I am first and most of all a thinker. I am philosophical. I fly mostly continental flights: Existentialism, Communism, Deontology, Reductionism, among others. One particular idea applies to how I feel internally about externality as a whole and it is Depressive Realism. I am depressed and I think I see reality more clearly than those around me. Yea, it IS kind've assholic. I think reality is shitty because I can not and would not want to stop caring about the world as a place people inhabit. To be happy for me is to forget that which I struggle against. I am pursuing a way to live that by its very nature should offer troubling questions and have inconvenient answers. I don't think the way I see Americans living their lives contributes or even makes them aware of enough to better the world.
I'm not really fond of the complicated and often unseen or unexperienced social activities that justify FAR too much bigotry. I try as I can to show that in my person. I have long hippie hair and I intermittently beard. From behind my senses it is likely I will be experiencing certain human actions as more connected to the overall "way things are" than someone else would. It is not that others cannot experience this per se but, they'll just have to tune the little human radios they think they have control over to the proper frequencies.
I see these things as fundamentally removing myself from kinds of unspoken or fast and easy connection with other people. I think it is why I am or why I do what I do that really differentiates me from others. I am fairly normal behind my depression and reasoning. I like long walks and bike rides, relaxing in nature, good deep conversation(especially considering how hard it is to get), the smell of old buildings and forests, books, cold and rainy weather, omelets, memes, independent music, strands of sunrise that peak through windows in the morning, warm cups of good green tea, cloudy green glasses of absinthe in the evening, sleeping in, cuddles, woodblock prints, arty films, raw carrots, foreign or odd currency, naps, cooking a solid meal, appreciating the beauty of mundane objects/enjoying the small things, Youtube and, a million other things.
Maybe some writings could aid you in understanding?
A young blond southern gentleman pauses, "You pitiless ruffian, you have soiled my only Sunday suit. What have you to say for yourself?" The man wears a spotless white suit in apparent manner reminiscent, the good colonel of fried meat fame. "Excuse me?" A young aimlessly dressed specimen of the species replies carrying his confused look to the wind, "I don't see anything on your suit." The southerners face turns red and rigid filling with a mix of entitlement and horror, " No, you nascent imbecile, it is the air around you. You radiate disgust, just by subsisting near my good god fearing range. Flee quickly before I let you have the righteous end of my cane." The southerner motions his cane skyward shaking it menacingly. In these few moments the bigoted southerner has given the young male his mental realm has given rise to untold numbers of electrical impulses and a despicable unity is rising. His face shifts from confusion, "Is that so pig? You think you have anymore right to this existence than me?" as he shifts an outline appears underneath his shirt and a faint glimmer of reflected sunlight escapes from above his waist before it covers. "I obviously don't have the damn time to explicate my philosophy to you." The southerner looks as if he is about to lose all but the minimally socially "necessary" sanity. He begins to say with great disdain, " You philosophy?" The young man pounces on his moment, "Yes caveman, me philosophy. You best be on your way before I realize your true equality to all men." He lifts his shirt to reveal fully a glimmering handgun. The southerners faces slinks to horror as he throws his cane to the wayside and runs mad down the street screaming incoherent obscenities as he goes. The sound of an errant car horn breaks connection to this world as Douglas is brought back by his latest brush with his own eminent fate, a car passes not but 3 inches in front of his bike as it squeals ignorantly out of a sloppy burger joint. He breaks quickly avoiding imminent peril and motions his hands angrily at the outlaw of a motor vehicle. He whispers to himself as he begins to ride again, "damn-it, that was good one."