So, What’s It Gonna Take?

I remember the first time when I stepped into the middle school cafeteria. Only, we called it junior high school back then. This was the first time that I realized the world was a bigger place. I understood the meaning that came with the saying big fish in a little pond.
Only, I was never a big fish and the pond I was in always seemed to grow larger, making me seem so much smaller, which is exactly how I felt.
Small. Tiny.
Or maybe even insignificant.

There was this great big world out there, and me, I thought that I was too weak or puny to compete. I was shorter than nearly all the other kids. I was way too thin. I was far too weak. I was awkward too and looked much younger than my classmates.

At best, I assumed that I could be seen as cute in a little kid sort of way. But who would see this and find me desirable?
Who would see me (for me) and choose to have me on their side?

How does someone fit in?
How does anyone fit in?
And who decides what is good, bad, pretty, or otherwise, who gets to decide the standards of beauty?
But more than anything, where does this kind of power come from?

I often talk about the first time I walked into the school cafeteria and how big it seemed. I was afraid and intimidated. God, I was so little.
I have always wondered how and where the different levels of popularity begin. Who decides who is good looking, or cool, and who has the right to decide what is ugly?
Is there a vote for things like this?
Is there a line to sit at the head table and be part of the panel who gets to judge others?

Secondly, there are people who seem to have the golden ticket. Somehow, people like this can walk into a room, effortlessly, and everyone seems to notice. All heads turn and all eyes are on them.
Meanwhile, there are people who can scream out loud in the crowd and somehow, their voice is unheard and never regarded.
But why?

There are truly beautiful people in this world. I know this. And some are unassuming. Some come in beautiful layers. Some have a beauty that is only skin deep which makes them average at best. And yes, some have the fortunate experience of living their life with a wonderful exterior.
I have always wondered what it takes to be beautiful?
Can this be done by anyone?
Are some more inclined or born more fortunate?
Am I ugly?
Am I only average?
Does my misery make me undesirable?
Do my secrets bleed through my skin, and everyone sees, but they smile and act as if I were no better than someone who is mentally challenged and can hardly tie my own shoes.

But getting back to my junior high analogy –
I often talk about the stations in the cafeteria and the different sections of cool. For example, where did the athletes sit?
Or where did the cool kids sit?
Where was the tough kid’s table?

I saw this for the first time.
I was too young but old enough to realize that this is going to be life and life is always going to be a challenge and a competition to be liked, or chosen, or wanted. Let’s face it – no one wants to be picked last or not picked at all.

I wondered where the hell am I going to sit?
Where was my table going to be in this figurative world?

I wasn’t tough.
I wasn’t cool.
I was too little, too slow, and too weak to be an athlete.
I was never noticeable.
No, I blended.

I wasn’t good looking enough, or stylish, or charming enough to turn heads or be noticed.
This was me in what seemed like my infancy, —and no, I was not an infant, per se, but I was a small fish in a pond that grew much bigger, both consecutively and ongoing.

The social structure in my elementary school was smaller and somewhat safer. The focus on status or looks or the awareness of being popular was limited to a classroom that never changed.
Maybe there was 25 kids that we saw every day.
Maybe you saw other kids in the playground but the social draw was far less intimidating.

But life changed.
All of this was different for me. This was junior high. This was the next level.
Or perhaps I can say this was the next pond up, which was huge for me as a small fish.
This is life.
We grow and we move and enter new ponds and experience different people, places, and things.

We learn. We grow.
Sometimes, we face unfortunate lessons, like who is better looking, or who is stronger.
We encounter struggles over who is more socially appealing.
I never saw myself as any of these things.

Safe to say that I was awkward.
I was socially uncomfortable.
And I still am, to be honest.
I was physically too small and seemingly unnoticeable.
In my assumption, this was worse than being ugly because at least ugly people are noticed.
I was neither good nor bad nor wanted or unwanted.
I was unnoticeable, untraceable, and I could disappear and no one would regard or remark, hey, whatever happened to that kid?
This was my biggest fear.

I was afraid that I would never fit in.
I was afraid that I would always be weak, or that I would never be anyone’s first choice.

I always saw myself as perfectly bland, or medium, and just average.
And this is what I thought on a good day.
I was never popular and if I was known for any reason, then I was usually known for some unfortunate thing or a stupid mistake.

I was out of my head, back then. And maybe I am out of my head now.
I never knew how to sit and be comfortable. I never knew how to stop comparing myself to others, which made me brutal to myself.
I tried to fit in.
I tried to be cool.
I never fit with the so-called jocks or the athletes. I was not book smart and my learning disabilities were either unaddressed or undiagnosed.
I slipped through the cracks, somehow, and I was that faceless entity, or so I thought.

I would never be the one who had the spotlight on me. If I did have the spotlight, I wouldn’t know what to do with this or how to handle it. Adversely, I would destroy everything I had, countlessly and repeatedly.

Is it that fucking hard?
Is it that fucking difficult to be cool or to fit in?
Is it that fucking impossible to be me and be happy?

