I was told from the time I was very small that we are each unique, like a snowflake. Ihave my unique way of thinking about the world, of relating to the world, of existing in the world. I seem to crave being unique, at least on the inside.
Throughout childhood and the teenage years, I just wanted to fit in. I was different, in ways I couldn’t even explain. I was more serious, more studious, less inclined to break the rules or even to bend them. Yes, I was a “goody two shoes,” whether I meant to be or not. I was the quiet, polite, shy girl who rarely spoke unless spoken to; the one who desperately wanted to be like the others but couldn’t. I was the quiet little wren going about the business of building a nest, whilst the colorful parakeets chirped and flitted around my head.
I wasn’t always like that; moving to a new state when I was in third grade seemed to encourage this behavior. Before moving, I was a chatterbox. I remember being punished with clothes pins on my nose in Kindergarten when I talked too much. They didn’t stop me, though. I liked the way my voice sounded when my nose was pinched! Moving took some of that ability to gab out of me, I guess.
I still don’t feel like I fit into the crowds around me, usually. I am still more serious than most - I’d rather discuss books I love than the latest reality t.v. show; I’d rather talk about spirituality and religion than fashion; I’d rather try to understand politics than the latest video games. That’s just the way I am.
Sometimes I want to do something wild with my appearance, to really advertise the ways I feel different. But I still have that overriding need to fit in; to melt into the crowd. Now, I’m not so sure that it has anything to do with wanting people to like me. Maybe it’s more that I don’t want anyone to notice me.
I like being unique. I apparently don’t like to advertise it. Strange the things you learn when you type out a post about being unique.
