So I am nannying this summer, and the little boy I tend has started taking 3 hour naps in the afternoon. This leaves me very little to do besides check Facebook and write entries for my new little hobby--this blog. So, here goes another one I have been working on for a little while. I promise the cookie reference will make sense by the end.
I’ve known from a very young age that I was somewhat more awkward than others when it came to social situations. I grew up with a twin brother who I was comfortable with, but when it came to others I was pretty shy. I think I was too mature for my own good, always worried about what other thought of me, and thus I was more concerned with what others thought than with just being “me.” I envied the girls who could just be fun and “cute” and “childish” while I worried over being seen as silly, immature, and awkward (and in doing so only increased my awkwardness.) I, like most of us, was teased, sometimes unwanted, and not always popular. It was difficult to figure out where I fit in sometimes, to say the least.
But enough about me as a kid, this entry is about me as an adult (or pseudo-adult). A few weeks ago I went to a party with a group of people who didn’t know each other. Well, let me rephrase that. Some of us knew each other, and the rest knew each other, but we didn’t ALL know each other. Now that I have been unmistakably clear, I will continue. Since my childhood I am much better about meeting new people, and about having “fun” in social situations. I can talk to new people, make them laugh, and just generally have a good time. However, that night I felt like a little kid again. I needed a “security blanket” and didn’t have one. It seems like those I felt most comfortable with were involved in cooking, cleaning, organizing, etc. Basically they were involved, and I wasn’t, so I sat to the side and felt very...awkward.
I won’t go into unnecessary details about the party, because that’s not really what this is about. But what frustrates me about the whole situation is how much I wanted to be involved, to talk to new people, to feel comfortable. I wanted to say “NO!” to the me inside that was feeling insecure. I wanted to say I was different as an adult than I was as a kid. But instead I let the awkward, lonely, uncomfortable, unwanted feeling grow until I felt my only options were to cry, scream, or run away (none of which are really socially acceptable at a party.) I did manage to make minor getaways: I escaped to the next room to play the piano; I hid in the living room, talking to the 2 year old daughter of a friend; I snuck onto the porch outside, pretending to make a phone call...whatever I could to escape the awkwardness I felt when I was with the group.
The night finally drew to a close and I felt relieved when I was finally able to excuse myself without seeming rude. I had wanted to leave for several hours so when I was finally able to I was more or less delighted. But as I drove home I pondered how I had felt all night. I regretted not just jumping in, starting a game, talking to someone new, or even just being okay with sitting back and watching. Don’t get me wrong, more often than not lately I am that person, who can do those things, but that night I just...wasn’t that girl.
It reminded me of the story Eleven by Sandra Cisneros, where she says sometimes you are older—like maybe you’re really twenty-five—but you feel like you’re three, or seven, or thirteen. You feel like an onion, or a wooden tree trunk, or those Russian dolls that fit inside each other, because inside of you, like a smaller Russian doll, is that eleven year old who wasn’t cool enough to hang out with the “popular girls,” or that awkward nineteen year old who didn’t date as much as her roommates. I was frustrated as I realized that as much as I wanted to forget about those “mini-me’s” and be a confident adult, as much as I wished I didn’t feel insecure and inadequate, and that I could forget I ever felt that way growing up, I was missing something very important: I am not that person anymore, but she is part of me nonetheless. The experiences I have had in my life all contributed to making me who I am now. Rather than thinking of the girl I “have been” as a collection of Russian dolls, or even as a staircase progressing upwards (an analogy I liked for a while), I decided to think of it like something I can really relate to: a batch of cookies.
On my mission we often used analogies or object lessons to teach people. It kept it simple enough for them to understand, and for us to explain in limited Spanish, and a batch of cookies was something we often used to teach everything from “family unity” to” why we have trials in life.” The way I applied it to myself was more or less the same. I am a work in progress, and I am not “done” yet. When you are making cookies, the ingredients by themselves may not be very attractive, tasty, or useful (tell me when you use baking powder by itself) but all are necessary. The individual days (and even years) of our lives are the same way. Some days, or years, we spend feeling not very attractive, but those times help us develop personality. Some years we spend feeling lonely, or unwanted, but those years help us develop empathy so we can help and love others later on. Eventually each of these experiences, whether they last for days or years, blend together to form the person you are meant to be.
But like I said, we aren’t “done” yet. Sometimes when you are mixing cookies you think it all looks pretty good, but then a chunk of butter pops out that didn’t quite mix in. It may remind you that you were once a greasy teenager who got teased (sorry...butter, grease...anyway); or you may find that the flour on the bottom didn’t get mixed in and it reminds you that once upon a time you had a rather lame sense of humor (dry...okay, yeah...). However, when we have those days that remind us of times past, we can either focus on who we were, or remind ourselves of who those experiences made us become. Maybe you learned to empathize with those who are teased, and you became a kinder person. Perhaps you never, ever developed a keen wit, but you learned to appreciate those who do have a great sense of humor, and learned to surround yourself with that kind of people.
Whatever the case, we are all works in progress. The end result will be delicious if we continue to let experience shape us for the better, rather than dwelling bitterly on the past. Don’t be “butter” or “flour.” Be a cookie...in progress. I wanna be a Double Chocolate Chunk. :)
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