I’ve never considered myself much of a Joiner. You know – member of this society, chairman of this committee, blah blah blah.
At least, by temperament.
In actuality, I have joined quite a few things in my life – and one way or the other usually seem to wind up in charge, or at least, responsible.
So I either have a huge case of Denial or the Universe has a perverse sense of humor.
Or maybe I really am a joiner and just can’t bring myself around to that fact.
Being a joiner isn’t a bad thing, in and of itself.
I think my reluctance to be a joiner stems from my extreme dislike of bandwagon jumpers. You might know them as Dallas Cowboy or Miami Dolphins fans from the seventies, Bruce Springsteen fans from the eighties, Nebraska fans of the nineties, or Patriots / Bosox fans today (alternate reading: Mass-holes).
Being a joiner (at least to my mind) meant that I had to own all the baggage of whatever group I was joining – fraternity, church, team, choir, family – and I tended to miss the real advantages that group membership could bring. As they say, Membership has it’s privileges.
I’m still really ambivalent about commiting to a new group, even today. Not because of fear, but because I cannot say no… and tend to get myself overcommitted, over-churched, or simply overwhelmed.
I’ve gotten much better in my old age. My “no” really means no, and my “yeses” are made with more enthusiasm and optimism for what the new opportunity will bring.
But just don’t call me a joiner. Because I’m not.
Logorrhea 