the Quixotic Chica

There is a woman who lives in my building who frightens me. I first spotted her in the gym, when she was running on one of the treadmills. I had finished my cardio and was wandering around the gym, half-assedly doing some “strength training,” which in my world means holding a pair of weights while watching the TV. A few other people who had been working out had finished up and left the gym, leaving the two of us alone. She had her headphones in, and I assumed that she thought I had left the gym, also.

Why, you ask, would I assume she didn’t know I was there?

Because a couple of minutes after everyone else had left the gym, she started letting out really loud grunts.

“UGH!”

“RRUUGGGGHHH!”

“WOOOOO!!!!”

At first I was scared, thinking that she was preparing for battle and that I was the target. They were the kinds of sounds that I imagine a sumo wrestler would make before flattening his opponent like a pancake.

Then I realized that these weren’t quite battle noises, but more likely sounds of relief or motivation, intended to express how Very Into Her Workout this woman was. She was enthusiastic! She was powerful! She was sweating!

I tried to contain my laughter as I slipped out of the gym. I imagined that she had caught sight of me as I walked past her treadmill and that she had felt embarrassed for making loud, sudden noises. It’s okay, I had thought. It could happen to anyone. I won’t judge.

Then I saw her again. I was bouncing around on the treadmill, and she hopped on to the one next to me. I recognized her from the last time and smiled to myself. She probably recognized me, I thought. Poor thing. The first few minutes passed in relative silence, the only sounds coming from my iPod and my sneakers slapping against the treadmill. Sweat, sweat, breathe, breathe.

Then the grunts started.

“WOOOOO!!!!”

“UGGGGGGGGGGGGH!!”

“RRRRRRRRRR!!!!”

With each shout, I jumped a little. I was startled, sure, but also a bit intrigued. Clearly, this woman knew that she wasn’t alone. I was running right next to her. That meant only one thing: she didn’t care.

I am not against a celebratory whoop. I understand that when the adrenaline is pumping, it can feel good to let out a little shout when you’re done with a workout. But shouting every 30 seconds, frightening your neighbors in the process? This is just a little strange to me. Does the grunting enhance her workout? What purpose does it serve? I just don’t understand.

Eventually we parted ways. I know we will meet again. And I will be prepared for more sweaty grunting coming from her direction.

Okay, so looking back at my whole “Darn, why do people think I’m so nice?” rant, I realize that it was, er, okay, maybe just a little, hmm, emo. I can’t help it. I get like that sometimes! It’s just who I am.

Once I got over being emo, I did start thinking about some other things related to how we identify ourselves and how we wish to be identified by others. Yes, this might be a tad too self-contemplative, but whatevs. We’s gonna roll with it.

So honestly, I do think I can be a little weird sometimes. Random. Silly. Nerdy. Goofy. Whimsical. These are terms that I throw around quite freely when describing myself. But when I started thinking about why I insist so strongly on others embracing my quirkiness, I realized that, oh goodness, it has actually become very trendy to be the weird person. Has anyone watched YouTube lately? I don’t mean just for the cat videos (but if you haven’t watched Henri the French Cat, you are seriously missing out), but actually watching the channels of “internet celebrities.” These people are wild, ridiculous, and a bit unusual at times— and people love it. Suddenly being the weird nerd is the ultimate cool. For every such YouTube star, there are hundreds of wanna-bes talking to their video cameras, trying to show how misunderstood they are, and while we’re at it, look at how kooky I am OMG, lol, I can make weird voices and use really rapid jump cuts!!

I don’t mean to be harsh. Okay, maybe I do.

But not really.

I get it, I really do. There’s a reason that there’s an internet community of misfits. If you don’t think you entirely mesh with your IRL peer group, why not make a compatible one on the internet? I’m actually totally okay with that. We live in modern times, yo, and using the internet to feel connected to others if you can’t get that feeling otherwise is a pretty creative method. What does strike me as off-putting, though, is that I think some of these people are exaggerating or forcing idiosyncracies in order to be popular on the internet.

Um, what?

Feigning weirdness/nerdiness seems just as dumb as feigning whatever it is people fake in order to be popular IRL. This has the unmistakable tinge of high school cliques… and I thought we moved past that after, oh, you know, we grew up a bit. I suppose it shouldn’t be shocking that people want to fit in to a community of some sort. It’s just amusing/confusing that the pressure to fit in has taken on a nerdy spin. Prove how hipster you are, I dare you. Prove that you don’t mind acting nuts in public and then posting it online for even more people to see. Prove you cool you are by name-dropping as many big YouTubers as you can.

It’s weird.

I don’t know that I have any grand conclusions about this whole internet personality phenomenon. I just wanted to say that it exists, “it” being the pressure to be weird and nerdy and yet hilarious at the same time. I’m not putting blame on anyone for falling for this— hell, I’ve realized that I do it, too, to some extent. But if this isn’t who you really are, then why are you trying to be someone you’re not? Why not just be yourself and embrace that person? Why mimic somebody else in an attempt to be cool and esoteric (note the irony there)?

Just be you.

(Veronica Mars AND Nancy Drew reference in one? Almost too much to handle.)

Hello, Tumblr. How are you? I’m feeling dandy today. Not in the literal sense. More in the “I’m feeling lively and jaunty” sense. Dandy-eqsue.

