The Land of the Majority
I've never really had to struggle with being an outsider. I grew up in a small, rural town, and while we were "dirt poor" at times, I was surrounded by other lower-middle-class white kids just like me. I was always part of the majority.
A Necessary Move to Idaho
A few months ago, I moved to Idaho for a teaching job. It had been almost four years since I graduated college, and despite a few close calls, I hadn't been able to land a position. When Idaho offered me a job, I packed my meager belongings, left everything I had ever known, and moved to a state I knew nothing about.
What I didn't fully realize was that my new hometown was over 80% Mormon. As an atheist, I honestly didn't care. I believe people are people, and I was ready to move on with my life.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
The Loneliness of Being an Outlier
The people here are incredibly polite—friendly to a fault, but at a distance. They'll offer help during the workday, but they won't invite you over for dinner. From what I've gathered, once they decide you're not part of their community, you're an outsider. For the first time in my life, I'm the one who isn't the "norm." I do have a few non-LDS friends, but we're the outliers here.
Putting My Personal Life on Hold
So, how does this relate to dating? My dating pool doesn't exist. When I said that 80% of the population is Mormon, that wasn't a plea for sympathy; it's a U.S. Census statistic. This move was necessary for my career, and I accept that. But it has also forced me to understand a type of loneliness I never truly appreciated before.
I've been alone for most of the decade since my divorce, so I'm comfortable being by myself. I've had a few relationships, but for the most part, I'm used to being single.
However, living here has made me realize what it's like to be without the opportunity to meet someone. It feels as if I'm advancing my professional life while putting my personal life on hold. After a decade, being alone is starting to feel like a habit, and another year in an environment that only reinforces that feeling absolutely terrifies me.
The Land of the Majority
I've never really had to struggle with being an outsider. I grew up in a small, rural town, and while we were "dirt poor" at times, I was surrounded by other lower-middle-class white kids just like me. I was always part of the majority.
A Necessary Move to Idaho
A few months ago, I moved to Idaho for a teaching job. It had been almost four years since I graduated college, and despite a few close calls, I hadn't been able to land a position. When Idaho offered me a job, I packed my meager belongings, left everything I had ever known, and moved to a state I knew nothing about.
What I didn't fully realize was that my new hometown was over 80% Mormon. As an atheist, I honestly didn't care. I believe people are people, and I was ready to move on with my life.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
The Loneliness of Being an Outlier
The people here are incredibly polite—friendly to a fault, but at a distance. They'll offer help during the workday, but they won't invite you over for dinner. From what I've gathered, once they decide you're not part of their community, you're an outsider. For the first time in my life, I'm the one who isn't the "norm." I do have a few non-LDS friends, but we're the outliers here.
Putting My Personal Life on Hold
So, how does this relate to dating? My dating pool doesn't exist. When I said that 80% of the population is Mormon, that wasn't a plea for sympathy; it's a U.S. Census statistic. This move was necessary for my career, and I accept that. But it has also forced me to understand a type of loneliness I never truly appreciated before.
I've been alone for most of the decade since my divorce, so I'm comfortable being by myself. I've had a few relationships, but for the most part, I'm used to being single.
However, living here has made me realize what it's like to be without the opportunity to meet someone. It feels as if I'm advancing my professional life while putting my personal life on hold. After a decade, being alone is starting to feel like a habit, and another year in an environment that only reinforces that feeling absolutely terrifies me.
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