
It would be nice if, now that I’m in my mid-50s, I could stop worrying about whether or not I’m popular. Sensible people get over this in junior high, average people stop in high school, and only a few truly insecure carry it through to college. Grown-ups, who have jobs and responsibilities and hobbies, rarely let such thoughts cross their minds.
And then there’s me.
One of the most exciting things about this political year is the way outsiders have been welcomed, especially by Democrats. The leading contenders for the nomination are a black man and a woman, both of whom are decidedly wonky in their approach to politics. A Latino man ran a great campaign, and is assumed to be on the short list of possible vice-presidential candidates.
This is exciting, and for reasons far beyond the political (although, if this trend means the war will be over and people can stop getting blown up so frequently, and maybe in this country we can have health insurance, that would be great).
Mostly, I can spend ignore these insecurities that have lingered for decades. When I can’t, I try to use my experience for good. By relating to outsiders, I find common cause with racial, ethnic and other minorities who are not always invited to society’s metaphorical proms.
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