For much too long I’ve been trying to convince myself that I am this person that I’m not. And not in a trying-to-be-someone-else-because-I’m-ashamed-of-who-I-am kind of way but more of a oh-this-isn’t-me-but-it’s-kind-of-ok-maybe-if-I-keep-this-charade-up-it’ll-feel-more-natural.
Well folks, I’m here to tell you that it does. not. work.
“Alice asked the Cheshire Cat, who was sitting in a tree, “What road do I take?”
The cat asked, “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” Alice answered.
“Then,” said the cat, “it really doesn’t matter, does it?”
And this, friends, is my conundrum. Commitment to one path, one goal, one outcome is unfathomable. Not when I’m exposed to some other facet of life every day. And also not when I believe that I’ll end up wherever I’m supposed to be regardless of the path I take.
Admittedly, I feel incredibly flaky when asked “what do you plan to do after grad school?” or “what do you want to do with your degree?” or “what’s next?” and my answer is obviously not fully thought through. I’ve stopped trying to be even partially truthful, just whatever comes out of my mouth first and sounds interesting. It’s not that I don’t want to do any of these things or am not capable of doing any of these things; I guess I just realize that I’m being led to my destination, whatever that destination may be. Not to mention that once I get there, I may find myself being led to yet another destination.
It seems that where I want to go is secondary. What’s most important is just going, no matter which road you take.
I’m from the South. Memphis, Tennessee born and raised. In my household, having bad manners was unacceptable and among the highest of egregious acts one could commit. I grew up with a mother who was hyper-alert about ensuring that wherever me and my older brother went, we represented our house – and her – extremely well.
Yes ma’ams and yes sirs were standard and at some point I adopted the ideology that everybody who was an adult had to have a title. I have first cousins who I called “auntie so and so” for years simply because they were much older than me and to me calling them by just their first name was unfathomable. I’m sure they got tired of correcting me and my brother relentlessly. “I’m not your aunt!” they would fuss. And eventually we got used to calling them by their first name but for me, there was always an itch to give them a title, to show respect, and even sometimes a slight pause before I said their name free of prefix.
So fast forward to me being 20-something. When meeting strangers, older strangers, especially in a professional setting, I still have to affix a title before their name. Time and time again, I’ve been told “Just call me ____” and I get that weird itch again. Even more peculiar is that now I’m on the other side of this conundrum. I work with college students who I’m not that much older than, yet they call me Miss. Dorian or Miss. *my last name* and it’s weird. I feel the cringe that my auntie-cousins felt and I get it. I am in no way shape or form so accomplished (or old) that I feel deserving of a title and yet I understand that it’s not about stroking ego as much as it is about respect and everyone wants to be respected. But for some, including Dr. N, I mean, Millicent who I had the pleasure of meeting tonight, respect can be shown in different ways, like calling someone what they refer to be called.
For now, I think I’ll continue to allow the youngins to call me “Miss;” it feels weird and stuffy but I think it may be what I need to make myself realize “You’re a damn adult, sweetheart.”
My life has somewhat returned back to normalcy; which, in my case normalcy means being pulled in about 10 different directions at once but I’m used to it so it’s not too stressful. WAIT. Wordpress changed the post editor interface!? Anywho, despite life being busy busy busy I guess I could try to catch you up on some of the major things that have happened/are happening as quickly as possible:
I’m sitting in Panera Bread listening to two guys talk about WordPress and I thought “Hey, I have one of those!”
Uploading this without even watching it first because, Oprah. You’re welcome.
Note: Disregard the poor grammar in the post title. When it comes to Oprah, grammatical faux pas are irrelevant.
That’s been really hard to wrap my head around. Especially during the times when I’m weighed down by my own mess and misery. It’s really astonishing to hear people describe me; they say all of the things about me that I conveniently overlook. All of the things that I forget about because I’m so busy trying to be perfect. All of the things that, despite my shortcomings, are still worthy of admiration and make me worthy of being looked up to. Continue reading
A new, ongoing series that I just thought up because I really like my current lock screen.
Show me your lock screen pics!
I’m realizing that 26 is the age where I should stop trying to change who I am and just accept it and make it work out for my betterment.
Being apologetic and/or trying to act in ways that are in conflict with who I really am only made things worse for me. And I can’t move forward like that. The hardest part about this transition is to retrain myself to be me automatically. To bring myself in every situation that I find myself in. Before, I’d wait until I was out of options before I’d resort to being my authentic self.
I’ve wasted too much time, too many tears, and even more opportunities by not being bold enough to be myself.
This is the day that changes.