In my caffeine-infused state, I started to wonder if there were any interesting Nancy Drew doo-dads on Tumblr. Naively, I thought that maybe there would not be much. Lo and behold, I was wrong! Nancy Drew-inspired fashion how-tos? Vintage Nancy Drew book covers? Nancy Drew quotations? It’s pretty great. I’m sure I’ll find more as I continue to explore what treasures the interweb holds.

My love for Nancy Drew was inspired by my mother, as she used to the read the books as a young girl. She still had a few of the original books she read, so when I was a kid, I was able to read and hold the same books she had at my age. Nancy Drews were the books that made me fall in love with the musty, old book smell. I adored Nancy’s adventures and how brave she was, especially because she seemed to be so effortlessly smart and clever. Nancy usually didn’t go around looking for mysteries— they just seemed to always exist around her.

Nancy is one of the many strong connections that link me with my mom, and I’d like to think that when I some day have children (eek!!), I’ll be able to share this with them. It’s fun to be caught up in the wonder of something like Nancy Drew, and I’m excited to play around with it here on Tumblr.

As I was chit-chatting with my co-worker today, she mentioned in passing that she had described me to someone else as being “so sweet.” This made me pause for a moment, as it does every time I find out that I have been described by others as “the sweetest person ever” or “so sweet” or “so nice.” It’s not that I think I am actually a horribly vile person who does not deserve such pleasant adjectives, but it does make me realize that the way I think about myself can be a bit different from how others perceive me.

For example, I see myself as being slightly socially awkward (*cough cough*), an optimistic individual prone to the occasional flight of fancy (and use of such expression as “flights of fancy”), hard-working, a bit competitive at times, kind-hearted, and the kind of quirky that could easily be classified as either “Oh, she’s so funny and free-spiritied!” or “Um, does she have Tourette’s? Should we contact a mental health professional?”

Sometimes, I just feel really awkward and out of place. I think this stems from my long-standing social anxiety. In my early adolescence, I used to feel crippled by social situations and hosted a variety of racing, panicked thoughts which I shall not describe here. In short, it felt terrible. It took years to work through this, and I think what helped me the most was just trying to figure out what I feared being judged on and then embracing those parts of myself. In recent years, as I have grown increasingly comfortable with myself, I found that my shyness was no longer so painful. The parts of myself that I used to reserve only for the trusted inner circle in my life made more frequent appearances with strangers and acquaintances. Still awkward at moments, yes, but overall self-accepting of my quirkiness.

So it feels strange to be described as “sweet” and “nice” sometimes. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful— I would much rather be known for my kindness than for my bitchiness. What feels uncomfortable about it, though, is that at my core, I see myself as a passionate, whimsical, nerdy girl. Sure, that girl is also sweet and nice, but she has substance and depth that aren’t captured by such monosyllabic words. To be honest, “sweet” and “nice” sound rather dull and flimsy to me. I have trekked up snow-covered volcanoes and rolled down them with an icepick in my hand! I have been a therapist to antisocial felons and loved it! I am the daughter of a refugee! I once recovered my passport moments after it was pickpocketed and then thrown in a trash can! I am classically trained to sing opera! I have a frighteningly accurate knack for remembering factoids from 1990s Nickelodeon shows! I once killed a man! (Okay, that last one isn’t true.)

The point— and I realize that I may sound very narcissistic here, which is not my intention— is that while I am nice and positive and feminine and optimistic, I am not a delicate flower. I can be a badass! (Though I am fairly certain that badasses don’t declare things like this.) I can be tough, and I’m not frightened by shocking things. I like adventure. I don’t run from controversy. I like challenges. I can be brave, persistent, resourceful, and creative. I think that I am many things, and “nice” and “sweet” just aren’t what I necessarily want to be my main descriptors. Maybe in my Top 5, sure, but not my Top 2.

I am not bothered by these words so much as I am disappointed by them, not because I think I deserve more intriguing descriptors, but because it makes me think that I am not as open with people as I thought I was. It makes me reflect on how guarded I still can be and how the potential for great fun is sometimes lost due to my lingering anxieties about being myself. I wish that everyone could see the fabulous version of myself that I have concocted in my mind and the raw, ridiculous self that exists in reality. I wish that the nice, paper doll version who sits primly in her chair didn’t have so many people convinced that she is a real girl.

Wouldn’t that be sweet?

This afternoon I received an unexpected job offer from one of my former clinical placement sites. And I accepted!

I’m a little sad to leave my current job because I’ve been there for four years, but it is definitely time to move on. I’ve been feeling restless for a while, and my new position will bring some much-needed vigor to my work life. Endings are sad, and I admit that once the shock of the offer started to wear off, I thought to myself, “Wait, am I actually doing this? Am I crazy?” And yes, I might be a little crazy to have made such an impulsive decision, but I’m also moving forward and will be establishing myself in this little niche in the mental health field. That’s worth it to me.

Here’s to a beginning!

I came home this afternoon after a review session with my friend for the Ethics Comp that we must take tomorrow morning. I was feeling confident, and I was focused on having a productive rest of the day.

What I intended to do: Skim a few articles and run through the Ethical Standards for psychologists.

What I actually did: Sprawled out in bed and watched Make It Or Break It.

Have I mentioned that despite being 26, I sometimes believe I’m truly 16?