Thoughts of a Hypocritical Conservative

Hi, my name is Avi Woolf. I am a political and religious conservative. I was blessed to be born into a loving family. I’m in a very serious relationship. And I am greatly concerned whenever I read about the many, many people on this earth who didn’t get to have that, who feel detached from a society in which individualism is king and being part of something bigger – a movement, a social group, something – is anathema.

The problem? I’m also a massive hypocrite on this.

Part of it is I’ve never been much of a joiner or found it easy to fit in. In probably 95% of the social groups I’ve tried to become a part of, and this is probably an underestimate, it was always easy to just sort of be there, watching people who more easily made friends or already made friends (soooooo many groups consisted of people who mostly already knew each other). Weirdly enough, some people remember me fondly from those, even though it was often a miserable experience.

Part of it, too, is that I am a naturally introverted person. I’m not antisocial so much as there’s a hard limit to how much I can talk to people, even people close to me, before I feel drained. It’s gotten better over the years, and I enjoy many more things than I used to, but it took me a lot longer to get there than most of my peers. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t deeply resent how naturally it came to them and how hard it was for me.

It hasn’t been much easier when it comes to family or being part of a religious community. It’s not that I don’t care for either, but it’s harder than you think. I just don’t share the belief that “family is family, no matter what” that my parents’ generation and before had. It goes against my basic sense of justice and fairness. You don’t get a permanent pass because you’re blood.

And I don’t have the energy or the strength to fight the sort of institutional and social politics that comes with being an integral part of the community. The people talking about the decline of institutions and organizations tend to elide the reality that such groupings – no matter what kind – have always involved power struggles, abuses, internal politics. All power to the folks who stick it out to make them better. I’m just not up for it.

It’s deeply ironic that it is social media – Facebook, Twitter – where I think I may have found something resembling a community. An ad hoc one, to be sure, driven by algorithms and chance encounters, but a community nonetheless. I can’t help but roll by eyes at people yelling at the abuse one gets on these platforms – which absolutely does exist, including in the form of mass stranger mobs – but who wax nostalgic at small towns and civic institutions which could be just as vicious and hard-hearted at their worst.

It is also on this ad hoc basis that me at my best comes out – fielding requests for referrals, being a shoulder to cry on, giving professional advice, maybe even serving as someone’s inspiration. The power to choose who I can engage with has let me become a better person and find the people who are really interested in me and not those who just happen to be a member in a formal group. Many of those same new tech capabilities so many bemoan today have been a lifesaver for many of us, not just the cause of real pain.

I write all this not to ask for anyone’s sympathy or disgust, though no doubt some readers feel either or both. I say this because I think I’m far from the only one – a guy who doesn’t want to burn it down (or doesn’t really want to burn it down if there were other options), who wants to love and cherish and have fun with friends, but who doesn’t know how and has been burned enough that we often don’t want to try again. Who might need unconventional or new ways of finding purpose and community – including finding the way back to a form of the traditional stuff.

You probably see them where you live. At bars or on a street corner or a lurking member of your Facebook group or gaming circle. Not all of them are good people, but many are. They need a friend that reaches out, not a high-handed, self-righteous lecture about transforming masculinity or bemoaning the fall of civilization and virtue. They need groups – permanent or ad hoc – where they feel welcome and part of something with a minimum of the kind of ugly stuff that’s driven so many people away from what’s good in life.

Do that, and you will have done more to heal American society than a library full of Robert Putnam –like books on Bowling Alone.