For as long as I can remember, I didn’t fit—first in my town, then in the capital. Only recently did I conclude: I’m simply rare, and wherever I go I will feel different.
In my very first post I wrote about how our society is built on averages. It has to be. But that also means most people around us are average. I’ll share my view on democracy as a system later; for now—patience, my friends.
Have you ever felt like just an observer of the world? The Big Bang Theory once captured it: Sheldon couldn’t tolerate the historical inaccuracies at a Renaissance Faire, so Leonard advised him to imagine an alien planet where the “Renaissance” was accurate. The workaround pleased him—but the scene struck a deeper chord in me. By configuration, I’m an involuntary observer more than an actor.
Here’s one example that was always somewhat painful. I can build and create almost anything—except one thing: romantic relationships. As a teenager, watching peers dance or head to discos felt alien. People around me dated easily while I was perpetually single. An observer of life.
In hindsight, I’m grateful. Diamonds form under pressure. Had romance felt easy, perhaps I’d be long married (and perhaps long divorced). The vision for a realm of rare outliers might never have crystallized. Pain transmuted into clarity. Sexual energy rerouted into creation. Change one small variable and this blog wouldn’t exist.
If you’re an outlier, you’ve likely felt something similar. I’m drawn to outliers, and they are rare by definition. I can read people. I could mimic a “normie” and probably gain influence quickly—but the cost is high. Pretending drains me. I can do it for a few hours when necessary, then I need silence. On the other hand, when I speak as I am, I often become the center of attention; people lean in for every word. I have many stories like this.
Sometimes it’s refreshing to meet the “normies.” For a while, I can turn my mind down and enjoy the mundane:
- Did you see that ludicrous display last night?
- What was Wenger thinking, sending Walcott on that early?
Because sometimes pretending to belong sounds exactly like this.
I can’t help but quote The IT Crowd. Dating coaches speak of abundance: “There are eight billion people; four billion are women (or men). Buy my program and you’ll be swamped with dates!”
Yes, the world of averages runs on abundance. If you’re an average Joe and you polish the basics, dating should be easy—especially the old‑school way, approaching in person. The bar is so low that standing out often takes just a bit of work.
But then there are outliers like me. I can chat about football for half an hour, but I won’t pretend to live there for life.
There’s a House, M.D. episode: an MIT graduate takes pills that blunt his edge. Without them he’s a brilliant outlier who struggles to find a partner; with them he finds marriage and “normalcy.” In one scene his wife barely recognizes him. The drugs changed the very personality she had fallen in love with.
Yes, dumbing yourself down is an option. But it’s like acknowledging you live inside The Matrix and choosing to stay there. Do you want to be Cypher or Neo? I’ll pick Neo every… single… time.
If you’re an outlier, you probably resonate with much of this. So what to do? I hinted at it earlier. Yes, we are rare and far apart; meeting one another can feel like improbable luck. Yet most of my friends are outliers. Statistically, that shouldn’t happen—and yet it does.
The answer is simple: we aren’t meeting at random. We converge by resonance. “Good vibes” is the folk term. The way we walk, speak, choose, and show up; the events we attend—these things look random, but they aren’t. We gravitate to places where outliers gather. (This is true for “normies,” too: love football and your partner likely will, or at least understand why it matters.)
So I built a way to connect with rare beings like myself. I love scale and optimization—so what’s next? How do I find out what it feels like to live amid abundance of people like us? The realm I’m building aims at exactly that. Instead of hoping to bump into kindred minds at random events, I’m broadcasting—like a transmission tower. If you resonate, you will find me. And others.
The transmission has started. If it reaches you, relay the signal. Once we hold together, a new era can begin—and I’m eager to live it and see it.
