On the outside, looking in

It might have been 1988 or ‘89. I can’t quite remember, but it’s Christmas Day and I’m standing in the living room of my best friend. I watch his family as they exchange presents. There is rummaging through the pile, looking for the right gift. There is smiling as it is handed over to the waiting hands. It is received, wide smile, curious eyes. “Oooh, what is it?” Giggling as it is shaken gently, a perimeter check performed on the boundaries of its shape, gauging its weight in the hands before eagerly tearing at the paper.

In response, exclamations of “Your turn…” and the same routine of rummaging and passing is performed, waiting to see the joy in the next persons reaction.

I watch this dance take place, with a deep longing and a resident sadness inside of me. I wonder if I’ll get to guess the weight of a gift in my own hands.

I don’t.

I can’t really remember why I was standing in that living room on that particular Christmas Day, and not in my own. But what I do remember is the sense of deep sadness reminding me again that, really, I don’t belong. I am, once more, on the outside looking in. I stand there, watching happiness unfold, and I am not part of it. I am a fly on the wall. I am the ‘little match boy’, standing on the wrong side of the window.

I’m much older now. I’ve no idea what happened to my friend. We lost touch a long time ago. The last I’d heard, he was suffering from agoraphobia, and never really left the house. It’s a shame, really. He was fun to be around and most of the good memories I hold of my childhood, he is less on the periphery and more in the centre of them.

I wonder how many of us relate to that sense of being on the wrong side of life. Wanting happiness and feeling that it always seems to be just out of grasp. I look back and realise that my childhood, into my teenage years, was filled mostly with trying to be happy, or trying to fit in, or trying in some way to be part of, what C.S. Lewis called, ‘The Inner Ring’. - It’s not that we’re trying to be nosy, or trying to push our way into someone’s importance. I think it’s just that we’re wanting people to enjoy having us around - to want having us in the moment with them.

It would be years before that sense of outside-ness left. But, even now, I feel it at times. Given the right situation, or the right conditions, I can feel it prodding and testing the edges of my sense of security. Looking for a way in. But I’m not the same lanky lad I was back then. I know more now than I did, and I understand how complex life can be, how ‘not like television’ things are, and how ill-equipped parents can be to provide their children with the security they need. Life is not rainbows and unicorns, and sometimes the little match kid never gets to see the inside of the window.

But I did, eventually. I married well. I married into love and being pulled into the centre of someone else’s life.

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Maybe it’s because of those earlier years, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve found myself hating the idea of anyone having to look in from the outside. I know, sometimes, it’s inevitable. It’s unrealistic to think that everyone can be included in everything, all of the time. Maybe, in some way, those earlier feelings of loneliness, as I’ve come to understand it now, have grown in me the desire for community and inclusion. The idea that anyone has to stand on the periphery, when they don’t need to, appalls me and I’m trying to bring them into more of the centre of things. They deserve, as much as anyone, to be part of the conversation.

One of the ways I’ve tried to do this is through the passing on of knowledge. Over the years, especially in photography (although not to the exclusion of other creativity) I’ve recognised those who act as gatekeepers to knowledge. They will often withhold from others, only offering some of it, once they have deemed the other person worthy. Whilst I appreciate they probably do this unknowingly, from a place of their own insecurities, it is still deplorable in my humble opinion.

The sharing of knowledge is one of the kindest acts we can show to someone else. I would even go so far as to say that it is our responsibility to pass knowledge on to others, who would most benefit from it. I have always made it a practice to explain how I make an image, or the kit that I’ve used, or the thought process behind it. Because, believe it or not, this kind of thing helps other people in their own endeavours.

A while ago, I recorded a couple of videos for the Vero platform, taking people through image processing and file management. I share these here, not for applause (I really don’t want it), but because I thought it might be helpful to others who are just starting out.

When we pass knowledge on to others, what we are really doing is heaping honour on them. We are saying that they are just as worthy as we are. We are cheering them on, willing them to grow and improve, and to be part of their journey. We are preferring them above ourselves, and putting ourselves out to see them come good. This is such a thing of value and, underscoring ALL of this, is the message that we want them in the moment with us.

Why would we withhold that from others? Why would we say to others “Sorry, but go find out yourself?” What does it say about us, if we try to indulge our inner Gollum crying ‘my precious’ when we see others could have need of what we have - in some cases, what WE have been given, free of charge.

When it comes to knowledge which builds up, empowers, and champions those around us there should be no-one on the wrong side of the window.

As others stand there, looking on at how good, or proficient, or excellent our creativity is, why not have a little rummage around from the pile of things that you know, pick out a gift which is just for them, and maybe hand it over with a bit of kindness and a smile.

You never know. That one small gift might unlock an entire creative journey for them.

I just want to say thank you for reading this article. It really is appreciated.

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