Invulnerability

   It was a few years ago, and not long after I'd first discovered my calling as a writer (and dealing with all the inevitable pitfalls I'm sure many of you can relate to, from feeling stereotyped as the guy who sits in coffee shops with his laptop to regular existential crises about my future) when I was blessed with the opportunity to try something new that I had no idea would be one of the defining points in my career. This came in the form of an unexpected invitation from one of my old teachers at the local community college who asked me if I could spare the time to come in one day and share some of my early work with his class of freshman. I almost dismissed the idea immediately. Why would anyone be interested in listening to my opinions, after all? I was about to write back to politely decline when, to my surprise, I found myself seriously considering the possibility. Remembering some of the theories I was still struggling to put into words at the time, I decided to take my decision to not go and give it an honest, thorough objective examination. The result was shocking. I wasn't doubting my own ability to say something worthwhile. The real reason was something more humbling than that: I was afraid.

  And so I found myself in front of a large, unruly, dubiously hygienic, and (worst of all) cynical, college students. I've seen pictures of giant spiders, deep sea predators, and roller coasters no sane person would approach, but I know that there's really nothing scarier than an audience. Of course, fear is a negative emotion and therefore something I couldn't let affect me.

   Despite my initial awkwardness and a few embarrassing moments of not being able to read my cue cards, I found myself coming more and more into my element (some basic research about the positive effects of positive emotions on physical health) and even was starting to tentatively make stabs at inserting some light humor into my speech (bonus points for me!) when it happened: I saw fear and negativity rear its ugly head and stare me directly in the face.

  His name was Gerald. I'd finished early and was giving the class time to ask me their questions, not sure what to expect but hoping that I could have made a difference. One or two of them went, and I was pleasantly surprised by awkward, yet sincerely heartfelt and optimistic responses. And then, of course, was Gerald. It didn't escape me that he'd waited until several others went before him. That sort of hate always comes with fear and lack of initiative. All of this was apparent in everything about his body language, his clothing, and his voice as he glared at me and launched into an incoherent rant about everything I'd just told them. The particularly sad thing was that he was now an example of exactly what I'd talked about.

  He finished with a shocking series of profane insults I would never record here, and the entire class sat in shocked silence. I felt attacked. I felt traces of my old fear returning, now mixed with self-pity and the desire to give up. For a single second, I was dangerously close to descending to his level. I almost made some derogatory comment in response, maybe about his appearance, the fact that people like him are what drags our world down, or how he couldn't see that he had given in completely to his own fear. The second before a well crafted insult left my tongue, however, I realized that was exactly what he wanted. He would have loved his negativity to spread. I made myself cool, calm, collected, as they say. "Son." I told him. "I wish you could see how sad this is. Here's someone completely controlled by fear." He went quiet and slunk back into his seat. (Again, notice just how this sort of person never seems to have the courage to stand up against any sort of response. There's a reason for that.)

The lesson I learned was, incidentally, the same one Taylor Swift writes her award-winning songs about. There's hate, and bullies, and the only real response is to ignore them. Wherever there is negativity, you'll find that people seem to do whatever they can to be spiteful, demeaning, or insulting to you. In other words, they do whatever they can to keep you down. Don't let them. No one else has the right to criticize. Don't try to argue with these people. They won't let you win. They'll have a million logical reasons to support their point of view, but the only reason they bother thinking that much about it is because they know they're wrong. Only by ignoring all of this and following your own path completely can you achieve your dream. Whoever you are, you are the epitome of perfection beneath the criticism of those who wish you to feel weak, and you can show them how wrong you are by overcoming anything. No obstacle, from lack of experience to the very laws of physics can stand in the way of someone who truly believes in him or herself. The more someone is oppressed, the stronger their inner power builds. That's why anyone who's in a majority has an inherent disadvantage: they're in the majority. As the Catholics and the martyrs taught us, nothing is stronger than the suffering minority. And only by refusing to compromise or abandon our beliefs in any way can the abomination of bigotry be fought.

Greggory Kutner is a writer and motivational speaker who tries to spread happiness wherever he goes, and hopes to stand for anti-bigotry, anti-racism, and anti-semitism. Bookmark this blog to keep up to date with his thoughts.