I spent the greater part of yesterday with two of my good friends eating, drinking, browsing, and buying artisan crafts at the Renegade craft fair in Wicker Park.  The fair is massive – stretching down Division Street from Damen nearly all the way to Ashland.  The day was full of brief conversations with interesting people, as one might imagine you would engage in at a craft fair filled with talented artists from all over the U.S. selling products they believe in.  I bought some beautiful things – most notably a ridiculously expensive scarf from a ridiculously charming man who handcrafts them in his shop in Venice Beach, CA. – which is where my story for today begins.

The scarf seller’s name was Matthew, and from the get-go he was speaking my language.  All his scarves are made from deadstock fabrics purchased locally in LA and hand crafted into unique pieces that lay beautifully on. The scraps of the scarves are used to make dog beds they then donate to a local animal rescue, and they also hand make blankets that are gifted to local children as they enter foster care.  

Matthew showed me different ways to style the scarf, and then pointed out the tiny leather triangle sewn into its corner that read “knotted and blessed…love, happiness, adventure, mystery.”  He explained that most of our clothing is mass-produced and made without intention or mindfulness, and that a piece like this one made with purpose and love gives off different vibrations.  Many people might find this to be a line of bullsh*t, but it’s totally in alignment with my beliefs.  I’m fairly certain he saw the tiny gold necklace I wear that reads “Manifest,” and he knew I would buy a scarf from him. He was correct.  I swiped my credit card, and Matthew went in for a long, solid, hug as I reached out to shake his hand because, he said, “I’m a hugger.” Good thing I’m a hugger too. My friend Jenny and I walked on, laughing about how ridiculously easy it was for Matthew to convince me to buy that scarf. 

A half a block later, I put my hand out to slow Jenny down.  I had spotted a tall, disheveled older man who often roams my neighborhood with lurching steps banging on doors, yelling in people’s faces, or kicking garbage cans.  He exhibits behavior indicative of untreated schizophrenia, but that makes him no less terrifying.  Once, when I was walking up Damen, he lunged at me and stopped inches from my face, hissing menacingly.  When I see him, I will always cross the street to avoid confrontation, but today there were many others noticing him too.  As we approached, he had just been rebuffed by a man he’d been heckling, and turned to the apartment building behind him to press every single buzzer button.  Event staff saw him, and told him to stop just as local shop owner stepped out of his store to comment on his behavior.  Caught in the middle of this bizarre tableau was a tall, hefty young man with bleached hair confusedly clutching a stack of glossy pamphlets.  As Jenny and I came upon the shopkeeper and the tall young man, I commented that to them that the man was a regular disturber of the peace, and was likely schizophrenic.  “He’s not schizophrenic, he’s mentally ill.  I’ve been here eight years and I’ve seen him many times,” said the shopkeeper.  I decided I would rather not inform this man that I had also been here eight years and that schizophrenia is, in fact, a severe mental disorder.  The tall bleached blonde made conciliatory sounds, and quickly changed the subject – flashing his glossy pamphlets at us.  When I spotted what was on them, my day was officially made.

Starting last April, I began to notice handwritten chalk messages on street corners all around Wicker Park that read “Wolf for Congress.” I asked everyone I could think of if they knew what they meant.  Had they seen the chalk messages? Who was writing them? Who was Wolf? No one knew.  At several local street fests, I saw what looked like campaign booths with decorated tables and flashy campaign posters that bore the same message “Wolf for Congress,” but Wolf and his campaign staff were no where to be found.  It was maddening and intriguing and reminded me of the billboards that abounded in the weeks before the movie Forest Gump was released – they read simply “Gump” with the movie’s release date.  No one knew what they meant and they worked.  They created interest and “buzz.”

When the tall bleached blonde young man flashed his pamphlets at me they read, “Wolf for Congress.” “Oh my God!” I yelped, “Who IS he?”  The tall young man was gleeful at my enthusiasm.  “He’s Benjamin Wolf, he’s running for Congress, and he’s right over there.” “Where?!” I exclaimed.  “Right there,” he said, pointing to a group of three men.  I charged over to them and asked with Randian intensity “Who is Benjamin Wolf?” A tall, alarmingly handsome man with a voice like velvet and a face like Clark Kent turned around said “I’m Benjamin Wolf.” I reached out my hand. “I’m Kathleen M—-, and I’ve been looking for you all summer.”  Turns out he was at the art fair collecting signatures to make it on the ballot to run for Illinois Congress.  He is a former FBI special agent, and spent years working counter-terrorism in Afghanistan where he raised his children.  He’s Wicker Park resident and small business owner, he’s running on a platform very similar to Bernie Sanders, and he is astoundingly mesmerizing.  Benjamin Wolf was thrilled that I had noticed the chalk messages, and explained that when he runs for president, he’s going to campaign the same way.  I’ll tell you, when he runs for president, I’ll vote for Benjamin Wolf.

Jenny and I walked away from this second bizarre encounter, laughing hysterically at both the entire situation and my over the top enthusiasm for it.  I explained to her that I had seen in both men (Matthew the scarf seller, and Benjamin Wolf future American president), a quality most notably recognized in men like Steve Jobs and Bill Clinton.  It’s a phenomenon explained as RDF, or reality distortion field, and it’s fascinating.  Basically, it an overwhelming charisma that affords its wielder the ability to change minds and influence people.  While we can’t all be Steve Jobs or Bill Clinton, we can all develop the skills of RDF, and use them to sell scarves, get votes, or convince students they should do their homework.

I’ve been thinking a lot about RDF over the past several months, because it’s such as simple thing, and it meshes so seamlessly with my campaign to talk to strangers.  The skills of creating a reality distortion field are the skills of basic, authentic human interaction – make true and sustained eye contact, respect personal space, and be present to those you talk to.  It’s that simple.  Calling it a reality distortion field connotes something sinister or deceptive, and of course there are people who could use these skills as the means to nefarious ends (Hitler, for example, likely had an overpowering RDF).  I believe, however, that practicing the skills of an RDF will allow us not to distort reality, but to create it, intensify it, and draw attention to it. It allows us to truly connect with people, acknowledge them, and make them feel noticed and important – which we all deserve.  This week, I plan to practice these skills more mindfully, and watch the beauty they manifest in my life, and I’ll be wearing my kick-ass, ridiculously expensive scarf as I do it.  Good vibrations y’all.

 

Until next time…