It’s time to become part of the landscape.
I had a group of friends in a previous life who loved to point out the various times I had ‘Newtype’ moments. The title ‘Newtype’ was given to me as an homage to a certain class of pilots in the series Mobile Suit Gundam; these pilots were not just skilled but so emotionally sensitive they could feel changes in the environment and use them to their advantage. Newtypes could connect with people on such a deep level they could alter people’s lives and leave impressions that lingered long after the pilot’s physical presence was gone.
Others refer to me as an ‘Empath.’ I dislike superficial interactions; they drain me. I do not bond through activity nor proximity, but through values and depth. I have learned to be comfortable alone, quietly, with my thoughts; I do not feel the immediate need to fill in the silence when one presents itself. When I have a question, I try to present it simply and depart when it is answered, rather than linger and extend a conversation needlessly – not because I dislike you, but because I respect you have your life to live as well.
I tend to be among the first to notice a change in the room, whether a general energy shift or something specific. I notice changes in relationships, in people’s distance, in performative behavior, in tone, in effort, and more. I am reflective, sometimes pondering a detail or something that wasn’t there to be noticed (and perhaps should have been) after the fact, when I imagine others have long since moved on. I absorb energy regardless of circumstance; sometimes I am filled with the open-hearted curiosity of those yearning to improve, and I am filled with joy, but I can also absorb energy I don’t wish to. It wasn’t intentional, but I was still exposed to it.
I feel a sense of duty to hold my end of the bargain. I promise sparingly but hold those promises dearly until fulfillment. I give of myself genuinely, and I’ve come to understand the type of reciprocity I need is at an emotional, mental, or spiritual depth many are unwilling or unable to match – either at all or for very long. People like me live here in the richness of depth, and over time, we learn being misunderstood is worse than being alone; we slowly, quietly narrow our circles down to the few who understand and are comfortable with depth, at least for us.
In the modern world, people like me are given many labels, most of them perceived as derogatory. We are ‘neurodivergent’ in a world demanding uniformity, and uniformity to what? Uniformity to all the various hierarchies. If you don’t want to consume to feed the profit machine, those who benefit from the machine will do what they can to ostracize you. If you ask too many questions at the wrong church or other group, the powers that be will try to remove you to prevent others from asking questions, threatening the power structure. It goes on and on, but unless you are looking to climb the hierarchy, why should you care?
People like me are not wired for speed, to jump from task to task, constantly pressing buttons or monitoring gauges. People like me are not wired to cram myself in an off-white box and do the same task repeatedly. People like me cannot simply cease listening to the world around us, for we’re not doing it invasively, we’re not perched on a corner trying to listen in where we’re not wanted; our sensitivity to the world around us is as organic as a heartbeat, and trying to cut ourselves off from it causes great anxiety. People like us may enjoy staying home more, but it isn’t because we’re avoidant; it is because we already have plenty of stimulation. We are comfortable moving a little ‘slower’ because what we do is meaningful, full of intention, and often interrupted by whatever is carried on the winds that day. We are receptive, present, reciprocal, and thoughtful, but need to recharge frequently.
People like me feel exhaustion, and it isn’t laziness; it is overexposure to all we’ve attempted and absorbed. The modern world wants you to believe you are expendable and things like pain, exhaustion, and insomnia are domains of the weak, and you merely need to work through them. This view is false and serves only those who already have more than they’ll ever need. There will be times when idle hands are not the answer, where processing and mental rest come through activity, but that’s not at all what I’m discussing here. I’m discussing the idea of forcing everyone to be copies of one another, or be cast out.
There’s an old Buddhist story about an earnest monk who was not as gifted intellectually as his peers. This monk studied diligently, attended talks, tried his best to recite sutras, but could not make the same kind of progress as his fellow students. The staff at the monastery recognized the sincerity of his efforts and, rather than expelling the monk, gave him a broom one day and instructed him to sweep the monastery. The monk did as he was instructed day in and day out for quite some time. Eventually, the abbot, who knew he had not long left to live, went to visit the monk whom he handed the broom to so long ago and asked some deep questions. The monk, who had become a part of the landscape by now, simply raised his broom a little and smiled. The monk had been at this task for so long there was nothing left to overthink, nothing left to analyze. The monk’s hands knew exactly how to hold the broom, how hard to push, for each stone; the monk moved calmly, evenly, never hurried or delayed. In a sense, the monastery swept itself.
I have put myself out there a lot over the years. I’ve led groups, presented pieces live in competitions, been featured in museums and newspapers, developed curricula, helped write legislation, been on the floor of legislative buildings, maintained websites, and much more. Through all of it, one constant remained: anxiety. There has always been an undercurrent of unease because I’ve never been one-hundred-percent doing it for the right reasons. I wanted to be simultaneously part of the landscape, part of the quiet depth, making things run correctly, and receive attention and validation. However, the truth is, I’ve never enjoyed being in the spotlight, no matter how well I’ve handled it.
I’ve read the Bible, the Quran, the Tao Te Ching, the Dhammapada, the Analects of Confucius, the Zhuangzi, and more. I was once akin to a monk in a monastery, excelling at the intellectual side of things; I could recite sutras and connect history to the present day with nuance and insight. Unlike the monk with the broom, it wasn’t a lack of aptitude inevitably crushing me, but a lack of connection. I would develop an understanding of something and want to share, only to find a world more interested in celebrity weddings or other such superficiality.
After spending many lonely years searching for that connection, I’ve come to understand why people like me are quiet and keep to ourselves, why we pick up brooms and become content sweeping monasteries. Intellectual understanding will get you so far, but it is only coupled with experience it truly sinks in, and our experience down here in the depths is already dense. By the time people like me pick up a broom, we’ve already decided who has and who does not have inner access. We’ve already made decisions about which direction we’re going to try to move in, or to stop moving in. We did so quietly, likely with the same soft smile we always have, because instead of fighting to be a part of a world not built for us, we can blend in unnoticed – peaceful.
I cannot begin to tell you how adept I am at being unnoticed. I have entire art galleries devoted to it, back when I resisted it rather than embraced it. I will continue to teach quietly, for those who enjoy the one-on-ones, but I look forward to becoming part of the landscape – something you see but don’t notice. It’s how things have always been. I’m merely done draining myself for those who have neither the interest nor the capacity to recharge me in return, and it feels nice to put that burden down.
I can let go, and if you’re an ’empath’ like me, so can you, because trying to force ourselves to be who we’re not doesn’t create a better version of ourselves; it creates the conditions that lead to breakdowns and all the unhealthy things we see in ourselves and in others we relate to.