Find the fulcrum

A practice of understanding

Cross-posted from Twitter.

This post was written while listening to Coney Island Baby by Lou Reed.

---

Photo: Valeria Lukyanova (@21valerialukyanova)

I love finding things I don't understand: music genres, philosophies, subcultures, or anything that I'm not fond of but others seem to love, even if the fanbase is small and strange. The more others seem to love it but I don't know why, the more curious I become. I think there's beauty in anything; you have to turn it around in your hands enough to catch the light just right, you need to find the angle that makes it effortlessly compelling.

When I stumble upon one of these self-contained worlds, I get this clear image in my mind: I see the outside of a rounded metal structure, maybe a spaceship, maybe a car. It's plastered in metal sheets all around, seamless and cold, and my job is to find the fulcrum—the weak point, the crack, the leverage point, the place where I can stick a crowbar into, give a light tug, and watch the whole thing come apart.

Once it's open, I crawl into that hole and sit inside. I appreciate all the inside jokes I didn't get before. I get to know my new companions and exchange knowing glances with them. A liminal space forms, not unlike the bar in Billy Joel's song Piano Man—nine o'clock on a Saturday, lights are low, strangers are spilling secrets, listen to the music, stay as long as you'd like. We are brought together by pretense, of course, that painting we like or birdwatching hobby we share, but are kept together by witnessing each other. People have cracks and fulcrums too, and we find a way in, a way to understand: why are you here, of all places? How did you end up here, what are you looking for? Am I like you?

When I dip back out of these little worlds, my surroundings are familiar but different—it's like a dial has been turned somewhere far in a back room by a sneaky production assistant, and the room takes on a subtle sepia tint. Or maybe voices now have a bit of reverb, or the objects seem so light they could float away. It's subtle and you can't put a finger on it exactly, but you know you carry it everywhere with you now, you can't turn it off, you can't see the world the same anymore. You "get" something you didn't used to get, and the knowledge sits deep in you, a felt kind, even if you never bring it out. You feel a sense of appreciation and camaraderie for this new thing, for showing you a different way to exist in the world.

The joy in being open to experiences lies in allowing yourself to be changed by something unexpected.

A lot of people have had the experience of not "getting" a music artist until they were older, or they fell in love with someone who listened to them, or some pivotal life event gave them the experience to relate to the music. These shifts from ignorance to understanding can happen naturally as life goes by. But you can make it happen deliberately. You can seek understanding, you can walk towards your disgust, you can find gold in the mud if you're willing to sift about.

But how do you find the fulcrum? How do you go from being an unaware outsider to a co-conspirator? My best answer for this is to find the smallest thing you can relate to. Even if you're overcome with disgust, even if it looks like you don't have a single thing in common with the members of a group. If you spend enough time searching, you'll find it. That tender, human part that would have made you just as susceptible to turning out like them. The same part that maybe makes you already one of them, even if you aren't aware of it yet. Underneath it all, we want similar things. To feel like we belong, to have a purpose, to feel safe. Their involvement is probably fulfilling a need for them that is hard to get elsewhere.

Mukbang streamers eat copious amounts of food alone but find company in their online audience. VTubers find that having a digital avatar allows them to be their authentic self without revealing their real faces. Many ASMR fans struggle with anxiety or insomnia and find the videos calming. Gaming addicts crave a world with clearly defined objectives, a unique purpose, and immediate feedback. It’s not always that deep though. Catchy jingles and cat pictures are just nice, it doesn’t have to be serious! You don't have to participate in any of these to understand what would compel someone to care about them. And once you understand, it's hard not to find the same things endearing.

If you find it hard to relate, then borrow someone else's loving gaze. Listen to what music critics say about an artist, about what separates them from other artists. Find what fans say in the YouTube comments, what emotions are evoked, what the music means to them. If something is popular, don't immediately dismiss it—if anything, you should trust it more, believe you're in for a treat, because if it's enjoyed by that many people, chances are that includes you. I am always suspicious of people who wholeheartedly dismiss pop music because it's for the "masses". It's actually really hard to gain a big audience. You have to resonate with people, not just one or two, but millions around the world, many of whom you will never meet, who stumble upon you independently and decide they care about what you're making.

I don't remember when it was, but at a certain point, I decided to just trust other people. For the most part, they're not faking their interests. They're not faking their feelings. They're not hiding what makes them alive and excited, what gives them the will to go on. Their authenticity may be covered up by fear or social norms, hidden, but never gone, and if you get quiet enough, you can actually hear that they're screaming. They are telling you exactly how they wish to be seen and understood. But you have to be willing to listen, and you have to find the fulcrum.