The Perks of Being a Misfit
In a society where judgment is as prevalent as labels, there is nothing more hopeful than getting ready for the first day of University with 40,000 students in a new town.
Especially after an unforgettable summer night of betrayal.
There was no better place to be, than the playground of uninnocence. Full of socialites, bad decisions, and the perfect chance at a new identity. Now that all love affairs were out of the picture, I felt like I had a real chance to fit into the social scene. I was no longer the girlfriend but the girl who was looking for friends.
As I scoped out the playing field, I realized how cliquey everyone already was - socialized girl gangs, high school sequels, big-time college athletes. And there I was unclassified with my purple hair and big ass platforms posted on the outskirts of what seemed to be society’s game of play.
Luckily back at the dorm, I had my roommate, the girl of a thousand miles who wanted nothing more than to fit in with the sister squad of the south. I don’t know how those girls do it. After a vicious week of pre-stalked judgment, she was assigned to the ‘left over’ bumper group just to be vetoed by a house full of hormones. Shoes, boys, and fashionable ensembles were my cup of tea, however, an-all girl party joining a sister sorority wasn’t the cup for me.
The bayou social club and my bank account couldn’t have agreed more.
We were two lonesome lepers headed for oblivion in the bayou, home to the notorious land of booze, bangers, and boys – and some nights it was an invitation too hard to turn down.
As I danced the night away to Waka Flocka, locked lips with Mr. Fiji, and drank one-too-many vodka red bulls - vomit - I seemed to have found my place of fit. Introducing me to the group of misfits who had been ignored by the school at large judged by day labeled by night.
In no time: my weekends rolled into weekdays, I was flunking four classes, haunted by a ghost from my unforgettable past, an insomniac befriending Mark (the guy who sold me more than Juul pods at the corner of Happy & high), and friendless once my roommate was officially ruled out by depression aborting the penitentiary at all costs.
I had found myself imprisoned by a false reality. An outsider with an outstanding fee bill manipulated into that freshmoric dorm along with everyone else – only I was all alone. One emotional drama scene after another I was packing up life at University without dignity defined by labels in this game, we call life.
In the perfect fairytale, you marry, consume, reproduce, obey, and repeat – the imagination portrayed for the conventional player settling the tracks mapped out by society. And as young adults, this fairytale guide is gifted to us when lots of decisions are to be made post-graduation, including potential careers, college plans, or military service paths – when you’re no longer a kid but a cooperative human given a rule book to abide, a mask to hide behind, and labels to identify by.
First grade, careers day, I was asked to answer – When I grow up,
I am going to be _____.
Two little words one big concept. It was the end of I am my age and the beginning of I am my goal. A social habit that maintains old order and holds power over perspectives.
Granted no kid had the wrong answer, we aspired endless dreams, our minds were limitless. Although, somewhere along the coming-of-age journey sh*t happened and our minds grew into an illusion. We got lost in the moment searching for another. Drowned by doubt, consumed by pain, and stripped of all originality. Classifying our self-worth to not only numbers but an identity generated by the majority.
In the eyes of society: I began as a tom-boy, grew into a rebel, flipped into talent, fell into beautiful - to look at, known to be naïve, then intelligent - according to a piece of paper, unemployed and ‘lazy’, to now a social misfit - who may or may not be emotional…
I guess the line is drawn on whether or not we allow society’s labels to identify who we are.
Truth be told, I went to college because I was pressured into thinking that’s what I wanted for myself. It was the popular bandwagon one dreamed to hop on and had to because work work work. And just like my girl of a thousand miles, I wanted to fit in. I felt rushed by the internet and all the generational-bound destinations people around me were pursuing.
It’s like growing up: we were told to become what we are not and let go of who we are to be accepted by what we shall be for the sake of prejudiced people and their comfort.
I keep saying the system is rigged, but it’s not, it was just made this way.
And because of it I often feel misplaced as someone who doesn’t belong. My mind seems crazy, I’m looked at inadequately, nobody understands me, my dreams are “outlandish” and I can’t seem to fit into any social scene.
Sometimes I picture a life outside the matrix. I imagine fearless fashion, unfiltered conversation, less anxiety, more self-awareness, endless time, more creative minds, out-of-body experiences…
Where would you be if not trapped in the matrix?
In first grade, all I wanted was what I thought looked like happiness. Is that what sparks our direction? Are our next steps authentically aligned with who we are or are we passively playing the rules of a game controlled by the systemic logic it cultivates?
It’s the game of play or be played. While some live to play others play to live.
Maybe all we have to do is opt out and embrace what makes us different by believing in who we are. Enough to create our own playbook and not outcast ourselves when the co-op makes us feel unfit.
Reflective Awareness:
Are you willing to forfeit the game and opt out of all perils of social conformity?
p.s. “You have to be odd to be number one.” – Dr. Seuss
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