The biggest fish in the bathtub

I've always been a people watcher.

Walking through the trailers at a rodeo, sitting in the bleachers at a ballgame, standing in a parking lot, or scrolling through social media, I find myself studying people. Not necessarily what they're doing, but how they're doing it. Who they gravitate toward, how they treat others, and how their behavior changes depending on who's standing next to them.

I notice the ones who make room for somebody else. The ones who can strike up a conversation with damn near anybody. The ones who suddenly get quiet when a certain person walks up, and the ones whose entire personality seems to change depending on which group they're standing in.

And yes, I notice the groups I deliberately avoid, too. Sometimes I just don't have the energy to listen to another hour of somebody discussing everyone else's business.

I find the psychology of people fascinating. The relationships, the social dynamics, the invisible pecking orders that somehow follow people from high school right into adulthood. Some of those high school popularity contests are apparently lifetime memberships, complete with spouses, children, and reserved seating.

It's wild when you really think about it.

And somewhere between shampooing my hair and standing under water hot enough to boil a lobster, my brain started comparing people to bodies of water.

Bathtubs. Hotel swimming pools. Ponds. Lakes. Oceans.

Stay with me here.

Some people spend their entire lives in a bathtub. Others venture into a swimming pool, maybe even a lake. They've got their familiar surroundings, their people, their routines, and a pretty good understanding of how everything works within those boundaries.

And there's nothing wrong with enjoying those waters. Hell, I'll happily pull up a lounge chair with a Tito's, Sprite, and lime.

...You can thank my good friend Richie Issacson for hooking me on that deliciousness. Anywho...

But I've met an awful lot of people who have never ventured beyond their own little pool and somehow believe they're qualified to tell everybody else how to navigate the ocean.

They've got strong opinions about situations they've never experienced, decisions they've never faced, and people whose lives look nothing like their own.

They've never had to swim against a current, but by God, they'll explain exactly what someone should've done when their boat went under.

And sometimes those opinions don't even belong to them. They've just been repeated enough times within their circle that everybody agrees they're true.

That's something else I've noticed while people-watching.

The rubber backbones.

You know the ones. They're perfectly decent people until the wrong company comes along.

They might have their own opinions, their own sense of right and wrong, and even a pretty good understanding of what's happening around them.

But put them beside someone with a louder personality, a little influence, or a reputation they don't want to challenge, and suddenly that backbone starts bending.

They laugh when everybody else laughs. Agree when everybody else agrees. Stay quiet when somebody ought to speak up.

Sometimes they'll tell you one thing privately and do the complete opposite publicly.

And I don't necessarily think they're all bad people. Some genuinely want to belong. Some hate confrontation. Some have spent so long adapting to the expectations of others that they've forgotten what it feels like to stand firmly on their own two feet.

But Lord, what a difference between a rubber backbone and one that's been tested.

Because then there are the ocean people.

The ones who've ventured into unfamiliar waters, taken risks, made mistakes, lost their bearings, and had to figure out which direction to swim when absolutely nothing went according to plan.

They've been humbled. They've had their asses handed to them. They've had to make decisions without knowing whether those decisions were going to work.

And sometimes they got it wrong.

But they learned how to adapt. How to think for themselves. How to stand behind a decision when there wasn't a crowd of people standing around to approve it.

That kind of experience can put some steel in a person's spine.

Not because they've become hard or unkind, but because they've learned what happens when you depend entirely on somebody else to steer your ship.

I love being around people like that. The deep thinkers, the question askers, the ones who challenge ideas and aren't afraid to admit they don't know something.

The ones who hear a problem and start wondering how to solve it instead of immediately explaining why it can't be done.

I've been fortunate enough to spend time around some incredibly curious, innovative people, and there's something about those environments that makes my brain feel alive. One person throws out an idea, somebody else builds on it, and before long you're discussing possibilities nobody would've considered an hour earlier.

I miss that when I'm not around it.

Because there's only so much "We've always done it this way" and "Yeah, but..." a person can listen to before they start wondering if they're losing their own damn mind.

But I don't think everyone with an ocean-sized mind has actually made it to the ocean.

And this might be the part that gets me the most.

There are people still sitting in bathtubs, looking out toward the water, wishing like hell they could figure out how to get there.

