dusting off my denim jumper.
When you always feel other and different, you learn to cope by being other and different on purpose.
{Originally published Jan. 13, 2019}
This is a very old photo. I’ve been thinking about movement: the flow of life and growth, the journey of life being the bridge that takes us from then to now. And all the stories, events, and experiences that occur along the way.
This version of me didn’t know how much she was loved. And yet she was surrounded by such a close knit tribe of wild, artistic souls. Things are different now. I am very much in a wilderness, and yet also very much home. This paradox contains the sort of depth I thought I had (“I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living.”) but didn’t. It was the sort of depth that says, “ooo, I’m so deep; see how deep I am?” but the roots were confused and my language, quite pompous.
In this photo, I desperately wanted to be the woman I envisioned in my head. I wanted to be edgy. When you always feel other and different, you learn to cope by being other and different on purpose.
But really, I just wanted not to be weird. Truth be told, I am forever that awkward homeschool girl with frizzy hair and a denim jumper. Who pretends not to notice when strangers stare and their lips move when my family files past. And you can’t help but see the numbers add up on their lips: “...seven, eight, nine...” and the attempt at whispering. “Why aren’t they in school?” “They must be Catholic.” “Is it a blended family?” Or the outright inquiry to my parents, “Do you know what causes that?” Followed by a 1994 LOL.
My heart pounds. People are staring. I am red-faced and frizzy-haired and weird.