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http://growpicture.tk/2013/10/15/introspection-is/ |
In college, I discovered that I am very weird. I enjoy reading more than I enjoy texting. I use Twitter like its Google News and not a celebrity circle jerk. I prefer flats to high heels and will sing my heart out to Celine Dion at a moment's notice. I can’t tell you the lyrics to the latest Chief Keef song, nor have I ever watched an episode of Real Housewives of Whatever. I don’t know what Future looks like, I don’t internalize Kanye West’s temper tantrums, and I definitely don’t watch twerk videos.
I basically didn’t fit into the dominant college lifestyle of obscene partying and fanatical celebrity obsession.
Not to say I didn’t have a good time in university. A few prolific hangovers can attest to fun nights wandering around Boston with a cheap bottle of wine shared among friends. But I never let these types of experiences define my collegiate existence or legacy. They were footnotes in my greater educational story; a passing side to my tale of intellectual growth and creative thinking. I refused to let a night of partying qualify my entire collegiate narrative.
Parties were the worst. I could hardly socialize without appearing completely disinterested in what a stranger had to tell me. I couldn’t keep up in conversation. I didn’t download the latest Lil Wayne mixtape so I couldn’t add insight to the discussion. And there was no Marvin Gaye playing, so I couldn’t dance to the music. Katy Perry, LMFAO, and Ke$ha played the whole night, so I dared not mention Cyndi Lauper or Missy Eliot when the DJ asked for requests.
So I quietly remained on the sidelines, watching everyone else have the time of their lives. In the corner, when all I had was my introspection. It was where I was happiest.
In retrospect, I suspect I wasn’t alone in my social discomfort. At these parties, I observed falsehoods among my peers. I could hear mythical affinity for the mundane and insignificant, all in a desperate hope to appear “normal.” It’s human nature to desire membership in the dominant tribe, and in college, that inherent emotion is magnified to an uncomfortable extreme. Loneliness is a person’s greatest fear, and humans (young people, especially) will make profound strides to avoid it.
I was once that human, afraid of loneliness. When I rejected invitations in favor of a night in with my Gameboy Color and Forensic Files, I questioned my mental health. I impugned my personhood and what prospects for a social future I had, if any. Would I ever make close friendships or find love if I was unable to carry a basic discussion about dull subjects many my age held in the highest regard? These thoughts terrified me, and fueled my reluctant appetite for shallow social connections.
I kept at it. I attended parties I knew I wouldn’t enjoy and went out to clubs that played music I did not like. But with each attempt at socialization, I became more comfortable in my skin. I spoke up about my tastes and preferences. When someone proclaimed Lil Wayne was their favorite lyricist, I no longer had an issue saying I didn’t listen to him. I was met with incredulity, but I’d continue with a rant about the spirit of hip hop and how Wayne is an affront to it. Each situation got a little bit easier. I realized that if I kept to my personality, a natural dialogue would emerge.
I learned to love myself and my eccentric tastes. I’ve embraced my desire for intellectual awakening and am no longer afraid to indulge in it. I appreciate my personal time and space and have no hesitancy staying in for the evening, hovering over The New Yorker while watching Spiderman. I’ve found outlets for my expressions—writing and acting being the most spiritual among them.
I’ve also developed a small network of friends who accept me and my quirks. My friends are all inherent leaders achieving success in their studies and professions. Common among my friends is our ability to intertwine serious revelations in our low-key social outings. We’ll talk about career plans or foreign policy over gut-punching cocktails, right after we dish about our unhealthy love affair with Kerry Washington.
Learning to accept my awkward nerdiness was not easy, and the journey is not complete. I still have my moments of weakness when I fret over the future of my social dynasty. But these thoughts will never subside because an integral part of life is the fear of the unknown.
There’s a new addition to my book of mantras: The more I respect and love myself, the stronger my ability to develop intelligent social connections becomes.
