A couple weeks ago, I went out to lunch with my uncle/boss/landlord (it's a whole thing). Because I am a fool, I ordered a sandwich, knowing full well my crooked little puppet mouth would struggle with it. Sure enough, I had to stop eating a quarter of the way through, because the meat was too tough for me to sever between my tongue and top teeth, which is my normal method. My uncle noticed and asked if the food was alright.
"It's good, I just, you know." I gestured to my teeth.
He did not know.
So I explained that my teeth don't meet in the front, which is something I thought was obvious about me. You can see it in my smile: this hanging, partnerless row of jagged, chipped, sawlike upper teeth. I fear it alters my speech and forces me to be deliberate with certain sounds. I worry it juts my upper lip too far out and gives me a dopey look if I don't hold my jaw a specific way.
I stuck my tongue through the gap to demonstrate the lack of slicing action, and explained my tongue method, and my not-in-public alternative of ripping into tough food with my back teeth, like a famished hyena.
"It's because I didn't wear my retainer," I told my uncle. "I got braces earlier than most of my classmates, because my adult teeth were large and came in very fast. At least, that's how I remember it."
I did not tell him about the time I plucked out a handful of teeth to distribute to relatives at our foreign exchange student's swim meet, but the memory did surface.
"I tongued out the retainer in my sleep, so it was difficult to use overnight, and I was teased pretty bad for the speech impediment it gave me at school. After a few months, I couldn't stand it anymore, and stopped wearing it. I was already the weird kid, and in middle school, I was finally starting to realize that wasn't a good thing. I couldn't give the other kids more fodder."
I wish I had written down my uncle's response, because it took me by surprise, and I can only communicate the gist. He praised the experience of living a parallel life, of existing just outside of the beaten track and experiencing the world from an unusual angle. My messy teeth shape a unique set of experiences for me. They change what foods I order in public (sometimes, because as I've previously stated, I am a FOOL who likes SANDWICHES), and they force me to create work-arounds. Maybe my jaw and tongue are stronger for the slack they have to pick up. Maybe my teeth are more ridged and serrated than other folks' because they have to tear instead of cut.
It's a small shift, but a shift indeed, and my uncle found that interesting and meaningful.
I've been thinking about ma vie parallèle ever since, all the little things that remove my experience from the standard human experience, and give me insight into other worlds. I think about my shortness, and my thin thumbs, and my large chest (I mean, I'm telling it like it is, folks. I got titties. They turn seatbelts and button-ups into my worst nemeses). These are small physical differences that minutely change how I interact with the world (step stools or climbing on counters, not being able to repurpose too-large family rings for my creepy aye-aye thumb, looking like a damn table-clothed picnic bench when I wear flowy shirts).
Small, small differences, right? I'm able-bodied (and look like it). I'm right-handed. I'm white in a world that rewards me for it. I'm, ahem, reasonably attractive, creepy thumbs and buck teeth aside. There are worlds upon worlds that I never see. I don't have to look for wheelchair ramps or accessible bathrooms wherever I go. Scissors fit properly in my cuttin' hand. The only time people follow me around stores is when they think I've lost my mommy, because I'm small, acne-prone, and maintain a generally dazed/frightened expression. Sometimes people hit on me... I think.
There are meaningful differences out there, parallel worlds that most of us don't see. There are benefits and drawbacks. There are stories that ought to be told.
And it's not all physical, either. Invisible disabilities create new angles of viewing the world as well. A topic I bring up a lot (because, and there's a theme here, I am a FOOOOOL) is mental health, and how I'm frequently in want of it. My brain does these things that I've learned to laugh at. I've talked a bit about my face-blindness, and how I've developed alternative and sometimes funny means of identifying people, and then there's the anxiety/depression/who-the-heck-knows bucket of mental illness. Like, sometimes my brain goes, "Wow, you better off yourself with this stapler so you never make that mistake again, you vacuous burden on society," and I'm like, "Whoa, my guy, I just forgot to attach a document to my last email, so maybe we leave the stapler out of this."
Sometimes I get overwhelmed and have a panic attack for seemingly no reason. Sometimes I reflexively hit myself for making innocuous mistakes. Sometimes my self-image swings from "I'm pretty sure I'm an actual wizard" to "I'm pretty sure no one would notice if I was replaced by a dummy made out of old gum and chewed up pencils for a week."
I live many parallel lives that, sometimes blessedly and sometimes cursedly, most people rarely see. I take what I experience, and I make it into stories, distributing my slices of the world to different characters, like a musician coping with depressive episodes, or a lesbian overcoming irrational guilt. I research other worlds as well, so I can allow glimpses into wider physical and psychological experiences.
What do your parallel worlds look like? Are you willing to share them? To tell stories about them, so more people can see what you see, and take your perspective into consideration? Because if you have the power to do so (and it is fine if you don't, because you ought to take the best care of yourself that you can), you can spread understanding across multiple worlds. You can unite with people who share your parallel track, and educate those who don't.
In a time when human empathy is in high demand and short supply, I think that sharing your unseen worlds is an important thing to do, if you can. And if you can, I invite you to share your stories with me. I'd love to post some guest entries, or link to your writing (or other media, if that's more your speed).
If you'd like to get in touch with me, you can email me here.
I wish you a year of empathy and kindness, and as always, I'll be here to listen.