Gen Z is a swirling echo chamber of young adults screaming to be unique, to be different and to stand out among the crowd of other shrieking voices of young adults who are crying to be unique, to be different and to stand out. That innate desire to be individualistic is what makes you just like everyone else.

This deep-rooted desire to be unique, to stand out in the crowd, is a tale almost as old as time. A tall tale that has been spun and re-spun many times over, in the form of cheesy romantic comedies about the tomboyish girl forced into girlhood and finding her true self, or in even cheesier fanfictions about lead singers of boy bands spotting the one girl in the crowd reading. 

The roots run deeper than our pop culture and our shared media, though. While individuality is not uniquely American, we certainly took a special interest in it. The tendrils of the concept of being an individual are woven into the very structure that our nation was founded on. 

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,” as stated in the Declaration of Independence.

The Declaration of Independence states, explicitly, that we, as human beings, are “endowed” with the right to life, the right to liberty and the right to pursue happiness. The founding fathers wrote this like it were a privilege, these rights that are bestowed upon us. But, they also wrote it like it was a lonely voyage, that these can only be sought out alone. While the Founding Fathers got a lot right, they also got a lot of things wrong. This is one of those things. 

No matter how hard you try, once you zoom out of your narrow focus of being an individual and take a glance at the big picture, a community is built. 

For example, America broke off from Great Britain to become its own nation. Undoubtedly, a lonely endeavor to go from being a part of a nation to becoming your own. If you zoom out a little bit, you’ll find France following in America’s diplomatic footsteps, thus building a community — of sorts, if you’ll humor me — between the two revolting nations.

For example, someone might have just gotten done scraping the bottom of Spotify’s algorithm in hopes of finding their next “underground” artist. If you zoom out a little bit, you’ll find hundreds of thousands of other people doing the same exact thing, turning over every stone and pebble until they find the next rising pop star. 

I am no exception to this endeavor, and I am not ashamed to admit that I’m constantly on the hunt for an artist with such a small fanbase that they would recognize me by username alone. And I had thought I’d found my perfect indie, underground artist that no one knew. 

She’d been a last-minute opener for Noah Kahan in Dallas, Texas, Oct. 15, 2023. Save for the people in the pit, fighting tooth and nail to wrap their hands around the prized barricade, I was one of maybe a 1,000 people there early enough to see her set. As soon as she was wrapping up, the seats were flooded with Kahan fans. All of which were giving me side glances as I had sobbed through the opener’s set, my mascara running before Kahan even had a chance to ruin it with his own lyrical genius.  

It was one of those moments where I just knew I had stumbled into a gold mine. That night, as I crawled into bed, significantly poorer but in new merch, I followed my indie, underground artist on every platform I could think of. I followed along for every shared snippet, stalked the countdown for a new album release and listened religiously to her discography. 

But I kept her like a dirty little secret. I told not a soul that I was a fan of hers and prayed no one brought her up in conversation, as that would force me to show my hand and obsession. My innate desire to have something of my own ate me alive, and I lived for it, this little thing that was all my own. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Over the summer, after two years of being an underground fan, TikTok swooped down and took her away from me. A NPR “Tiny Desk Concert” that was two years old, and that I had already consumed to a degree that would concern any parental figure, resurfaced and took the internet by storm. Then the edits poured forth, from nearly every fandom or niche corner of the internet you could imagine.

My initial reaction? I was gutted. I had been stripped of my individuality, robbed of something that made me quirky and special and unique. If I spoke up now of my undying love for Samia, I’d be just another voice in the sea of new fans, a bitter-barely-sweet thought.

I was a pitiful mess, strangely distraught over one of my favorite musicians prospering and finally receiving her flowers from others, from more than just me. Then, a strange dichotomy sprang forth inside me, my mindset on it shifting.

How could I be upset that someone I admire and appreciate was doing well for themselves? I’d be on a selfish pity party, completely missing the fact that Samia was now given a fanbase to serve, a vivid collection of individuals who were solely connected by this one artist. 

I zoomed out and saw the bigger picture, the community that lingered just on the outskirts of my vision. 

In trying to escape forming any semblance of community, we stumble headfirst into it. That’s human nature at its finest and purest, bumbling around the Earth until we bump into people we don’t mind sharing qualities with. Even better, we stumble into parts of ourselves, collecting personality traits like pocket change.

Now, it would be entirely hypocritical for me to sit here and preach about individuality and a true sense of self without admitting that I barely know who I am. But, in fairness, I shouldn’t. I’m only 19, a very brief blip of time spent in this magnificent world. I have yet to meet all the people I will love in my life, and I have surely yet to meet every part of myself. It’s an active process that we get to partake in every day, a little process we get the great privilege to call a life. 

Perhaps that’s what Thomas Jefferson and John Adams were getting at; the chase for life, liberty and happiness isn’t so much a lonely endeavor bestowed upon us, but rather a race we’re all running next to each other, at our own paces and speeds. And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, you run next to someone and you link arms. Alas, I don’t know with any certainty either way. I’ll ask them the next time I see them.

Either way, keep searching and know there is a version of you that you’re absolutely going to fall in love with waiting on the other side. And they’re so eager to meet you.