The Novelty of the Oddity
I’m different. Or at least that’s how I’ve always felt. That the way the world is filtered into my consciousness is uniquely colored compared to my peers. I alternate between feeling blessed and isolated because of my violet colored glasses.
There have been a few instances in my life where I have fallen in with the “cool kids.” Abrasively opinionated with that <<avoir du chien>>, that <<je ne sais quoi>> that draws people to them. You want to be in their circle even if you will incur the abuses for which they are known. In confidence they tell you that your oddities are refreshing and they somehow think you’re cool too. Yet, in the fray of social interactions I never quite know when I will be included. When my oddities will be received with discomfort or laughter. People are the most volatile of variables, I have found. And we hold our cards tight to the chest.
I know I’ll never truly be one of the “cool kids,” because to be cool in that way seems to coincide with a wounding pride—which might be the result of a wounded pride. I struggle daily with my pride and judgmental tendencies. I don’t want to give myself over to these monsters of self for fleeting acceptance. It is difficult to maintain an authentic self in the wake of perceived judgments. The door of vulnerability is not screened. If you open yourself up to joys, hurts are bound to float in on the same streams without discrimination. It is my reflex to slam my heart door shut to protect against any potential daggers.