Lessons from the 90s
In case you haven’t heard (or seen) yet, the 90s are in style. Even puka shell necklaces. It was when I peeped some on a group of teens I walked past recently and realized we’re in deep. Grab your baggy jeans, turn up your favorite boy band, part that hair straight down the middle, and dig up your old slap bracelet, because it’s time to live your best life resurrecting an era that was definitely not my epitome of cool. I’m so stoked to have a chance to try again!
The 90s were prime for my awkwardness (see picture above). Unusually large growth spurts, glasses, braces, trying to be a dancer and learn a team sport later than most and being a theater kid and wanting to fit in at youth group (pretending like I knew the Nirvana covers that the guys in the church band played).
Did I mention my acne? Lots of it. Clearly, I radiated cool.
I would watch my friends so closely to try and fit in—oh, we’re all wearing Dickies work pants now with tiny thrift store shirts from the kids section? Got it. Oh wait, but now black and navy Dickies aren’t as awesome as construction cone orange, so I’ll for sure wear those instead. Everyone could see me from a mile away, but safety first, am I right?
Also, there were the sweaty armpits, always. My deodorant was a Ban roll-on that my parents used, but it was sticky and didn’t dry. Solution? Use a blowdryer for 5 minutes to each armpit before putting my shirt on. It never really worked, I still had sweat rings and would get yellow pit stains in my white shirts. That’s when I changed to Dove Cool Cucumber (a little too late). I still would sweat a lot (what’s up with that anti-perspirant?), but I didn’t have take a blowdryer with me wherever I went, so that was a plus.
Being a human is funny and weird and even gross, but we try to take ourselves so seriously and pretend like somehow we’ve got it together. The reality is, we’re not above being human. We all are born. We all die. We all get runny noses and look goofy when we sneeze and have had bad breath and embarrassing bowel movements at some point. We all wrinkle and lose hair in places we don’t want and gain hair in places we don’t want and wish we could change something about ourselves. We’re strange and beautiful human animals.
Want to know a secret? I’m kind of insecure. Maybe that surprises you and maybe it doesn’t; but I am.
Often I appear confident and settled within myself, which I can be. But there are lots of other times I feel unsure about myself, how I’ll be received, and if I’ll really be known, understood, and liked.
It doesn’t help that I experienced what felt like rejection of epic proportions a couple of years ago to exacerbate that insecurity.
Something I’ve learned about myself recently is that I tend to try and fit into the interests and lives of those around me.
It’s a safety strategy to ensure that I receive love. Is Lindsey welcome, no matter what? I’d rather not find out and stay in the jumbled mess of telling myself that I do it to care for and love my people well, not being honest about the debilitating fear of losing love and connection underwriting it all. It is partially true, though. The part about appreciating and learning of the things that my people enjoy as a means to connect with them. It’s fun to participate in that and celebrate alongside of who they are, seeing them light up brings such energetic joy! However, if I focus it all on others, keenly observing who I’m with and what it takes to belong, I can adjust, becoming a shapeshifter to manipulate a persona that promises acceptance, at least for a moment.
Recently I went alone to a snowboard film premiere in LA. No one could join me, which was fine, since I am used to doing things I want to do on my own. Part of me was completely okay with it. Then there was a surprisingly larger part of me that felt insecure. There weren’t many places to roam around or look occupied, and only one lap around the space seemed acceptable, since there wasn’t a ton to look at in waiting for the film to start.
It was standing room, by the way, and if you didn’t know, I’m really tall.
As in, 6’1”.
As in, noticeable in a crowd.
As in, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, well simultaneously hoping I’d find semi-organic opportunities to talk to people.
While I was waiting to enter, there was an older person in front of me that saw the event while walking past and was asking about it. This person didn’t snowboard, didn’t have an interest in snowboarding, but wanted something to do and one of the hosts at the front welcomed the person in and explained everything to them. Throughout the night I watched that person wander around and hang out. They stuck out in the sea of the boarding crowd, yet were pretty content being there on their own and secure enough not fitting in.
I envied that. It highlighted the part of me that didn’t feel comfortable being alone. It also highlighted the part of me that cared too much about fitting in instead of just being myself.
