Back To Basics
Sep. 25th, 2011 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trickykittyI've been reminded recently (by my mom, of all people) of how much of a loner I was growing up, never by choice, but by the sheer nature of my being. I've just always been that weird chick that no one else could ever understand and everyone else always guessed about incorrectly.
My preschool best friend was always into dolls and playing make-believe, while I wanted to play board games, build things out of blocks, mess around with Hot Wheels, or go adventuring outside - I was such a tomboy. She and I were best friends in the way that only preschool kids really can be best friends despite being complete opposites from one another. It wasn't a surprise that we still call each other best friends, but we easily grew away from each other as the years went on.
In elementary, I was so awkward the cool kids made fun of me, much like the young girl at the beginning of 13 Going On 30. That movie actually brought back bad memories for me. In junior and high schools I simply preferred individualistic pursuits, like piano and bowling. Piano, tennis, and my studies alone kept me away from other people for most of my extra-curricular time (I actually had to turn down an offer to be on the academic decathlon team because I had no spare time in my schedule). I had plenty of friends in each of my classes, but I rarely had the opportunity to hang out with them after school.
I never fit in with any of the defined cliques, so I spent most of my time alone. I remember an entire school year always sitting in one of the halls at lunch time just a few floor tiles away from the goth kids, watching the smokers walking in from the car lot each day, knowing that the jocks and cheerleaders were in the cafeteria, all the while I sat on my own reading authors like Thomas Mann, Heinlein, or Nietzsche. Every so often, a friend might come and sit with me for a bit, but it was rare.
Even after high school, I steered clear of making new friends at the dance club. I would arrive with my best friend and then disappear off to the balcony where I would watch the dance floor until a good song came on, and then I would dance, return to the balcony when the song was over, rinse and repeat. People would try to approach me and tell me what a nice dress I had, but I never had anything to discuss with them beyond mere pleasantries. It wasn't the place to get into deep philosophical discussions on the nature of being - a pastime towards which I devoted a lot of energy when I hung out at various coffee shops. I could always trust that I would run into really interesting people at those hole-in-the-wall places. Now, I go to a Starbucks and every type of person imaginable is attracted to the place like moths to light. All the really cool, in-depth beatnik types are skipping out somewhere else or otherwise lost amongst the crowds. I need to figure out where they've all gone.
I've been trying so hard to be someone else, to be a part of a group, to be accepted, that I lost sight of myself. Somehow I never wanted to accept that I'm just that weird chick. Always have been, always will be.
I'm probably going to mar this quote, because the bulk of my books are boxed up right now and I can't access this one currently, but I'll do my best to recount it correctly. Nietzsche, in his intro to The Birth of Tragedy, stated, "This book addressed itself towards a certain type of artist; an artist with intellectual and retrospective (introspective?) leanings. An artist hard to seek, and possibly not worth the seeking."
That's how I thought of myself. I recall reading that intro and finding utter joy in the idea that someone was able to put my essence into words. It made me feel special.
Looking back, that last part of the quote that made me feel special should have been taken as a warning. It's required a lot of living to reach such understanding. Most people don't seek out someone like me, and I suck horribly at doing my own seeking, usually to the point of royally screwing it up because I overdo things whenever I try.
However, there is contentment in being one's self. That other path lies madness. I'm tired of trying to fit in and trying to be more social than I really am. Even if I were to succeed, it's not really the place for me. Give me my intellectual and individualistic pursuits, and I'll be happy.
My preschool best friend was always into dolls and playing make-believe, while I wanted to play board games, build things out of blocks, mess around with Hot Wheels, or go adventuring outside - I was such a tomboy. She and I were best friends in the way that only preschool kids really can be best friends despite being complete opposites from one another. It wasn't a surprise that we still call each other best friends, but we easily grew away from each other as the years went on.
In elementary, I was so awkward the cool kids made fun of me, much like the young girl at the beginning of 13 Going On 30. That movie actually brought back bad memories for me. In junior and high schools I simply preferred individualistic pursuits, like piano and bowling. Piano, tennis, and my studies alone kept me away from other people for most of my extra-curricular time (I actually had to turn down an offer to be on the academic decathlon team because I had no spare time in my schedule). I had plenty of friends in each of my classes, but I rarely had the opportunity to hang out with them after school.
I never fit in with any of the defined cliques, so I spent most of my time alone. I remember an entire school year always sitting in one of the halls at lunch time just a few floor tiles away from the goth kids, watching the smokers walking in from the car lot each day, knowing that the jocks and cheerleaders were in the cafeteria, all the while I sat on my own reading authors like Thomas Mann, Heinlein, or Nietzsche. Every so often, a friend might come and sit with me for a bit, but it was rare.
Even after high school, I steered clear of making new friends at the dance club. I would arrive with my best friend and then disappear off to the balcony where I would watch the dance floor until a good song came on, and then I would dance, return to the balcony when the song was over, rinse and repeat. People would try to approach me and tell me what a nice dress I had, but I never had anything to discuss with them beyond mere pleasantries. It wasn't the place to get into deep philosophical discussions on the nature of being - a pastime towards which I devoted a lot of energy when I hung out at various coffee shops. I could always trust that I would run into really interesting people at those hole-in-the-wall places. Now, I go to a Starbucks and every type of person imaginable is attracted to the place like moths to light. All the really cool, in-depth beatnik types are skipping out somewhere else or otherwise lost amongst the crowds. I need to figure out where they've all gone.
I've been trying so hard to be someone else, to be a part of a group, to be accepted, that I lost sight of myself. Somehow I never wanted to accept that I'm just that weird chick. Always have been, always will be.
I'm probably going to mar this quote, because the bulk of my books are boxed up right now and I can't access this one currently, but I'll do my best to recount it correctly. Nietzsche, in his intro to The Birth of Tragedy, stated, "This book addressed itself towards a certain type of artist; an artist with intellectual and retrospective (introspective?) leanings. An artist hard to seek, and possibly not worth the seeking."
That's how I thought of myself. I recall reading that intro and finding utter joy in the idea that someone was able to put my essence into words. It made me feel special.
Looking back, that last part of the quote that made me feel special should have been taken as a warning. It's required a lot of living to reach such understanding. Most people don't seek out someone like me, and I suck horribly at doing my own seeking, usually to the point of royally screwing it up because I overdo things whenever I try.
However, there is contentment in being one's self. That other path lies madness. I'm tired of trying to fit in and trying to be more social than I really am. Even if I were to succeed, it's not really the place for me. Give me my intellectual and individualistic pursuits, and I'll be happy.
