Fitting In Cardboard

When I was younger I had this feeling that there was this handbook that I'd never gotten, that explained how to be, how to laugh, what to wear, how to stand by yourself in a hallway.

Everyone else looked so natural. Like they'd all practiced together and knew exactly what to do. Even just the way that they'd push hair out of their face. My experience was pretty much the opposite.

I was conscious of how I sat and how I smiled, and when I was alone with another person I had no idea what to do, or what to say. I could just feel myself panic. It sucked.

I'd imagine what people were like when I wasn't around. How they'd compare notes on how I didn't quite fit. Or even worse, maybe they just wouldn't notice. So I tried to pick up the patterns. I wore what they wore and said what they said. I even wrote smile more on a sticky note.

And over time it sort of worked in a way. I made a version of me that fit in. Whatever that means. But as I grew older the patterns kept changing. And it took so much effort to keep learning them. And I was still stuck with the problem that I'd started with. Being terrified of the moment when my tricks stop working.

I think it took me too long to learn something. That even though there is a thing called fitting in, that it's something that you can learn and practice, those pages are so thin compared to who you are. That the way to become natural like I wanted to be so badly, is by forgetting what you're trying to be to other people.

And if there is a handbook, you probably get to write it yourself.