Only over the past couple of years have I discovered anxiety. I thought I didn’t have it. Joke’s on me because now I often forget what it’s like to not feel anxious. My heart beating out of my chest? Feeling a little shaky? Mind racing? Nervous system on high alert? Versions of that are my norm. I use a meditation app called Headspace every night as I’m falling asleep to bring a sense of quiet and calm, and thank goodness for the gift of it being free for LA County residents (pro-tip, friends). It took me forever and a divorce to recognize my anxiety. That’s because I know just how to orient myself in the world to do anything and everything to mask it and any other uncomfortable emotion. Being able to fit in with people is one of the big ways that I avoid.
The fascinating thing is that in being uncomfortable and sitting with it is where the opportunity for growth happens.
It really does require pain and discomfort to get stronger, physically, emotionally, mentally. In the growth, in the strengthening, it makes room for going a little harder, taking a bit more risk, pushing the boundaries slightly further. Life stays interesting, fulfilling, more connected, less lonely.
Last week I read an article of someone sharing their story of suicidal ideation, being raw and open about what it was like and how snowboarding quite literally saved their life. But it wasn’t really snowboarding, it was the community around snowboarding, remembering that they belonged. I cried reading the honest and compelling words. I cried recognizing the power of sustaining life purely from connection.
See, that’s just it. We don’t just long for human connection, we need it. It’s crucial for our survival, for thriving. Based purely on my observation and opinion with zero scientific evidence, I think that judging other people, insecurities, caring what other people think, or most simply put, our egos, are the most significant thing to wreck any opportunity for that connection. To isolate, to hide pieces of ourselves, to worry so much about what others think, is devastating. Similarly exhibiting inauthenticity, façades of “cool” that let some people in and leave others out—is devastating as well.
You know what doesn’t help it? You got it. Social media. Shocker.
Oh, and dating apps.
It’s all based on appearances, of a curated persona. Even for those of us trying to be authentic in what we post, I know I’m not the only one choosing my words carefully and second guessing the edits of my photos. It’s because I care too much and I want to be accepted, so try to give off just the right image of who I am.
Dating apps are worse. With just a few pictures and a few words, I will be judged and get to judge people for as long as I’d like! Too short. Too tall. Too old…too…young? (But what’s too young?) That picture is terrible quality. Something is spelled wrong. Your smile is awkward. Oh you fish? Pineapple on pizza is a hot debate topic? You travel? You love the outdoors and have a dog? You like to workout at the gym? Cool, yeah I see that now since you posted a mirror selfie while lifting weights. I didn’t actually believe you until I saw proof. Never married and no kids? Wait, but there’s the picture of you holding a baby. Ooooohhhh, that’s not your baby, thank you for clarifying. You were just wanting to show that you’re good with kids. Got it. Well, I guess you’re good with kids? I mean, the baby wasn’t crying in that picture.
It’s all about portraying what everyone thinks everyone wants, so that’s what everyone gets.
Now don’t get me wrong, these days I’m a sucker for a dude with dog and always love people that adventure, so it’s not not working. What’s weird though, is that at my fingertips I have access to hundreds of people that fit very specific parameters, and even within those parameters, I get to choose within a split second if they are a human worth my time.
I’m not saying every person on a dating app is worth my time. They aren’t. I’m just saying that the ways that human connection happens these days, for a myriad of reasons, seem a little bizarre to me. Yet I’m still a part of it.
Here’s the deal though: We really need each other. We do. We also need to know that we aren’t for everyone, and that’s okay too. But we need to do the work of opening ourselves to know others and be known. Of letting our guards down a bit and moving from being what people want for us to be, to figuring out who we want to be. I want to be included and belong. I want to fit somewhere so well that I don’t have to worry about something in my teeth. Either my people accept me rocking a piece of cilantro when I smile, or they tell me it’s there so I can take it out. Both seem like pretty good options.
This requires something of me that is uncomfortable, and it requires something of you, too.
Make a little more room for someone and something that is different than you. Make a little more room to ask yourself what you want versus what others want of you. Make a little more room for yourself in your own skin and own it. You get to live with yourself everyday, and I want for you (and for me) to truly love ourselves so much that we actually want to do that—enjoying our own company. And I’m hopeful that in the loving of ourselves, it allows us to make room for others to do the same, finding strange, hilarious, life-giving ways to connect in the awkwardness of it all. Dickies and puka shell necklaces and sweat rings included.