I am a Mis-Fit: honoring one’s inner being
For the first 19 years of my life, I truly believed, I had an identity crisis. I attended an all-boy high school that was divided by two social groups: the jocks and the nerds. It appeared every jock was tall, immensely talented, and despite being in an all-boy school, had every girl at their disposal. It appeared every nerd was getting accepted into Ivy League Universities and were on their way to curing cancer.
And there I was stuck right in the middle; a misfit.
In high school, I was athletic, but not talented; smart, but not SAT smart; not unattractive, but not very appealing (pasty and pale); dedicated but not determined; prideful, but not proud.
I was, and still am, a walking contradiction and I couldn’t be happier.
I blamed my failures on everything and everyone. I blamed my lack of athletism on poor coaching and I blamed my poor SAT scores on selfish tutoring. For most of my high school tenure -and for my first year of college -, I was so hateful, so angry and so frustrated because I was not becoming the person I thought I wanted to be.
When I graduated high school and went to college, I was so determined to become this prideful, confident, jock because that is what people seemed to love. In my first year of college, I wore this false armor of extroversion. I wore the armor proudly and I felt myself becoming the person I thought I wanted to be. I had a “cool” group of friends, was meeting girls, and was enjoying every second of my first two months.
However, my armor quickly rusted away. I could not maintain an extroverted lifestyle because I was not an extrovert. I was acting as someone else and I it didn’t realize until it was too late.
After disappointing 2013, I spent January 1st, 2014, visiting my aunt, and her four-year-old triplets, in San Francisco. It was snowing in New York, but it was crisp and bright in San Francisco. I was reminded that I didn’t have to put on a mask to be unconditionally loved. I realized I was loved by my family for me.
When I returned to school as a 19-year-old misfit, I still wasn’t sure where I would fit in, but I was willing to be patient. In my building, I would play pool in the newly furnished game room. A group of friends would always play around the same time I was. Since I had changed my setting, I began to make new friends.
For the first time since middle school, I decided I would listen, rather than react. I asked questions without giving away answers. I observed and absorbed, instead of being active and impulsive. I had nothing to prove to these newly acquainted strangers, so I didn’t need to be heavily involved. I honored my introvert and acted without pressure.
To my surprise, I found myself being accepted into an already established group of friends. Their main priority was not hooking up or getting drunk, it was having fun while staying balanced. Conversations were orientated around genuine emotion and honest opinions. Like myself, this was a group of walking contradictions: a weightlifter who was not a jock, a beautiful English major who never had a boyfriend, a brilliant scientist who loved to party, and an introvert who loved to talk.
Unlike high school, I felt I had nothing to prove. I was accepted by providing caring solutions and staying candid to my personality.
For the first 19 of my life, I had one true friend. When I turned 20 I had made five more. For a terribly long time, I was ashamed of my real personality because I believed would not be accepted. I quickly began to love who I was, and my friends did too.
I will be a proud misfit for the rest of my life and I couldn’t be happier.
