As usual, when I think back to my childhood I am reminded of my feelings of being different. Not in a bad way. Just more that I didn’t seem to care about the same things as other kids. When I loved something I embraced it with my whole being. Like the game two square. Grade two and three I believe, we had these large red rubber balls. The cement beside the school had the divider lines and this created squares which were approximately ten feet by ten feet. I am guessing here. It was a long time ago. We made two lineups and the front people would stand in the square and bounce the ball three times and on the third bounce send it into the other childs square. They would they slap it with their hand to bounce it back. It couldn’t go out of the lines and you were not allowed to hold the ball. Whoever caused a break in the play left the square and went to the back of the line to wait their turn. Sort of a modified handball/tennis/basketball game. There was no fighting. Just good fun. Whoever got the balls first got to start the game and we all raced to line up. I lived three blocks from the school and I would race home as fast as I could, all the time praying we were having something I liked for lunch. That way I could wolf it down and get back to school to play the game. I loved it. I loved anything to do with balls. Eventually I played seven-up with a much smaller ball that was played against a wall. You could play alone or with others. It was great fun as well. I did a lot of make believe as well and my one and only Barbie was my pride and joy until my nephew ripped her leg off. Turns out you can’t put it back on. I was eleven when that happened and my world was shattered. I found when I was young if I was having fun and the other kids wanted to do a different activity, I would go home and play alone. Not to pout but if we weren’t doing the thing I loved, I moved on. Played alone.
I wasn’t the most social child and as I grew older I remained somewhat awkward in social situations. Popular kids were always drawn to me for some reason and although it made moving schools easier, I was usually overwhelmed by these kids. Dixie was that girl in grade five. Always on the go. Energy enough for ten kids. Her Mom was lovely and I enjoyed outings when her Mom took us places but alone, Dixie was exhausting. I saw her last weekend and she is still the same. Go, Go Go! I went on a lot of sleepovers when I was young and they were so much fun. It was interesting seeing behind the scenes how other people lived. How they ate. But I didn’t enjoy having people sleep over at my house. It was my quiet place. A safe spot where I felt all warm and cozy with my Mom and Dad. Friends always wanted to be doing something and for me, home was just a place to play alone, read, spend time in solitude. My sister in law Suzie stayed over often as her parents were strict and it was the only way she could go out. Plus, when they went out of town she stayed with us. That was the hardest because she always got me in trouble with some of her antics. She didn’t understand how my parents worked. You didn’t have to lie and break the rules. You just traded off chores for permission. There was a level of trust there.
Becoming a young adult found me again as the outlier. Whether it was high school, College, University or work, I was the go along girl in so many ways. But I found that I sometimes felt the need to just hide away from the world. High School found me as a floater. Someone with quite a few acquaintances but not that many true friends. I was on the periphery of a few groups. Dating was hard. I found out young that going out with a guy meant he would keep living his life his way and as a girlfriend I was expected to sort of join him at the hip and share his interests, his friends, his family and just his life in general. I was devoted to the first guy but anyone after that found out fairly quickly that I had things to do. Boyfriend two was always late picking me up and I would just get in my car and go out with friends. I recall one evening he finally caught up to me around one a.m. at a local diner where I was sharing fries with some girlfriends. We had been all over that night. Driving around. A few parties. It was a blast. He was angry. But less tardy in the future. Getting married was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I was afraid of the commitment. I had a panic attack in the room at the back of the church where everyone fusses as we prepare to walk down the aisle. I felt I was about to lose my autonomy. As the youngest I had quite a bit of freedom in my life. The time leading up to my wedding showed me what the future would bring and I just wasn’t good with it. I was afraid. My husband chose our invitations, the china pattern, the silver pattern, the band, the meal. We even had two wedding cakes because his Mom didn’t like the one I chose. Life was hard at first because so many decisions were out of my control. I gave in a lot because I wanted to make my husband happy and going along was the way to do that. But fit in? Still wasn’t happening.
My in-laws were a very “proper” family for lack of a better word. Things are done a certain way. Conformity to a point of being non-descript was how I saw them. I didn’t care that they were that way until it started to infringe on me. My person. My very essence as a human being. My freedom to be me. While their comments were phrased as questions somehow I was made to feel just a little wrong. Whether it was my clothing. my hair colour or style, my jewellery or even my food choices, it was never quite right. And I heard about it. And yet those were things I had control over in my life. My husband had to eat the way I liked to eat because he didn’t cook. There were things I made that he enjoyed but the whole style of eating wasn’t how he was raised. Once a year I would make a beef roast for him to remind him he was a Alberta farm kid. But I wasn’t. I was the child of immigrants and the food was very different in my home. I always knew the biggest reason my husband was attracted to me was because I was his total opposite. He could live his alter ego through me. I remember when my brother turned fourty we were invited to his birthday party. Hubby wore jeans and a casual shirt while I wore heels and a flowing midi wool skirt with a turtle neck and a wide belt. He was uncomfortable and concerned about the dress code. It was a house party for crying out loud. I figured one of us would fit in. Most likely him which was good. Because I was comfortable in my outfit regardless.
