Under/Over
I’m pretty weird.

Yesterday someone asked me how old I was.
I hate that question.
I don’t think I’ll ever like it.
Usually people tell me I look older than my age, and I’m used to being the youngest one around wherever I am, but this time the person asking was just a year older than I am, and with just a few more questions that I didn’t quite know how to skirt, she got this really impressive, incredibly inaccurate summary of me that made me deeply uncomfortable.
It was the “I’ve lived in four countries in the past 5 years, I got a Bachelors and a masters in just four years, I speak French, I’m a dual citizen, and people are actually paying me to write words” version.
Putting it all together like that, it sounds… mad.
It sounds like I have everything figured out, like I’m succeeding at this thing that no one my age (at least that I’ve met) is actually succeeding at.
But I’m really not.
It’s easy to imagine anyone and everyone in your age range doing significantly better than you are if you just asked those questions and stopped there because measuring their greatest “successes” and proudest accomplishments, the things they advertise about themselves, their twitter bio’s and LinkedIn summaries, up against all of your failures, everything you’re dealing with, everything you’re worrying about right now, isn’t a fair comparison at all.
I didn’t let this young woman do that.

She was feeling bad, worrying, and then started comparing, so I gave her a tiny teaspoon of context, just a little taste of some of my less marketable qualities: I lived as a hermit for a year after completing that masters, I’m dealing with a serious mental illness, and I’m not being paid nearly enough to break even each month on freelancing alone.
I didn’t need to give her more.
I wasn’t trying to burden her.
The point was: We all have our shit. Even the people who look like they’ve got it together.
And it helped a little.
She’s going to be ok.
I’m also going to be ok.
