Rethinking Belonging Through Otroverts
Since I was a little kid, I haven’t fit in. This isn’t a victim-sobbing post. As a kid I grew up in an apartment complex just outside the main line of Philadelphia, surrounded by some of the wealthiest people in the world while my parents never owned a home. I worked at the mall, others shopped. In college I worked three jobs to pay tuition, no time for sororities or parties. When I became a mom and didn’t like ball-pit mom-groups, I worked at home as a journalist; lifelong preferring one-two close friends to a clique. As a writer, candlemaker and miniaturist, my pursuits are solitary; happily working on an island for 13 years.
But I’m also outgoing and a leader: a former elected official, magazine editor and executive director of a number of non-profits, speaking on beachcombing education from coast to coast. I’d rather speak on a topic I’m passionate about to 5000 people than be in a room of 25 people because I get social anxiety. So: am I an introvert or an extrovert?
I read a book recently that finally made sense to me: I’m neither. There’s a quiet disconnect that’s not talked about much: not loneliness exactly, and not social anxiety either. It’s more like being present in a room full of people, participating, sometimes enjoying yourself, but still feeling slightly outside of it all. That’s the space Rami Kaminski, M.D. has put into words in The Gift of Not Belonging, by introducing a term most people haven’t heard before: the otrovert.
Kaminski’s concept is not everyone is wired with the same internal drive to belong. While most of psychology has treated belonging as a basic human need, he pushes back. As he puts it, “Belonging is not a requirement for living a rich, rewarding life.” It’s a simple sentence. Instead of seeing that lack of pull toward group identity as something to fix, he treats it as a different way of moving through the world.
The term “otrovert” comes from the spanish word otro, meaning “other.” These are people who don’t necessarily feel excluded, but who also don’t fully buy into the shared experience of a group.
Kaminski describes it bluntly: “Otroverts never feel part of the shared experience.” That doesn’t mean they can’t socialize. In fact, many of them are capable in social settings. The difference is internal. There’s no real sense of merging with the group identity. That distinction separates otroversion from introversion. An introvert might feel drained by social interaction. An otrovert might not feel drained at all, but still walk away thinking, I was there, but not really part of it.
Kaminski emphasizes the upside. If you’re not anchored to group belonging, you’re also less dependent on group acceptance. “When you have no affinity for a particular group, your self-worth is not conditioned on the group’s approval.” That independence can show up as original thinking, or resistance to going along with the crowd. He frames it as a creative advantage, noting that otroverts tend to resist “hive mind” thinking and come up with ideas that aren’t shaped by consensus.
There are challenges. The world’s built around belonging. School, work, friendships, even casual social life all assume some level of group participation. If you don’t naturally feel that pull, it’s easy to internalize that as a flaw.
The broader conversation around otroverts is still developing. It hasn’t fully landed in academic psychology, and some are skeptical about whether it’s a distinct personality type or just a reframing of existing ideas. But culturally, it’s starting to resonate. A piece in the Guardian framed it as a kind of independence from tribal thinking, suggesting that not needing to belong can actually be a “superpower.”
Because they don’t feel an obligation to endorse the collective position, opinion or point of view, otroverts are fiercely independent, outside-the-box thinkers who approach problems from new angles, leading to creative discoveries and contributions. And because they define success by what they achieve, not what they achieve in relation to others, they are more fulfilled creatively and professionally.
It’s been helpful for me to find a new way to describe the “lone wolf” (not in the serial killer/assassin way) lifestyle I’ve had for over half a century. No PTA, no sorority, no “girls weekends,” always a bride, never a bridesmaid. I don’t mind being alone because there isn’t stress to be performative and I’ve encountered so few emotionally intelligent people who are capable of meaningful interaction. The key is to find a few other cool otroverts; I wish there was a bar. Apropos of the beachcombing community I’ve encountered, I’m often reminded of the Anais Nin quote: “I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living."