There are very few places I feel that I can be myself, very few people who really know who I am. I’ve always had a fascination with novels and movies starring an outsider because I’ve always been one. I’ve always had a group of friends and I get along very well with everyone but no matter where I work or who I hang out with, I can’t help but recognize the slight differences in personality, work ethic, and even appearance. Is it a curse to always pay attention to such details? To always want to throw myself to the outside? To be the one looking in? To state my differences and get an eye-roll or a head-shake or a “really??” in response? I’m not sure. I thought, at first, that it was good for my writing. A way to see everything, to observe and still be involved in my own life, but now it just makes me feel kind of sad.
I know that you should never apologize for who you are or what you’re not and I don’t plan on starting but I can’t help but wonder what it really feels like to fit in. To relate to people on even the most basic levels. Maybe that’s why I keep such close company, I know who loves me, who accepts me, and who embrace my weirdness. I never thought that at twenty-four, after getting through high school and university without caring about my natural inclination to be on the outside, that it would bother me, or sadden me.
The problem is that I’m too stubborn to change and there are some perks to being a wallflower
…or so I’ve heard.