Welcome to We Are Same, a newsletter where I share personal stories to help foster a sense of connection and community as we navigate this journey called life. Thank you for being here!
Introduction
First, I am a HUGE nerd. More on this later but it’s important to know as we begin this trek together (see what I did there).
I am fortunate to participate in a monthly writing workshop led by phenomenal writer and instructor, Tina Neidlein. Each month we receive two writing prompts to inspire the next month’s piece. Recently, one of the prompts was to write about meeting someone famous. My mind immediately went to the numerous famous actors I’ve met over the years at the annual Planet Comicon Kansas City pop culture convention.
Using the bullet point methodology Tina taught us, I started to line item out the different actors I met with a short blurb about each interaction. But I was struggling with how to pull the disjointed encounters together into a cohesive story. Then one night while watching a documentary on one of my favorite topics, The Last of Us, I heard the phrase that instantly became my anthem. I abandoned the prompt (as is our option) and the following is what emerged from those three simple words.
We Are Same
I recently watched Making of The Last of Us, a behind-the-scenes documentary of HBO’s adaptation of the hit video game.
Merle Dandridge, who plays Marlene in both the game and the show, said something that struck me deeply: “When people talk to me about the game, we are same. We understand each other. We have a shared language.”
She goes on to explain how this connectivity through art bridges the gaps that divide us; how it “helps us have better understanding for someone who doesn’t look or act like us. Who might come from a different culture.” An understanding that she believes will help us overcome “some of these skyscraper-high hurdles in the things that divide us.”
The segment hit me hard, and especially these three words: “We are same.”
She intentionally leaves out “the.” We are not “the same,” but “we are same,” in that we have a shared experience that spans all facets of the human race, has no borders, and no timeline. An experience that is neither geographical nor temporal, and yet it is communal.
It’s encouraging to think about, especially given the political landscape of this election year. I find the future of the United States and the world at large to be tenuous. Being reminded of how we can find connection in such a divisive environment is heartening. Although as The Last of Us demonstrates…humans can suck, especially when humanity is on the line. So, I still have some doubts.
On a micro level, the concept that we have a shared language, helps alleviate me from the feeling of other. There are several languages I don’t speak: girlfriend, wife, parent. In her memoir Maybe You Should Talk to Someone, therapist Lori Gottlieb captured this feeling of other when speaking about a client: “He's out of sync with his peers, and in his own way, in his own grief, he probably feels completely alone.” There are many occasions where I’m out of sync with my peers and I do feel alone, even when surrounded by people I love and who love me. We don’t always share the same language.
But one language I am definitely fluent in is “nerd.” And at Planet Comicon, Kansas City’s annual pop culture convention, nerd is the primary dialect. Shared by the thousands from all over the country who descend upon a Midwestern expo center and find community with each other. Where they feel understood. Where they know, we are same.
For me, one of the biggest draws of the event is the warm and welcoming atmosphere. People don’t just set their differences aside; they forget about them. All that shit gets checked at the door. No one wonders about the socioeconomic status of the guy under the Darth Vader helmet or the political positions of the “Potterhead” dressed up as Hermione Granger. We just look at them in awe of their creative talent and admire their dedication to their fandom.
There is a next-gen level of respect at Comicon. There are no metal detectors, no wands (other than the magic kind), and bags and backpacks go unchecked. Attendees simply show their wristbands, ascend the escalator, and walk onto the show floor. That's an unfathomable level of trust these days and speaks volumes about this community.
And that's what it’s all about: Finding that comic issue you’ve been chasing for years. Coming across an artist’s rendering of one of your favorite superheroes. Meeting the author of a favorite book series or discovering a new one. Underneath all of that is the feeling of community. The feeling of belonging.
As Betsy Webster, a reporter for local news station KCTV5, wrote:
“Some of the avatars milling around would be recognizable to many. Some were more niche, but no matter what the niche, there’s someone else bound to recognize the character and recognize the person underneath as a member of their tribe. That’s a core tenet for (Planet Comicon creator) Chris Jackson. No one should feel like they don’t fit in.”
Jackson has been delivering on that principle for twenty-five years now. In this place that I feel most connected, supported, and known. Even with something as simple as walking into a restroom.
With a pixie/faux-hawk haircut and a wardrobe that would rival the closet of a fifteen-year-old boy, bio breaks in public places can be anxiety-inducing.
But at Planet Comicon, I can walk in panic-free knowing I won’t encounter sideways glances implying the question, “Are you in the right place?” There are times I get told outright that I’m in the wrong bathroom. And when those people take a closer look and realize their mistake, there’s often no apology. Their expression reads more as though I should be apologizing, for confusing and embarrassing them. I don’t have to worry about that here. I mean, I’m standing in line behind a Jawa, a furry dinosaur, and a ninja turtle. Everyone assumes we are all in the correct place.
Whether it’s for a few hours or an entire weekend, you have tens of thousands of new friends. Standing in line waiting for an autograph, you’ll find yourself asking those around you how their Con is going, trading intel on where certain collectibles are located, or discussing why you’re willing to wait hours to meet this particular celebrity. Shopping at a Game of Thrones booth, you may have a friendly debate with a stranger about that last season and your take on how things with Khaleesi played out. (Note: I’m on the “they totally fucked that up” side of that argument.)
You’ll find thousands of people navigating a massive maze of booths and displays that often don’t lend themselves to patterned traffic flow. Constantly bumping into people or being bumped into is inevitable. But the response is never, “Watch it!” It’s the classic Midwestern, “Ope, sorry!” Usually countered by, “No worries!”
Even in this swarming sea of humanity, people pay attention to each other. They see you. I was walking past a booth and the man working it shouted, “Great hair!” When I yelled back, “Thank you!”, he followed up with, “Even better smile!” There’s authenticity here.
These are the reasons why the second weekend in March is one of my favorite times of the year. For a moment I’m surrounded by people who are just happy. We are light and loose, relishing the respite from the chaos and heaviness of the world outside. We are at our best.
When the weekend comes to a close, I leave hoping we will bring this affable and accepting atmosphere with us out into the real world. That we hold on to it and don’t gravitate back towards the things that divide us. That we always remember: we are same.
Thank you for reading!
Absolutely, amazing!! Loved reading this and look forward to reading even more. Keep being you always and let the world see what a fantastic person you are.
A fabulous first post! Im feeling all the sameness. I aspire to be nerdfluent in The Last of Us, and I can't wait to watch the documentary. Thanks for the nudge.