(I just love this picture for some reason. Sorry Gabby!)
With my birthday recently passing, I can’t help but take a step back and look at my life leading up to this point. And there are some thoughts I need to share. I channeled my bitter 13 year old self to help me write this.
Graduating college for sure is much harder than graduating public school, which is why people tell you to stay in school for as long as you can. I can understand that now. Adult life sucks. Especially when you’re in a rut not feeling too much like an adult. I’m still on my path to discovery. This “identity crisis” brings back memories from when I was in my teenage years when I tried to find my “identity” the first time around. I keep reliving those feelings. I really do feel like I’m 13 again.
I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and I can’t help but look back and reevaluate the decisions I made, and what I did that made me… me.
My ‘identity-finding’ period wasn’t much of a rebellion phase as everyone else experienced. I was different in many different ways which made it so hard for me to connect with others.
Growing up in a strict household where I was never allowed to go out on school nights, and had to constantly be checked on when hanging out with friends on weekends, it was no wonder I don’t recall late night adventures causing mayhem in parking lots, getting drunk, and living the life of a mallrat. I actually don’t have any recollections most of my friends have when they recount their “glory days” . I don’t have drug stories, nor to this day have I ever done drugs. My dad sometimes gave me some of his beer when I was younger, but it’s hard to feel like a sneaky badass when you’re own dad gives you alcohol.
Most of my memories I can collect were from times I spent in solitude, drawing pictures of Gwen Stefani and studding the hell out of my wristbands. I spent a lot of time on my own. It was really only my physical appearance that screamed “rebellion”. I wore plaid pants (see photo above), walked around in my favorite Volatile platform sneakers every single day (I had a nice collection of about ten pairs of Volatile sneakers), made the occasional appearance in black lipstick, and dyed my hair (mostly different shades of red). I also listened to metal, which was not the music choice for all the cool kids on the block, which was pop punk (bleh). Clearly, I was the only member in my own club.
Just like the title says, I seemed to have rebelled against the typical rebellion during my teenage years. I wasn’t a badass in any way. But thinking about it now, in my own way, I basically gave the middle finger to my fellow peers who all thought they were badasses. I didn’t care to hear stories about crazy nights out where everyone got high in the park. I didn’t care to hear about stories of prank phone calls, or the latest gossip of some malfunction at a sweet 16.
You can say I played it safe, I’m not cool, I lack life experience, or “you don’t know until you try”. But I did what I wanted, and I’d like to think I turned out alright.
Oh, if I could be a teenager again. Not!
To accompany this post, here’s a song by Adam Ant, which was his response to the media giving him grief about not living the typical lifestyle of a rock ‘n roll star because he didn’t drink nor do drugs.
Adam, you get it, and I appreciate you. Go you.
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