YOUR TRIBE: HAVE YOU FOUND IT, OR STILL LOOKING

Your tribe is waiting and it’s accepting memberships, if that’s the sort of tribe that appeals to you.

Or maybe you’re more of a “Membership? We don’t need no stinking membership” sort of person.

Either way, the yearning for connection, human connections, isn’t going away.

But which tribe is your tribe? A few clues:

If you attended any school, you have class pictures. In case you lost them, classmates have the same pictures.

From first grade through high school graduation, you had a new tribe each year. It’s actually the same tribe with new members.

The same goes for team sports. Are you in a few shots? That was your tribe. Some last a lifetime.

A Sports Tribe

The high school wrestling team was a tribe I aspired to. It was comfortable and tough at the same time.

Last week I changed my mind after reading an essay by one of my favorites. He was a favorite because he used some of the same moves that worked for me.

Lincoln McIlravy felt bad, felt left out, because he wasn’t in The Club. For an Iowa wrestler, belonging to The Club meant being a four time national champion, a world champion, and an Olympic champ.

Unfortunately, Mr. McIlravy was only a three time nation champ in college, a World Championship silver medalist, and a bronze medal Olympian.

And he’s sad?

In my one-man club the bar is set a little lower: one high school district championship, one state Greco championship, and third in the Junior National Greco tournament.

Am I sad that my own kid eclipsed my record with two district titles and two state championships? Nope. He’s got his own sports tribe and I’m not in it.

His is basketball.

He and his brother played in rec leagues all through college and 24Hour Fitness and city leagues for years.

Some of the same guys from their college years played at the gym. I got to watch. From a distance because who wants their old man hanging around?

Now I’m tribeless after the McIlravy piece? Figures.

A Runner’s Tribe

I moved to Portland in 1979 and signed up for road races, sometimes running without signing up. There’s a name for those guys. It’s not a nice name.

Renegade?

From 10K, 15K, half marathon, a full marathon, and Hood to Coast, I ran. Anyone I spent much time with got running shoes and ran too. Up and down the hills of NW Portland, Forest Park trails, and up Terwilliger Blvd we motored along.

I could run a mile under six minutes, right around 5:59 by my watch. My goal was to finish around the same time as people who looked like runners, not beginners.

It was a good time from the St. Paddy’s Day run, the Cascade Runoff, and Rose Festival Run.

I peaked at 42 minutes for a 10K, 60 for a 15K, and a 3:32 marathon. Then I got fat and happy and married.

My kids weren’t runners, and even made fun of the idea of running. They were real athletes. As grown men they’re starting to see the value while I hobble around on a dodgy hip.

A Writers’ Tribe

My sports tribe is limited to being a Dallas Cowboy fan, a disgruntled Cowboy fan. My only consolation is my Roger Staubach autographed picture to his best friend David. That’s not how he signed it, just how I read it.

I cultivate my writers’ tribe on twitter, though they don’t know it. I read posts from bloggers, then check their blog, their ABOUT page. After that I know we’re not seeking the same goals. Which means we’re not in the same tribe.

My writer tribe goals are to get something done every day for the short term, spend time on a long term project, and be patient.

With a byline in opinion columns for The Oregonian, Portland Tribune, and Tigard Times, as well as Oregon History News, Coping With Cancer, and a mention in The NY Times, I keep grinding away.

As with the sports tribes, I’m not in a writers’ tribe either. However, all is not lost.

My Tribal Role Model

I got married on the single partner program. The wife and I talked about it.

Wife: If I die first I want you to get remarried.

Me: Why would I do that?

Wife: I don’t want to be lonely.

Me: Did I seem lonely before we got married?

She wasn’t lonely either. Since then she’s gathered an even bigger tribe of friends. A great wife, she’s an even a better friend to her girlfriends.

From grade school to junior high, high school, college, and medical school, she’s made lifetime connections. The women in her life are a joy. Smart, accomplished, and sharing, they are a role model group.

I’m lucky to be a part of it, a small part, the smallest. And it’s enough. I’m not one of the girls, the girlfriends, not the man trying to show he belongs.

If I had a tribe it would be populated by radioactive personalities no normal person could be around. My super power is being worse than them.

Eventually someone is going up in smoke. My wife says I have no friends. I counter with a mature, “Do too.”

Here’s the problem with joining a tribe: there are requirements I don’t abide by.

I’m not joining your church, listening politely while you explain how the Republican Party makes America great again. Or an opinion on why masks are an infringement on personal rights, a man’s view on pro-life, and the sacred duty of the 2nd Amendment to lock and load and get strapped.

In the meantime I’ll work on being more accepting and open to new ideas. Is that your tribe goal, too?