I recently saw a gal on Instagram calling out “fake” awkward girls. You know the one’s. Video’s of them posting random weird stuff proving they are weird. Awkward is “in” now I guess. The gal calling them out raised a silly (but valid to her) point. These weren’t the girls who were teased and tortured when they were young due to their awkwardness. These were girls who had the nice clothes, the cute boyfriend, followed along… Think Molly Ringwald in Breakfast Club. In her mind I guess, they didn’t pay their dues and as such were trespassing on the awkward gal domain. In a funny way, I get it. I wasn’t the awkward girl. I was a bit odd but I was a mediocre athlete, I was tall and slender, and I had a pleasant enough face. Excuse me for bragging but I had great hair. It was the Farrah Fawcett era and with just a few short hours a day my hair was pretty fab. The odd part is overlooked when you don’t have any physically unacceptable traits. I wore glasses and during my junior high school awkward phase I refused to wear them. I squinted a lot and frankly badminton was a bitch as the birdie was almost invisible to me. Thank goodness for contact lenses. They were pricey but I guess my parent thought it was a good idea as I was just learning to drive. The reality is, I knew these girls. The awkward ones. 45 years later they are still feeling the sting of unkind kids. This new trend is for the most part, contrived. For what purpose? Who knows. Social media I would guess.
But lets look at this from another view. Again I use Molly Ringwald’s character as an example. The pressure the little rich girl feels is indeed quite real in her mind. Conformity is key to staying part of the “in” crowd. Geez… The Kardashian family were not an ugly bunch but they have gone through so much to present a certain image to the world. The beautiful people we look up to in this world all have insecurities. Everyone has some form of not feeling good enough. There are days I am on top of the world. I look fab, I feel incredible… I am on fire baby. The next day, not so much. For me the worse I feel, the better I look. Those are the days I wear make up, do my hair, fuss over my outfit. If you see me in public looking like an unmade bed, that is the day I felt unstoppable. Nothing was going to hold me back. I don’t need to try hard because I feel great. Get it? And I know for a fact that if you are facing the world with unlimited joy and confidence, the world can feel it. It isn’t about what you’re wearing or driving. It isn’t about what you have or where you’ve been. It certainly isn’t who you know or where you went to school or even your job or your kids. If you are flying high inside, that energy is going to ooze out of you and touch all who come into your orbit. They are going to see it. They may not understand it but they will feel your presence.
So to all of the awkward girls out there I am sorry for what you’ve been through. But the past is done. Look around and see how far you’ve come. Life isn’t so bad when you grow up and understand the outer trappings aren’t what matter. Be grateful for how far you have come. As for the fake awkwards? Leave them be. It’s hard falling off of a pedestal. It’s a long way down and there are some pretty pointy places which can tear you through to your soul. The landing isn’t soft either. Stealing your foolish escapades for a chance at Instagram fame, or even peer acceptance is quite sad. Everything fades as we age. Becoming a mediocre adult is easier for some of us. We know that we are unique and have beautiful gifts to offer the world. Adulthood is where the awkward people shine. They spent more time on the important things in life. Themselves. Learning to love themselves. Inside and out.
As for me, I am killing it as mediocre. I am softer, less athletic, my face is showing my age. My personal style isn’t really a style. It’s an eclectic hodge podge of impulse purchases which don’t seem to go together. I see people on line doing really cool things. Creating through art, food, clothing, gardening, music, writing. The possibilities are endless. The sheer amount of unique talent in this world is amazing. It is in us all. We just have to look inward and decide if we want to tap into it. I love to see how people decorate their homes. I get so excited and think I want to do that. But then I realize my home shows the world a picture of who I am. It is comfortable for me. I see people on the street with a funky outfit, and I stop and tell them how it makes me feel. I admire that people have the strength to show the world who they really are. The status quo is on its way out. The world is evolving at an intense pace and so many are not comfortable with the changes. But I beg of you. Please. Just hop onto the kiddy ride for a bit. Give it a whirl. Spend one week on social media and compliment the shit out of anyone who does something that thrills you. Excites you. Or even mildly amuses you. If something offends you, look inside and try and understand why? Is it them? They are trying to live their uniqueness. Perhaps it is you. Trying to hold onto a time when you felt you had control of your own life. It is over. The only path is forward. Forget the other guy. Forget everything. Look at your unique inner self. It is there. Starting right now you can be who you always wanted to be. There is no one like you in the world. Embrace it.
I have learned that when people these days set boundaries, often they are giving ultimatums. Change who you are or how you live to make me happy. It is actually about control. More importantly I have learned that there are those bigger and more powerful who are also trying to control me, you, all of us. All for financial gain. Whether it is our job, our purchases, our education or our lifestyles. Even our hobbies and entertainment. People are trying to steer us. So… who do you want to be? The clone? The stepford. The one who blends in to all of the others? The beige people Or do you want to fly high? Jump in the puddles in the rain. Change the radio station to something new. Dance alone. In public. No one cares you know. Except you. I have always liked me and sometimes it was hard to understand why some people didn’t like me. The real answer is, I make them uncomfortable. But that is on them. Not me.
A few days ago I went to a funeral for a man who died too soon. On the way there my friend commented that we were gong to a funneral. You know Fun. No longer were we going to go and feel sad. We were going to go and really celebrate at the joy of having known this person. And I have to admit. It was fun. Unorthodox and different the people gathered truly celebrated their friend. There were many trips outside for a smoke and it was like we were back in the ’70s. We were asked to wear bright colours. And we did. He was a unique guy and stories were shared. Later on as I reflected on our friends life I was reminded of Frank Sinatra and his song “My Way”. I love the sentiment in that song so much. Because in the end it doesn’t matter what others think. Those who love us accept us. They let us be who we want to be. Who we are meant to be. And after that final curtain, when our lives are over, those are the people who will come and rejoice in who we were and how we touched their lives. Made them happy. Loved them unconditionally. And it won’t matter what car we drove, our clothes, our hair or even how we lived. Because we are all unique. I have learned it is easier to accept ourselves and go with it than to try and be who we aren’t. It is like swimming upstream. And that my friends is a losing battle.
Things I've learned since I thought I knew everything... 