People are funhouse mirrors, and I have a pink umbrella. Before you decide that I have most assuredly fallen off the turnip truck, doing irreparable damage to my higher brain functions, listen.It was raining last Tuesday, a vile pissing that soaked a body to the bone like an invading arm. It was during this unpleasant time that I, unfortunately, found myself having to walk quite a distance in this torrent to get to my class on the other side of campus.

I sat for a while debating just how badly I really needed to go to class. Upon deciding that missing class might contribute to an extension of my stay at this institute of higher learning, I felt sufficiently motivated to go to my 9:20.

I dressed and proceeded to my car, wishing that I did not have to walk in the rain. Then I remembered. I had an umbrella in my car.

Let me tell you about my poor umbrella. I don’t know where it came from (probably my mother), and it is not what I would consider part of my regular collection of accessories. It’s pink, which just isn’t my color. It’s old and beat up, the tip is missing, the shaft is bent and it has all kinds of interesting dark stains on it.

Any of these individual problems might have been enough to encourage a body to purchase a new umbrella. Yet necessity is the mother of invention, which is a first cousin to embarrassment.

Needless to say, I was not pleased at having to carry around a pink umbrella.

Just take a moment to think what people might assume about a 20-something man walking around with a rosy umbrella.

It is not a pleasant thought. Yet, being no great fan of pneumonia, I decided to swallow my pride and erect a fortress of my dignity, and proceed to march across the deluged campus.

I smiled and tried to pretend that this had been my idea all along, that it was a joke, or that I perhaps had lost a bet.

No one really seemed to notice though. They were all cowering under their umbrellas trying not to step in a puddle that was deep enough to support a small population of carp, which would undoubtedly wish to snack upon the unwary traveler.

I trudged up the road, and encountered a scene of odd (perhaps unintentional) conformity.

Marching in the opposite direction were six or eight people carrying what appeared to be identical black umbrellas. I quickly recognized the irony and truth of this vision, while wondering where the funeral was being held.

My pink associate and I waded into this sea of black umbrellas, passing relatively unnoticed. Then I understood – no one really cared about my pink umbrella and me.

That, perhaps, is the truth about life – everybody thinks they have a pink umbrella, but most people only notice the sea of black all around. Most people are so worried that someone will point out their pink umbrella -be it bad clothes, yellow teeth, a weird laugh, funny accent or whatever your chief insecurity might entail. Yet, the truth is, if someone notices something about you, it’s probably something they find or fear in themselves.

It’s no secret that we are attracted to those we find similar, and distance ourselves from those we perceive to have attitudes that are opposite of our own. Yet, people are quite similar in many ways that they do not recognize. We all want the same things (love, food, shelter, acceptance) and have the same fears (death, rejection).

People aren’t so different, and that’s why we are all like funhouse mirrors. We see others as reflections of our dreams, hopes, fears, desires, and fair or not, we see others as we see ourselves: comparing, contrasting, testing to see if what we see is what we believe, and if in fact we “measure up.”

And just like funhouse mirrors, we don’t see the truth, nor do we show the whole truth about ourselves. The movements are the same, the shapes, something similar in the reflection, but somehow ultimately different.

Everyone we meet is a distortion of our view of ourselves, be it right or wrong. The world’s population, regardless of the actions of its inhabitants, is egocentric. Now before we get high and mighty and discuss altruism and sacrifice, try thinking of the world without yourself as the center.

Most people view life like the Truman Show. The world is here for us, and other people don’t really exist when we are not around.

Do we ever think of the person driving down the road in the car next to us as someone’s child or parent, someone’s friend or sibling?

No, we don’t because we aren’t trained to and I’m not too sure we’re built to think that way.

Do we see those of different races and cultures as people just like us, all different, but all commonly human, equally justified in expecting treatment no better or worse than anyone else?

Do we see those of different genders and sexual orientations in terms other than labels? Are they not more than just male or female, straight or gay? Are they not just people like us?

Many people will jump on me for not celebrating the differences in the world’s population. People are different, congratulations on stating the obvious.

It is no stretch of the imagination for me to look at another person and see that they are not me, to notice that we are different.

Rather, it is a much harder task to find commonality, why we are not so different. To celebrate our differences is not to deny our commonality, however, our commonality should not make us into a faceless mask.

By finding similarity, we find our humanity, and in our humanity, we may celebrate our uniqueness. For even though we are different in many wonderful (and sometimes not-so-wonderful) ways, we are all funhouse mirrors, carrying pink umbrellas.

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