I’m nursing a cup of cacao this morning, still reeling from drawing Hexagram 56—The Wanderer—for the third day in a row in my oracle casting. Success through smallness. Perseverance brings good fortune to the wanderer. Three days straight. What are the odds? It feels like the universe is drilling this message into me—keep moving, don’t get too entangled. After last night’s outing to the Arizona Quartzsite Yacht Club with Amanda, Zibo, and Bomba, some lingering thoughts about high school days in Singapore, plus a peculiar interaction at a local RV store, I’m starting to see how this wanderer archetype plays out in my social world. Let’s unpack this mess of thoughts.
A Night at the Yacht Club: Noise and No Connection
I got a text from Amanda yesterday to hang at the Yacht Club. It’s been forever since I’ve been to a bar, and last night reminded me why I avoid them. The music—blaring pop or rock with the same dull chords on loop—was just too much. It’s like jamming with a friend years back who loved pop; I’d get bored playing the same three notes over and over. You could autopilot through it, and no one cares. Compare that to jazz or classical—stuff you’d never hear in a bar like this—where every note demands attention. There’s room to explore, to mess up, to feel something.The vibe matched the interactions. Loud, fleeting, repetitive. I watched Amanda and Bomba connect with strangers effortlessly, and I’m just in awe—how do they do it? Me? I’ve got no drive to yell over the noise. Just as I’m easing into a more involved convo, the music or some distraction cuts me off. It’s exhausting. I’d rather be somewhere quiet, exploring ideas, not shouting small talk over a bassline.
Social Bubbles: Nomads, AI, and Staying Silent
Then there’s the crowd. Online, my feeds are full of pro-AI folks geeking out over tech. But last night, among this nomad community, it’s the opposite. Many are fiercely anti-AI, convinced it’s a billionaire scheme to control the underdogs or end civilization. The fear feels almost fanatical, so dug in that even mentioning it risks a heated argument. I cringed at some of the rhetoric. Sure, there are valid worries, but a lot seems rooted in irrational leaps. And it’s not just AI—they’ve got strong takes on the U.S. food system, surveillance, and how America’s an oppressive dictatorship no one notices, claiming it’s better overseas. I’m left wondering: did I step into a bubble, or out of one?This is where The Wanderer’s advice hits. Hold space, but don’t engage unless it’s mindful. I’m just passing through. Why waste energy on debates with no gain? There’s nothing to prove, and a lot to lose by stirring the pot. It’s not about avoiding conflict—it’s about choosing where to invest myself.
Echoes of High School: Silence in Singapore
This disconnect isn’t new. It takes me back to my high school days in Singapore, when I was a bit of a dreamer, hanging with a group who’d skip school to roam downtown. Sometimes other friends joined, and we’d just… hang. But I never knew how to connect with most of them. I’d stay quiet, hearing the same phrases loop with no real substance. It felt like last night at the bar—no real content to latch onto. Back then, I thought I was the problem. Before high school, I mostly kept to myself anyway, since the dynamic was always the same.Except with Joe and Sean. With them, convos were different—engaging, thought-provoking. We’d dive into human psychology, unpacking what drives people to act the way they do. Or we’d get lost in tactics and fighting techniques, debating historical war scenarios like those from the Three Kingdoms period in ancient China. I remember sitting with Sean one afternoon, sketching out battle formations from the Battle of Red Cliffs, arguing over whether Zhuge Liang’s strategies were genius or just lucky. Joe would chime in with how morale and psychological warfare played a bigger role than sheer numbers. Those chats weren’t just talk—they were explorations. They took the time to connect, to challenge each other’s thinking. It wasn’t just idle chatter. Those discussions were a lifeline, a hint I wasn’t broken—just in a mismatch with the usual crowd.
A Shift and a Hard Truth: University to Antarctica
Things changed at the National University of Singapore. There, I found more minds to engage with, more ideas to wrestle with. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt closer to my way of thinking. Still, I didn’t get why I’d struggled until a trip to Antarctica years later. Wen Elton, a fellow passenger who’d lived in Singapore, was blunt: the demographic I couldn’t connect with back home likely just processed the world differently, on a fundamental level. Harsh, maybe, but it clicked. It wasn’t about fault; it was a mismatch in how our minds worked—something innate and hard to bridge.That idea stuck with me, especially after moving to Silicon Valley. Over time, I started to see it as neural divergence—different ways of thinking, processing, and engaging with the world. Some minds are wired to loop on familiar patterns, like playing the same pop chords over and over, while others are drawn to complexity, riffing jazz, always exploring. When your brain leans toward one style, connecting with a very different style can feel like speaking a foreign language, no matter how hard you try.
The Weight of a Smile: RV Store Encounters
And then there’s this other layer of social disconnect I’ve been chewing on. There’s a shopkeeper at a local RV store here who, every time I step in, greets me with this cheerful, enthusiastic vibe. She’s all smiles, looking me straight in the eye, and I feel… disoriented. Is this just her natural disposition, or am I triggering this somehow? If it’s the latter, what am I doing to prompt it? I don’t feel that level of enthusiasm myself, so mirroring it takes effort. Social scripting says I’ve gotta smile back, make eye contact, or I’ll seem rude. But since I’m not feeling whatever warmth she’s projecting, it’s tiring to keep up the act.Then there’s this weird mental spiral—when she holds that steady smile and eye contact, I start wondering how long I can keep my own smile before it feels strained. Direct eye contact without genuine warmth starts feeling aggressive in my head, even if that’s not her intent. I’m not sure if she’s aiming for some desired interaction I’m missing, but it mentally exhausts me. I end up looking for a quick exit, hightailing it out of the store to dodge this complicated social dance. It’s another moment of feeling like a wanderer—just passing through, not quite syncing up.
The Wanderer’s Lesson: Navigating Without Forcing Fit
Reflecting through The Wanderer’s lens—three days in a row now—I see a pattern. High school hangouts, last night’s bar scene, even this RV store interaction—there are spaces and dynamics where I’m just passing through. I don’t need to force a connection or exhaust myself mirroring vibes I don’t feel. Success through smallness might mean staying quiet, holding space, and not over-investing in mismatched wavelengths. Perseverance is about keeping on until I find my tribe, like with Joe and Sean, or in those rare convos that cut through the noise.Key observation: Connection isn’t just about showing up—it’s about resonance. When there’s no shared frequency, often due to neural divergence, it’s okay to step back. I don’t have to play the same chords or force a smile to blend in. I can wait for the interactions that feel natural and rewarding.
Reflections for the Day
Three days of The Wanderer. Maybe it’s not just about physical movement but mental and social wandering—navigating dynamics until you find where you fit. I’ve spent too long wondering what’s wrong with me when really, it’s about finding the right rhythm. Last night at the bar, or even in that store, I felt that old silence creep in, but now I see it as passing through. No need to force a solo—or a smile—when the vibe’s off.What about you—have you ever felt out of sync in social interactions, like your mind just works on a different wavelength? How do you handle being a wanderer in those spaces? I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’re curious about the oracle guiding me, see my full reading or cast your own here.