People who grew up with expectations already laid out for them. Graduate. Get married. Have kids. Find a respectable job. Stay close to home. Don't embarrass the family. Don't rock the boat.

Maybe they've done everything they were supposed to do, and now they're sitting there wondering what life might have looked like if they'd ever been encouraged to ask what they wanted.

Maybe they've never lived on their own. Maybe they're financially tied to people who don't want things to change. Maybe they've got children, responsibilities, and a thousand reasons why climbing out of that bathtub isn't nearly as simple as somebody on the outside thinks it should be.

And then there's the guilt.

"Why can't you just be happy?"

"What's wrong with the life you've got?"

"What will everybody think?"

Good grief. Imagine having an entire ocean in your imagination and being made to feel selfish for wanting to see it.

I wonder how many people have stopped talking about their dreams because they've grown tired of having to defend them.

How many have become quieter, more agreeable, less willing to question things, simply because the people around them are more comfortable when they stay that way.

And how many rubber backbones started out as perfectly strong ones that just got bent a little farther every year.

That part makes me sad.

Because we talk an awful lot about surrounding ourselves with good people, but I don't think we always consider what that actually means.

I've seen people behave beautifully when they're alone with someone and turn downright ugly when the wrong audience appears. I've watched perfectly capable people surrender their opinions just to stay in the good graces of a group. I've also watched someone quietly stand up for another person when doing so wasn't particularly popular.

Those little moments tell me more about somebody than their job title, their last name, their social circle, or the number of people who show up when they throw a party.

And for the record, I don't think having a backbone means being the loudest person in the room.

Sometimes it means being the only person who doesn't laugh.

Sometimes it means disagreeing with someone you love.

Sometimes it's walking away from a table where you no longer like the conversation.

And sometimes it's admitting that the people you've surrounded yourself with aren't necessarily the people helping you become who you want to be.

That's not always a comfortable realization.

Especially when those people are family, longtime friends, coworkers, or people you've known since you were knee-high to a grasshopper.

But I think the company we keep rubs off on us, whether we intend for it to or not.

Spend enough time around judgment, and judgment starts feeling normal. Spend enough time around people who are terrified of change, and eventually their fears can start sounding like your own.

On the other hand, spend time around curious, thoughtful, resilient people, and you might find yourself asking different questions. Trying things you hadn't considered. Finding a little more courage to speak up.

Maybe even realizing there's more out there than the water you've always known.

And no, I don't believe somebody has to leave their hometown, earn a pile of degrees, or travel around the world to develop that kind of perspective. Some of the wisest people I've known have spent their entire lives in the same community.

The difference is that they never stopped being curious about what existed beyond it.

They know their own experiences aren't the universal measuring stick for everybody else's life.

They don't need to make someone else smaller to feel important.

And they don't expect everybody around them to bend just because they refuse to move.

I'm certainly not claiming to have mastered the ocean myself. I've made plenty of questionable decisions, and I suspect I'll make a few more before this whole life thing is over.

But I know which kinds of people I enjoy being around.

The ones with stories. The ones with scars. The ones with ideas so far outside the box that you have to sit and think about them for a minute.

The ones who can tell me I'm full of shit and still sit down beside me for a good conversation.

The ones whose kindness doesn't disappear when their friends walk into the room.

And the ones still dreaming of the ocean, even if they haven't figured out how to leave the bathtub yet.

Those people interest me.

Because I'd much rather sit in the bleachers beside somebody who makes me think a little differently than spend an afternoon trying to impress the biggest fish in a very small pond.

And if I've learned anything from watching people, it's that the loudest person isn't necessarily the strongest, the most popular isn't necessarily the kindest, and the most confident person in the swimming pool might not know the first damn thing about navigating open water.

Sometimes the strongest backbone belongs to the quietest person there.

Sometimes the bravest person hasn't even left the bathtub.

And sometimes the most interesting person in the entire parking lot is the one nobody thought to invite into the conversation.

So I think I'll keep people-watching. Keep asking questions. Keep finding my way toward people who make the world feel a little bigger.

And if I happen to find myself sitting beside somebody who's staring out toward the ocean, wondering if they're capable of getting there?

I hope I'm the kind of person who asks where they want to go.

Not the one who tells them why they should stay.