The New Bohemians

Don't worry, there will be no Edie Brickell.

Yesterday, during a nice, peaceful day without TFOE I spent time discussing religion on an open forum. http://www.oregonlive.com/forums/religion/index.ssf I have spent a fair amount of time on this forum, and it has taught me quite a bit about how religious people think. Anyhoo, it got me into a bit of a spiritual mood and I thought to go for a walk and experience the grandeur of the world. People wear clothing to display their group, their character, their personality and their mood. Modern people are just as tribal in this regard as anyone else, a suburban high school being a perfect example. So I decided to dress to suit my spiritual mood in flowing clothes, a silly hat and bright red socks. As I went to dress up in this outfit I found myself second guessing myself, worrying that I would look silly.
Silly is exactly what I looked like as I went for a walk in my neighborhood, a neighborhood that has transformed dramatically in the past few years. There are cookie-cutter new houses, identical in shape, in drab rows between the collection of older houses in their myriad shapes colors and states of repair. The house values in the area have doubled, the race mixture has moved towards white, the economic class has risen, and the homeless have been replaced by mothers with children. With one exception on my walk not a person met my eyes. I was indeed thought of as weird, strange, and as such was not necessarily shunned, but avoided.
The exception, a middle-aged man in his crumbling house on a quadruple lot, decorated with self-made art and with an american flag upside down over his front door. He took one look at me, smiled and wished me a good day. I suppose he instantly recognised me as one of his tribe, one who didn't conform to general society (but I suppose we conformed enough with each other to see it.) It was good for both of us in this changing environment to see a little resistance, a little strangeness, a little courage.
Because courage is what it takes for me to be like this. To choose how I wish to look rather than to look the way that is easiest. The United States taught me not to fear people, to have courage in myself, to be who I wanted to be. The country is about personal freedom, to choose for ourselves what we want. This seems basic, but it is a relatively recent concept in history and one that is always under attack. Social pressure to conform is inherent in humanity, and so is the desire to be free.
Portland taught me, through a group of people who were once my friends, the value of silliness. Silliness is the act of enjoying being different, enjoying being free. This group of friends delighted in constructing grand schemes, racing chariots, building a dome for a single party, shooting roman candles on a beach, burning political figures in effigy, dressing up in bizarre outfits. They delighted in being free, being silly, being noticeably different. There's a lot of that about in Portland, one of the qualities I like best about the place.
This concept is not new. The early punks in London did not have a uniform, they were anti-uniform. The instantly recognizable clothing, accent, art and attitude of what is today called "punk" is the opposite of what the origins of the movement were about. The original hippies wore clothing that they liked, they grew their hair to NOT fit in. They were about finding a different way, thinking for themselves, being better than the past. The modern tribe of hippies will dress the same, listen to the same music, all smoke pot, and all state the same philosophy to which they adhere with remarkable ill effect. The flappers were the same, the romantics of the 18th century in England, the drunken taoist sages of a thousand years ago were no different. These are the Bohemians, those who love art, beauty, independent thought. Those who want to milk life for its emotion and passion. Those unafraid to risk censure.
Those friends are no longer my friends because at a traditional trip to the coast (originally to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day) I called them boring. I called them boring because they were watching tv (in three seperate rooms). Because they didn't discuss, act, argue, create, do. They were in every way not silly. They were passive. Since then this group has shunned me. I am no longer their friends through their choice. This group of people that I met ten years ago, that delighted in the disturbing of the bland and cowardly now cannot tolerate that behavior anymore. Through age, responsibility, fatigue, laziness, and illness, they have entered the word of conformity. They are no longer bohemian. I thoroughly understand the reasons, but I am stubborn and will continue to fight this fight.
This is particularly important to me now, as I make the preparations for moving to Houston. Our realtor has the task of transforming our house to a more conformist image in order for it to sell for more money. Our realtor in Houston is taken aback by my wllingness to live in a neighborhood she would consider, "Not decent." The professional mover who took inventory of our belongings today was an excellent professional, but his aura of disgust for our shabby things and the mess in which we live was palpable. The town to which we will be moving prides itself on its "Traditional family values." It's hard to find a house in Houston that is not part of a neighborhood association, institutionalized social pressure to conform.
I must somehow find a way to be me, and yet not be dragged into the streets and beaten. This is a legitimate worry in my mind.