One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish...New Fish

Michael Jastremski for openphoto.net

My favorite color is green.  I’ve tried on plenty of other preferences in the past, however, including red, purple, hot pink, and yellow, but never, ever, blue.  Though blue is stunning and probably even higher up on my list than most of the other colors, I’ve never considered it a favorite.  Why?  Because it’s everyone’s favorite. 

OK, so not everyone’s, but it does seem to be a pretty popular pick amongst all the others in the crayon box.  And if a lot of other people like something, I’m realizing I tend to go the other way.  I do this with a lot of things in life, like vanilla ice cream.  I never choose vanilla.  And hamburgers.  I don’t do hamburgers—I always order something else, like a chicken sandwich, a quesadilla, or fettuccine alfredo.  In TV competition series or sporting events, I like to root for the person or team who isn’t the predicted winner, even if that means changing my allegiance halfway through the game.  I also tend to look for Christian nonfiction books that take on an unconventional perspective and oftentimes wind up doing the same in my own writing.  And, growing up, the main characters in films were rarely my favorites.  Even though I liked Annie a lot, I usually opted for someone like Duffy, or Pepper, or Molly to imitate when my sisters and I would reenact the scenes in our upstairs bedrooms, repeating lines like, “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness” a thousand times over and pretending to scrub the hard wood floors (but never actually doing any real work, of course.)  I also cut my hair super-short as a teen when most of the girls were growing theirs out, even though it made my head look even smaller than it already was, and I’d skip over the hits on my new CDs to give the lesser-known titles my attention. 

It could be that I tend to avoid the most obvious picks because, oftentimes, their goodness is a given.  Maybe I extend my loyalties to things outside of the mainstream because I like to sympathize with the underdog, probe for overlooked truths, give the supporting cast members my own kind of support, see variety as the spice of life, and think outside the hamburger bun.   

Maybe so, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s also simply because I like to be different.  When others zig, I like to zag, and most of the time, I'm not even aware I'm doing it.  It’s practically second-nature for me to stray from the most prevalent path.  I wonder if this is because, growing up, I was bombarded with messages like, “dare to be different,” “stand out,” and “normal is boring.”  From picture books and novels to popular quotes, songs, and movie plots—I had the idea pounded into me that being quirky was cool, going against the grain was brave and commendable, and that taking the road less travelled would ensure a happier, more meaningful existence.

It’s why my short-haired, pin-headed self was secretly ecstatic when I was called an “ugly duckling” back in high school by a well-meaning friend.  I acted hurt and offended when she said it, but I was actually glowing on the inside, because I knew how nicely things turned out for the homely bird in the end.  As a matter of fact, anytime anyone suggested I was “different” from my peers, or even weird, I was flattered, because I’d been conditioned to believe that, nine times out of ten, the odd person out became the winner, the star, the hero, the prince or princess, or some other brand of “chosen one” in the end.  Sometimes, I even surreptitiously fished for compliments from the mentors in my life by bemoaning my freakishness.

I realize it’s not always a bad thing to take pleasure in personal idiosyncrasies, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a good thing to make it your aim to stand apart, either.  I don’t have to look back very far to find instances where I’ve automatically clammed up when the dominant members of a get-together got loud, and just as quickly shifted into spunky and obnoxious mode when they started running out of things to say.  And I’ve even begun to question my tendency to harmonize when singing in a group or duet.  Do I do it because it gives the song a fuller effect or because I enjoy hearing my own voice and want it to stand out?  I’d be lying if I didn’t say that, oftentimes, I do it to differentiate myself.

When I think about it, it’s really kind of ironic that I do this, because to harmonize, by definition, is “to be in agreement in action, sense, or feeling” (Dictionary.com).  Harmony suggests convergence, not divergence. 

I’ve noticed how the Bible talks a lot about harmonious living, particularly within the body of Christ.  In the book of Acts, Luke describes the people in the early church as being together and having everything in common (2:44), being one in heart and mind, and sharing everything they owned (4:32).  And in Romans 12:16, Paul instructs the believers to live in harmony with one another, even adding the warning, “Do not be conceited.” 

