I realized I would never be cool the summer before fourth grade.
This was mainly because I had buck teeth, baby fat and an embarrassing supply of gauchos (pants that can pretty much substitute for parachutes). But even so, I had way too much fun being the weird kid.
That summer we moved to Redlands, Calif., which is a relatively small town in the Inland Empire. I didn’t know anyone yet, and we didn’t have any neighbors with kids, so I spent my afternoons singing to trees and scooping fish in and out of our pond in an attempt to teach them how to breathe air (I wish I were exaggerating).
I was pretty content with the way I lived my life until middle school, where one learns to truly delve into the depths of insecurity. Long story short, I went blonde. I found that the harder I tried to be like other people, the more I despised the person I was becoming.
In the end, it was the great philosopher Hannah Montana who got through to me with the hit song, “Nobody’s Perfect” (it was middle school, OK?). Eventually, I began to embrace and even revel in my own stupidity.
But even after my unparalleled revelation, I still hoped to be flawless by the time I got to college (honestly, I’ve had 18 years to eliminate my imperfections).
I thought I would be sophisticated, sensible and intellectual, and I thought embarrassing moments would be so far into my past that I would look back on them almost with a sense of nostalgia.
But that hasn’t happened. I never found a love for math, I still laugh too loudly and I’m a creative writing major, if that tells you anything about my take on practicality. And if writing novels doesn’t work out, I have an extensive plan B in which I will move to the Amazon and function as an avid tree house builder.
My “wild nights” consist of amateur parkour and a pint of ice cream from the HAWC. My favorite T-shirt says, “I support the right to arm bears.” My laptop sleeve has a unicorn on it. Need I go on?
The thing is, I wouldn’t be happy if I acted like someone else, and someone else wouldn’t be happy acting like me.
Each of us are comprised of oddities and eccentricities and differences — they are what define us and give us character and value. Trying to be like someone else turned out to be as unsuccessful as trying to teach a fish to breathe out of water.
I’ve come to the realization that growing up isn’t an overnight process. I’ll always purchase accessories adorned with mythical creatures and insert too many Napoleon Dynamite quotes into a conversation. I’ll always have the quirks that even two sets of braces and a new wardrobe couldn’t fix. But I’m OK with that.
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As published in the Sept. 26 issue of the Pepperdine Graphic.
