This little light of mine
I’m going to let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
–This Little Light Of Mine/Harry Dixon Loes
As a kid, I was very introverted, but for as long as I can remember, I looked forward to finally being able to go to school even though it meant being around a bunch of strangers. I learned to read practically before I could talk. I just knew that school was where I belonged. The idea of school wasn’t a complete mystery to me–I’d been in day care, pre-school and kindergarden my whole life. They weren’t teaching us enough though. I wanted to read big books. I wanted to learn to add. I thought all the other kids would be as excited to be there as I was. I already knew how to read, so I thought the teachers would also be as happy to have me in school as I was to be going there.
I was so wrong about both.
Most of the teachers didn’t know what to do with a kid who always knew the answers before anyone else and asked questions about stuff they weren’t ready to teach yet. Most of the other kids didn’t like the kiss ass know-it-all.
The eager hand in the air started to get ignored. Then it stopped being so eager. Then it stopped completely. The teachers wanted less enthusiasm and more conforming. I figured out that what everyone wanted was for me to sit down, work independently if they couldn’t give me enough to do and to shut the fuck up.
So eventually that’s what I did.
It didn’t happen overnight. It took several years for the love of learning that I was born with to be beaten down. I had some excellent teachers in elementary school who kept me going after a very rocky first grade. By the time I got to Junior High, I’d figured out that all most of the teachers really wanted was for me to tell them the answers they were expecting, get good grades and blend in.
What they never managed to do, though (and my 8th grade English teacher certainly gave it a good try) was to kill my love of reading. Reading kept me from going completely crazy. Reading kept me from getting bored in class as long as I was discrete about it. Reading was my one constant. Has been my one constant for my whole life.
Reading, among other things, gradually got me to stop hiding so much. Got me to start talking again. Reading, and some really wonderful people. I’m still not exactly an extrovert, but I do make an effort to talk to people. I try not to be so terrified in groups that aren’t made up entirely of the 5 people in the world who I’m comfortable being with.
I don’t succeed a lot of the time, but I keep trying.
I’ve also given up conforming. Conforming and I didn’t get along at all. Maybe I’m just a born weirdo. Maybe I’ve just figured out that trying to be someone else made people dislike me more than they ever did when I was being my (weirdo) self.
Maybe I just grew up enough to realize that I can’t be anyone else. No one else can be me. Only I can. If I try not to be, I’m not doing justice to myself or to anyone.
Or maybe I was just tired. It’s tiring to be someone else all the time. It’s tiring to beat down who you are. It is much easier to stand up. To stretch.
Whatever it was, I’m mostly OK with standing out at this point.
In the (hopefully immortal) words of Storm Large:
Big girls were not built to walk the straight and narrow.
So I’m just not going to walk anyone else’s idea of the right path. I’m going to walk my own. Even if people notice me. Even if people don’t like me.
If anyone doesn’t like it, well…
I’ll be over there on my path, minding my own fucking business. They won’t bother me much.