Thought Picnic: Escaping bubbles to create experiences

The beauty of having bubbles

I remember a conversation with a friend, a father of mixed-race children being raised in a progressive northern European country. He said he would bring them up in the bubble they have for as long as possible, so when they meet the world outside, they would do so with the assurance and confidence of knowing where they come from, without any fear of what they might face.

There is a rawness in humanity that growing up in a bubble shields us from. It provides protections that allow us to grow and develop the mental strength to handle both ourselves and situations, before we are exposed to what might shock, traumatise, disgust, or simply irritate us. This is a sometimes poorly understood aspect of a good upbringing.

I was raised in a bubble of sorts, in middle-class privilege with some trappings of wealth but never excess. Having what we needed, we exuded confidence without the need to keep up with the Joneses. Though my parents had risen from diminished circumstances and established their position in society through education and achievement, we were and are different from our parents.

A different kind of bubble

I was born in England, cocooned from the forms of racism and challenges faced by many foreigners in the 1960s, which greatly coloured their view of living in England. The primary schools I attended in Nigeria had most foreign pupils. It is amusing to think that most of our white schoolmates were Nigerian-born, with typical mixed Nigerian accents, while most of us black children were born abroad, speaking with foreign and usually English accents.

We lived in bubbles of privilege and access, but as we grew older, we were exposed to a different world, sometimes to the more privileged and sometimes to those less fortunate. Not to look down on others or feel superior, but to appreciate our good fortune along with respecting others, and where opportunity does allow, we lift them up.

Bubbles as anchors aweigh

For a bubble to exist, it needs an atmosphere. It moves within that atmosphere for a while, then bursts to merge with the surroundings. Yet every sight of a bubble in the air excites, especially children. There’s colour, there’s floating, and a longing for it to last before it bursts. Then, new bubbles are formed.

I recognise the bubble of society I come from; it has given me a sense of adventure and curiosity that has served me well in many places. I am comfortable in my own skin, speak and express myself with confidence, and I rarely feel out of place wherever I find myself. In terms of dress, I might not be as inconspicuous as I would like, but I have no issue with that.

My bubble to the world

How it has helped me navigate systems and structures is interesting. How to communicate and set the terms by which I expect to be treated with respect, courtesy, and dignity, without being aloof. I aim to be approachable, just as I am not wary of approach. I respect people without any sense of obsequiousness towards wealth or status; you need two heads to really scare me.

It’s those qualities my childhood bubble gave me: a combination of fieriness and finesse that taught me to seek rather than sequester, to experience rather than shield, to wonder and understand difference instead of settling into indolence and ignorance of others. I venture where others draw back; there is much to learn from escaping the bubble rather than seeking to be hermetically sealed in an echo chamber.

My fear is not of others, but of not being better. Life’s experiences leave me grateful and thankful for everything. There is much to do and many things to see beyond ourselves; only a few seize those opportunities for growth and renewal. You can have your bubble, but you must also exist in the world around it.