I think this is a good reminder, because a lot of us can get cocky pretty quickly without even realizing it, including myself.  We take verses about not conforming, being gifted, and shining our light and we mix them together with society’s focus on individualism.  It can be easy to miss that, while we’re not supposed to conform to the pattern of this world (Romans 12:2), we are supposed to be one with other believers (John 17:20-23), while we’ve each been given different gifts and roles to perform (Romans 12:4,6), we need to remember that “we, though many, form one body and each member belongs to all the others” (Romans 12:5), and while we might think we’re the light of the world (Matthew 5:14), 1 John 1:2 says that “anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness.”

Within the Christian culture, there is a really popular visual used to illustrate the concept of adopting a non-conformist lifestyle.  It’s a picture of a school of fish going one direction, and in the middle of the school, there is a single fish—typically a different color than the rest—swimming in the opposite direction.  The message accompanying the image is usually something along the lines of “go against the flow.”  I remember it being used at Bible camp and in other settings to encourage people to resist peer pressure and to set an example at work and school—to shine like stars in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation (Philippians 2:15).

While the image provided a powerful metaphor for me at the time, I feel like, somewhere along the line, I let the message get muddled.  I became like the goldfish with the so-called three-second memory and twisted it to mean that I should swerve out of the mainstream even within Christian fellowship.  And I’m not talking about steering clear of hypocrisy—I’m talking about avoiding association with even the sincerest of believers.  While I’m not sure I actively hated my brother or sister, I most certainly strove to separate myself from them in an effort to be seen as “special”— out there in a league of my own.  I may still have been swimming in a different direction, like the fish in the picture, but the reason for doing so had changed.  It was because I’d gotten off track.

I’m finding more and more that pride usually isn’t very aware of itself.  It isn’t overt—it’s subtle.  You don’t even notice it’s overtaken you until you find yourself lost and lonely, swimming solo in your own little fish bowl.

Fish that swim in schools do so for good reasons, like safety and survival.  A fish of a different color, swimming out of sync with the rest of the group would most definitely stand out, but at the risk of harming the school’s effectiveness, possibly even putting it in danger.

Schooling fish—though many—form something like one body and can move with the fluidity of a single organism, even simultaneously changing directions when need be.  So should it be within the body of Christ.  But how can that happen when people like me get so hung up on displaying their originality?

Speaking of originality, I need to get one thing through my big (albeit little) head:  technically, there is no such thing.  In Ecclesiastes 1:9, Solomon says, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”  And in Exodus 33:16, Moses asks the Lord, “What else [besides Your presence] will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?”  The only thing that makes someone truly “different” from anyone else is the indwelling presence of the Lord, which, coincidentally, is also what unites so many people—or at least it should be.

In all my reflecting in this area, I’ve come to the conclusion that balance is key—that, and keeping a healthy habit of considering the context.  In some cases, it’s good to resist jumping on the bandwagon, but not in all.  When I feel arrogance or baseless rebellion creeping in, I need to keep in mind that the only thing that makes anything I say or do distinct or noteworthy is the presence of the Holy Spirit inside of me.  And when I start to feel lost in a sea of sameness, I need to remember that, while I am a part of a corporate body in Christ, I am also a single part with a special role to play within that body. 

Even at the most basic level, each human being is unique without having to put in any effort.  One need look no further than the palms of their hands to find evidence of this.  Like crystalline snowflakes, no two sets of fingerprints are exactly the same.  The very hairs on our heads are numbered (Matthew 10:30). So when I’m feeling particularly plain, I can tell myself, “Chin up, little snowflake.  You are an individual." 

I just need to remember that I wouldn’t make for a very white Christmas on my own.  It would probably be a blue one…from all the loneliness.  And we all know how I feel about that color.  ;)