You never know what anyone else sees, thinks, or feels.
Ah, but we can definitely assume.
Right?

I have no idea how I appear. My fears are that I appear as weak or unwanted.
I see my emotional reflection of the child ‘that was” and fear that he cries too much and screams too loud.
“Shh, I tell him.
You’re going to give us away . . .”

I assumed that I was seen as weak. I assumed that I was the last to get the joke, and more often than not, I assumed that I was the actual punchline.
I still assume this.
All the time.
And there are people who know this about me too and yes, they have fun while exposing this.
So, they I will expose this too.

My biggest fear was to be average at best.
I was afraid to be noticed and unnoticed and afraid that life would always be this uncomfortable.
But this is life when you live with social anxiety. This is where insecurity was born for me.

This is what happens when someone you like or dated chooses your friend instead of you.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way.
This is why insecurity comes into betrayals and why fears and dishonesties ruin relationships. This is why wives cheat on their husbands and husbands cheat on their wives.
This is the symptom (or part of) why there’s a hole in the soul and no matter what or who, nothing seems to fill the void, and so, we always search. We always worry that no one will ever be “ours” and that despite our best, we will only be half-seen, or partially wanted.
Or perhaps this is more me and more subjective, but still, accountability is mine to claim.

I know what it was like to lose and to succumb to the gossip mills and rumor factories. I know what it was like to be socially punished and laughed at. I understand the aftermath of being bullied and laughed at. And fully, I understand what it means to make a fool of myself and literally wish that I could disappear or go away.

I see nothing sad about this. But more, I see this as being brutally and crucially honest about some of the traumas of my emotional youth. There are other details, which were more internal. There were other bouts for me to contend with. While I describe my family as loving, I also offer that my family was equally as dysfunctional as the normal everyday family.

I was never a family hero. I was never a family superstar. I was often the scapegoat and lost child. I was the troubled one.
I was never good in class because I could never retain the information. I was the younger brother of an athlete and seemingly, my brother was popular, wanted and included. He was strong and appearing desirable.

I remember girls asking me about him. I remember older girls asking me about him.
No one ever asked about me, at least not in a good way, or not that I knew of.

I never deserved an honorable mention. I was challenged and burdened and struggling at best. I was sinking fast and drowning in my own pools of emotional quicksand.
I often lost myself to comparison.

By any means, I never thought that I could stand out for being as I am or be loved for who I am.
I would never be enough, as in good looking enough, cool enough and certainly I never thought that I would be comfortable enough just to be me.

The girls I liked never liked me back.
The friends I wanted to have never wanted to be friends with me.

Then again, this all leads back to my discussions about the deception of our perception.
But regardless, I swore that I would never be part of something that would have some like me as a guest or a member.

What does it take to shed this old skin?
What has to happen to let go of the burdensome insecurities that lead us to believe that we are always competing or always losing?

What has to happen to let go of the weights on our shoulders, or to separate ourselves from the unfair assumptions that come with bouts of imposter syndrome?
This is something common, by the way.

Imposter syndrome is a constant pattern of self-doubt, where a person believes they are a fraud. This means they doubt their accomplishments and abilities. They question everything down to the evidence of their success—and at some point, the real burden is someone with imposter syndrome believes that the world is going to pull their covers and expose them as the fool they truly are.
A fraud.
A hoax.
A flawed soul.
Or worse, hopeless.

I have been part of emotional warfare before. I have seen people use this tactic against me and expose my worst possible fears, so that they can feel better about themselves.

No one can pass their own test.
Everyone has their secrets that they would never want to come to light, or have them exposed — yet, I see those who are quick to pull the trigger on other people and laughing about their flaws, and publicly too.

What’s it gonna take to shed this skin?
What’s it gonna take to let go of this?
What’s it gonna take to walk away from this kind of competition and just be happy?

Months ago—
I lost a friend to a tragic death. Something told me that this was going to happen, but I was too wrapped up in my own bullshit losses. I was too self-absorbed to think about him or what he was going through.
There was something in the sound of his voice, something resigned and oddly peaceful, as if to offer a comfortable farewell.

There are times when we speak to someone for the last time, and we seldom know, this would be the last time we ever speak.

What’s it gonna take to live a good life?
First, I suppose we have to start at the beginning. Then we have to remove ourselves from where we don’t belong. We have to get away from where we don’t want to be. More than anything else, we have to find our way out of the emotional swamps to stop us from drowning in our emotional quicksand.

This isn’t high school anymore.
This is life.
Interacting with the gossip mills and rumor factories or regarding them is about as successful as reliving old arguments or imagining people, places, or things that do nothing else but hurt your own feelings.

I understand there are enemies in the mist.
And they will always be there.
There’s always going to be someone eager to spread rumors or speak nasty.
But this is about them.

I suppose all one can do is slide their chair back, stand up, and walk away from the table.

An argument needs two sides to continue.
Remove yourself and the argument no longer exists.
Even if it does exist, at least we won’t be there to hear it.

You know?