For most of my life, I’ve been hyper aware of the physical space around me. I’ve been conscious of how much (or how little) room I have in an elevator, of how far I have to bend my knees in order to fit into an economy seat on an airplane, of how close I get to the front of the crowd at the deli, or where I’m standing in relation to everyone else when out in public.
I am a few inches over six feet tall, and most of that height belongs to my legs. Depending on what kind of suit you put me in, there’s a good chance my pants might make me look like the grasshopper from James and the Giant Peach. I also have broad shoulders, which means I am a liability in any kind of antique shop with precious glassware. In the latter, I’ve learned to work on my nimbleness.
As a kid, my “big-ness” meant I wore jeans labeled with confidence-bursting words like “husky size.” It also meant I was perpetually visible—for everything, good and bad. Every action I took could be seen, and I was keenly alert to how others felt about me. I hated being visible more than most things, and most of the time, I wanted to hide. Because being on display meant trouble.
I carried this fear with me for many years. I was afraid of judgment, of how others would perceive not only me, but any trace I left behind. I learned to be a hulking shadow, careful to pick up after myself and always edging toward the side of the crowd or quietly giving up as much space as I could, so as not to be noticed as much.
For me, it may have temporarily alleviated some anxiety, but in the greater workings of the world, all it meant was that I gave up some of my space for someone else. I let another person take the lead, voice an opinion, or make connections with others. It was a polite action on my part, but looking at it another way, my silence robbed both myself and someone else of forming a connection, learning something new, or sharing in one of the small joys in life.
My dysmorphia not only rendered me a background character in many activities, but as I’ve learned all these years later, it kept me from sharing myself with others.
Why is this important?
When we participate, that’s how we bond, share ideas, and learn from one another. It’s how we find like-minded individuals and lift each other up. It’s how we rally together for a cause or raise awareness that leads to change on a societal level. Participating is how we share art, a concept so uniquely beautiful and powerful, and evoke an emotion in others that often cannot be described in mere words. It’s how we tear down walls, create communities, and most importantly—LOVE.
When we minimize our space, we minimize our capacity and possibility for love. And it hurts all of us in the long run. Because if we don’t take up that space, connections are broken, and the divide between different groups widens, separating us further from each other.
I won’t lie; taking up space is a risk. We have to be open. We have to overlook our fear of being hurt or making contact with someone. This is easier for some people than it is for others. But for every inch we allow ourselves, that’s a greater opportunity to laugh with someone, to share a story, or to form a bond that changes the course of our lives and theirs forever.
Your thoughts and your ideas matter. Your art makes a difference, often more than you may realize. Your presence in a room could be a defining factor that keeps someone’s day from spiraling into a bad one. Your feelings or perspective, even if rejected, enrich a group’s understanding and give voice to the voiceless. When we take up space, we’re taking up space for our loved ones, as well as ourselves.
We know this is true because there are many bad actors out there who divide us by stealing space from those they disagree with. They silence others or exclude them from important events.
Bad actors or not, don’t be afraid to take up space. Ever.
I believe in you. Keep on making the world a better place,
Scott
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P.P.S. Here are the latest happenings in my neck of the woods:
My short story “24 Hour News Cycle of Violence” was published in Behemoth Magazine
I convinced my podcasting co-host to catch Batman’s FIRST live-action adventure in the 1943 Batman serial. You can listen to The Batman Universe Podcast episode here.
My friend Rob from Comic Book Chronicles also joined another episode of The Batman Universe Podcast to chat about the Court of Owls.
I am officially going to C2E2 this year! Drop me a line on Substack or Bluesky if you’ll be in attendance.