instances where the archetype of rising above your circumstances and creating a great life despite your challenges has been presented and championed as the archetype that we should all emulate when the whole world seems against you. That, in fact, anything less than complete victory in the face of undaunted adversity is considered to be a complete failure of a lazy and incompetent soul. It's dramatic language, but so is the story of the underdog.
I wrote previously about that appointment with my nice doctor and how he asked me about why and how I do the things that I do. I think that I am so genuinely shocked that someone besides my therapist would be interested in what goes in my head and life that I latched onto that and probably said way more than I anticipated. It's as if he was the old and wise senior and I was the stunted and repressed freshman that completely lost my mind that someone so "cool," would want to talk to me about me...of all friggin' people. So, of the haze of deeply personal shit that I said to this stranger, one of the things was, "It's been a really hard life in some ways."
That is true. I never remember a time in my life where I've completely exhaled. And not in that Whitney Houston way that makes you wanna say, "shoop," or whatever the hell...but in a way that allowed me to be completely certain that things were going to work out. That I could be sure that it would be okay in some capacity. Part of that is my own diagnosed anxiety, but part of that is the huge reminder that there are no safety nets for some people and it is scary as fuck. It is scary, especially, when skating on the edge for the whole of life. That to exhale would mean that I could acknowledge that this would be the end of the legitimate difficulty. And that just isn't true.
There are a bevy of platitudes about it never getting easier, but people just getting better and dealing with the struggle. Agreed. There are some facets of life that will never get better. The first, and probably the scariest and least spoken about, is your own mortality and the inevitability of it. The second, and probably the most talked about with little impact, is that we cannot change other people if they do not accept change. So, you just improve and recover to deal with these two things and you champion your ability to do so. Some people write redemptive stories and missives about those experiences where they drove off into the sunset in a convertible of good feelings and confidence. Good for them. Seriously. And truthfully, part of my own story is here.
But actual underdogs rarely have the bow tied so nicely, do they?
I was writing to someone about how the story of the underdog is so grossly over-exaggerated that it becomes comical. That for every story of adversity that is overcome by someone without the means to do so, there are a hundred (he elaborated it to be a thousand) other stories of a person in the same situation that, in the eyes of the bystander, failed miserably at overcoming their situation. And why? If the answer was easy, those stories wouldn't exist anymore. But, as I mentioned before, people will throw those stories into the reject bin: a clear product of lack of will or effort.
In the last fifteen months, I have seen more of rural Ohio than I ever thought I would. Some parts are beautiful rural suburbs of bigger cities where wealthy professionals can afford to build a quaint feeling of seclusion without missing any of the luxuries of urban development and opportunity. They don't have to actually live in downtown Cleveland work there, spend their money there, revitalize anything other than their own sense of community in Medina or Wellington. They can have it all, without feeling threatened by the things that we associate with urban living. Money affords that. Money fuels that. And let's face it, the underdog rarely has it.
Wellington and Medina are beautiful, but there are plenty of rural suburbs that aren't. They are remnants of manufacturing towns without factories. Populations without identity beyond a history steeped in working at the local (insert cancer-causing business here) and making a decent living from the never-ending servitude of said business. When the element of support is gone (the safety net), people don't always evolve easily past the lack of stability overnight. The money isn't available for revitalization. Then comes crime. Then comes apathy. But, if the underdog would just overcome that slew of completely devastating, paradigm-shifting occurrences quickly...we could champion them, right?
Much like the diet pills that we see on television, the tiny disclaimer applies here, "Results are not typical."
When I was speaking with the person above about the underdog narrative, I expressed that if a methodology or drug worked one time out of one-thousand, would we consider it successful and marketable? Fuck no, we wouldn't. But that doesn't mean that would call it a complete failure, either. The idea is to keep working to find the way that can reach the most people, while embracing the success of what has worked in the past. To champion the underdog, but to acknowledge that the results aren't typical. In this world of polarizing and polarized theories, the world is really a both-and.
I wrote previously about that appointment with my nice doctor and how he asked me about why and how I do the things that I do. I think that I am so genuinely shocked that someone besides my therapist would be interested in what goes in my head and life that I latched onto that and probably said way more than I anticipated. It's as if he was the old and wise senior and I was the stunted and repressed freshman that completely lost my mind that someone so "cool," would want to talk to me about me...of all friggin' people. So, of the haze of deeply personal shit that I said to this stranger, one of the things was, "It's been a really hard life in some ways."
That is true. I never remember a time in my life where I've completely exhaled. And not in that Whitney Houston way that makes you wanna say, "shoop," or whatever the hell...but in a way that allowed me to be completely certain that things were going to work out. That I could be sure that it would be okay in some capacity. Part of that is my own diagnosed anxiety, but part of that is the huge reminder that there are no safety nets for some people and it is scary as fuck. It is scary, especially, when skating on the edge for the whole of life. That to exhale would mean that I could acknowledge that this would be the end of the legitimate difficulty. And that just isn't true.
There are a bevy of platitudes about it never getting easier, but people just getting better and dealing with the struggle. Agreed. There are some facets of life that will never get better. The first, and probably the scariest and least spoken about, is your own mortality and the inevitability of it. The second, and probably the most talked about with little impact, is that we cannot change other people if they do not accept change. So, you just improve and recover to deal with these two things and you champion your ability to do so. Some people write redemptive stories and missives about those experiences where they drove off into the sunset in a convertible of good feelings and confidence. Good for them. Seriously. And truthfully, part of my own story is here.
But actual underdogs rarely have the bow tied so nicely, do they?
I was writing to someone about how the story of the underdog is so grossly over-exaggerated that it becomes comical. That for every story of adversity that is overcome by someone without the means to do so, there are a hundred (he elaborated it to be a thousand) other stories of a person in the same situation that, in the eyes of the bystander, failed miserably at overcoming their situation. And why? If the answer was easy, those stories wouldn't exist anymore. But, as I mentioned before, people will throw those stories into the reject bin: a clear product of lack of will or effort.
In the last fifteen months, I have seen more of rural Ohio than I ever thought I would. Some parts are beautiful rural suburbs of bigger cities where wealthy professionals can afford to build a quaint feeling of seclusion without missing any of the luxuries of urban development and opportunity. They don't have to actually live in downtown Cleveland work there, spend their money there, revitalize anything other than their own sense of community in Medina or Wellington. They can have it all, without feeling threatened by the things that we associate with urban living. Money affords that. Money fuels that. And let's face it, the underdog rarely has it.
Wellington and Medina are beautiful, but there are plenty of rural suburbs that aren't. They are remnants of manufacturing towns without factories. Populations without identity beyond a history steeped in working at the local (insert cancer-causing business here) and making a decent living from the never-ending servitude of said business. When the element of support is gone (the safety net), people don't always evolve easily past the lack of stability overnight. The money isn't available for revitalization. Then comes crime. Then comes apathy. But, if the underdog would just overcome that slew of completely devastating, paradigm-shifting occurrences quickly...we could champion them, right?Much like the diet pills that we see on television, the tiny disclaimer applies here, "Results are not typical."
When I was speaking with the person above about the underdog narrative, I expressed that if a methodology or drug worked one time out of one-thousand, would we consider it successful and marketable? Fuck no, we wouldn't. But that doesn't mean that would call it a complete failure, either. The idea is to keep working to find the way that can reach the most people, while embracing the success of what has worked in the past. To champion the underdog, but to acknowledge that the results aren't typical. In this world of polarizing and polarized theories, the world is really a both-and.
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