Redfinition

So this will be my new blog focus for a few weeks. Redefining myself. Or really, coming to terms with the definitions as they are already in place.

So I was in Ozona recently doing jewelry shows for my mom and a friend from school. I made the comment that I think I've changed a lot since my HS days and my friend disagreed. And as I got thinking about it I wondered why? Am I really the same or have I changed? And if I've changed, how exactly? And is this change something only I see? And if I'm the only to see it is actually real?

So now after a few weeks of wondering, thinking, deliberating... maybe I haven't changed. Maybe I've just become comfortable with who I am. When you grow up in a small town, as small a town as I did anyway, you are not always loved for who you are. So when people say things like, just be yourself, you can't actually ever do that because once your true colors are out there you can't hide them, you can't take them back. You know that letting people see you, for who you actually are, can be a major step in the wrong direction. You are constantly editing yourself, your behavior to fit into some mold. I never did really fit. No matter how hard I tried and believe me I really tried. It's all I ever wanted really. Growing up I just wanted to blend in. I just wanted to be like everyone else. Even when you look at pictures with friends and I, it easy to see that that was never, absolutely never going to happen. All of my friends were blond, blue eyed, thin, cute. Not short but not exactly tall either. I'm only 5'9", red headed, dark eyes, curvy... could never be described as cute in a million years. You see where I'm going here, right? If I couldn't blend in physically why did I ever think I blended in any other capacity?

Then lets go ahead and focus on the fact that I'm not quiet. I talk. I talk a lot and it has taken me years to be okay with that. And in the years when I wasn't okay with it and tried to sensor my every word, I looked and felt horribly uncomfortable. Because I was. It just isn't who I am. I'm not a wall flower, I don't hang on anyone's every word and I certainly have an opinion of my own.

But when you are a teenager and interested in boys, as I certainly was, you just want to be like everyone else. I would look in the mirror and think, I'm sort of pretty, I have all the right things in all the right places, so why don't any of the boys in my home town like me? Looking back I can accept the fact that teenage boys are not comfortable with a girl who knows what she wants. Let's be honest most grown men aren't comfortable with a woman who knows what she wants. And even though I've definitely had interims of space where I was confused or searching, most of the time I know what it is exactly that I want in life and I'm striving to get it. I was never good at playing the games. Stroke the ego and such. I just wanted someone to like me for who I was.

I always thought of myself as a giving person, but that wasn't cool so I just found other ways to do it. Like volunteer work or extra curricular activities that focused on community service. I was mean to people when others were because that is how you are "supposed to act" when you are a teenager but it always chafed. I wish I had been one of those teenagers we read about now-a-days. The ones who grasp opportunities to change their communities, who are comfortable in their own skin, who are focused and driven. Don't get me wrong, I was very active in almost everything in HS but I wonder, did I do it for me? Or because I was grasping for something? I tried so hard to fit in that when I left and allowed myself to be who I was I thought I'd changed.

So circling back to this change thing. I guess that friend of mine was right. I haven't changed. I even look pretty much the same. I just like myself now. Or moved to a place where I was allowed to grow and like myself. I didn't stay there. I couldn't. I was never accepted. I never fit in and even today when I return I find myself trying to edit my behavior. There is a Cross Canadian Ragweed song that says you are always 17 in you hometown. Well, that's accurate! As soon as I hit HWY163, I feel the change take over. I'm 17 and racing the clock back from Angelo on a Saturday afternoon with Jessica in the front seat of my truck, singing John Cougar Mellencamp.

Hhhhmmmmmmm, and then I'm jolted back by a swift kick to the back of my seat.