Marked

  Everyone knows someone somewhere who seemed different from other people previously encountered.  Someone who seemed to have that little extra twinkle in their eye, perhaps or that little half smirk that would pop out whenever the conversation turned toward a particular subject.  Surly even now you can think of someone that just seems to “get it” when you try to talk about an experience you’ve had but have difficulty articulating.  We may consider these people to be seasoned, knowledgeable, experienced or even wise.  Funny thing is that age, while commonly associated with the wisdom of experience, has little to do with this curious phenomenon.  I tend to think of these people as having been marked by experience. 

  For example, the young woman who grew up in a fairly religious and conservative community who, though always considered to be a good girl, had to reveal that she was pregnant at 17.  Or her family who are so incredibly loving, understanding and giving to others, but in quiet moments have that little hint of something extra glinting in their eye as if to say, “I understand.  I’ve been there.”  These types of people seemed almost more genuine to me than others who were seemingly without flaw.  Certainly I felt more comfortable and trusting of these wonderful people than I would of some plastic someone who had never screwed up before. 

  It has been my personal experience to find this phenomenon very commonly among those who have been divorced.  There is an almost instant kinship between two people who have shared a common experience so emotionally tumultuous.  I remember meeting a particularly talented younger actor who was just concluding his divorce.  I could see instantly that there was something that had changed him from who and what he was before to the man that stood before me.  Though we had never before met, we were able to talk at length about our shared experiences.  He would ask me questions about my experience and offer information about his and vice versa.  We talked for several hours and parted ways as instant friends. 

  I imagine this is the draw of collegiate fraternities across the country.  Perhaps the hazing that is endured by pledges of different houses serves to cement the bond of brotherhood more than anyone but those that have experienced it would understand.  On a larger scale, I feel this is what draws men of the armed forces together over so many differences like race, religion, background, upbringing, social class, etc. and allows them to be brothers even if they didn’t engage in the same fight.  I have witnessed two men with 35 years difference between them realize and instant brotherhood upon learning that the other was also a marine.  They had both served their country, both fought in real combat, both suffered the loss of friends and both been marked by the experience and they saw this in each other.  Once a marine, always a marine. 

  Many different things can mark you.  It can be as simple as first love bitterly lost.  It can be death of someone close to you.  It can be merciless ridicule because of your appearance or because you are different from others.  I can be that you have witnessed something truly awe inspiring.  It could be that your life as you knew it was shattered and you had to rebuild a new one.  It can be that your expectations were not met.  It could be that your wildest expectations were exceeded.  It could be that you have seen true greatness in people.  It could be that you have seen the face of pure evil.  Having children can mark you.  Having children with a disability can profoundly mark you.  Experiencing the limits of human experience, good or bad, can and will change you and it leaves a mark on your life and your experience and you are no longer unblemished.  I would describe it almost as a loss of innocence, but it’s so very much more than that.  It’s almost like an awakening of understanding; like a change in the way that you think and reason.

  Now, I have always been a fan of things that have character.  A book well-worn with use and time is far more appealing to me than a brand new book with the spine never having been cracked.  So too with furniture: like the bookcase that has a gouge where a child hit it with a toy in a moment of frustration.  Or the art that has perhaps one or two brush strokes that seem like they shouldn’t be there.  Some would look on these things and consider them flaws, impurities or imperfections… I consider these things to be the character of time well spent and a life well served.  This is also true of people. 

  The battle weary with their thousand-yard stare burning through the unseeing distance may seem broken when looked on by the untrained eye, but these are the good ones.  Those who have been battered and beaten by the tidal currents of life’s ebb and flow are the real people.  Those who have been touched by the heat of the refiner’s fire and are changed by it are the genuine article.  These are the salt of the earth.  After all, it’s our imperfections that make us unique and truly make us great.  Life was not meant to be put on display under glass.  It was meant to be lived, dirty, messy, painful, horrible, wonderful, amazing, loving and brutal, it was meant to be experienced in order to change us.  

  That’s life, what can I tell you.