Odd Girl In
I'm odd. I think it goes without saying. I've never fit the standard textbook definition of "normal" and, you know, it's seldom bothered me. Oh, I'm not weird or strange. I mean not so much that people recoil from me or are embarrassed to be seen with me. I'm odd...like a square peg with rounded corners that almost (almost) fits into the round hole. I'm accepted not because I'm like everyone else; I'm accepted because I'm different. Odd, if you will. I'm not like anyone anyone will ever meet. Luckily, I've met a lot of people who like that sort of thing.
I used to think that I was a truly square square peg. Don't get me wrong, I was ok with it. I was ok with never fitting in, being so different as to not be universally accepted. Because I was accepted enough. Usually by others who were a bit squared-off themselves. And that was ok, too. But just ok.
I want to get it out there early that I have never willfully changed myself to fit in. I didn't get out a palm sander and round off my sharp corners. In middle school, before the term "transgender" was really anything, kids asked when I was going to get a sex-change and a substitute teacher kicked me out of the girls' locker room (I've stopped counting the number of times this has happened). In high school, I was called a "faggot" for wearing pink pants and a "girl's" letter jacket (Look closer, douche-bag, I'm a girl). As a grad student, I was uninvited from playing in a softball league because I wasn't a lesbian. In my thirties, I came under fire for not being feminine enough to be considered a woman (I had dared to suggest that the boundaries of femininity be expanded). Through it all I remained steadfast. I didn't start dressing more like a girl or less like a "fag", nor did I suddenly become a lesbian to play softball (that took another five years and was more about a beautiful curly haired girl than softball).
Instead, I have learned to stand up for who I am. I'm odd, there's no denying it. And why would I want to? I'm not like a lot of other women my age - I've never been married; I don't have kids; I occasionally wear baggie shorts and my ball cap backwards (incidentally, I'm also about as likely to wear skinny jeans and high heel boots). I'm spiritual atheist (which means I'm not your standard atheist...and we know how well atheism is accepted among believers); I like contemporary classical music, Frank Sinatra, and modern country and pop more than I like classic rock; I work a nothing job and write novels on the side; I'm a socialist, politically and economically speaking; I'm also happen to be gay (Some will tell you I'm not gay enough. Apparently, liking women is not the only necessary and sufficient clause that makes one a lesbian).
On first blush, there's really no one group I could possibly fit with. And yet, I have found, in my middle adulthood, nearly universal acceptance. Why? I think this has as much to do with me as with the people around me. I can narrow this down to one short phrase - I'm authentic. What does that mean? I'm me, Stacee, and I make zero apologies for who I am. People, by and large, seem to like that. Maybe it's because it's something they struggle with or maybe it's because they too seek to live an authentic life. I'm sure it's a little of both. In turn, I accept people at face value and truly believe that everyone is doing the best they can. I'm sure that helps, too.
Tennis, though, has brought the most acceptance. I used to think I was accepted by other tennis players because I'm a decent player. Truthfully, especially in Austin, there are a lot of really good players (and many who are light-years better than me), so that can't be it. My game might open the door, but what keeps it open? Why do my teammates who I seemingly have so little in common with appear to love me unconditionally? I've always been the odd girl and yet... And yet time and time again, I've found teammates that love me and want me around (Ok, so there was that one time I was asked - in way that seemed like telling - if my 'people' had their own teams). Maybe tennis gives us a common frame of reference which then allows for more personal exploration.
I don't really know, but I do know that it feels good. Even in Texarkana, where I couldn't have been more different (a lesbian atheist in the Bible Belt), I found people who accepted me for who I was. I truly believe it was (and is) my authenticity that shaved off my sharp corners and allowed me to fit.
The moral of the blog? Be who you are, even if that means you come off as somewhat (or completely) odd. People admire people who are honest and self-assured. And really, who wants to hang out with a bunch of people who are merely Stepford versions of themselves? I know I don't. I'm good with being odd. What's really odd is that the more I've come to accept it, the more I fit in. I'm the odd girl in and it's pretty cool.
I used to think that I was a truly square square peg. Don't get me wrong, I was ok with it. I was ok with never fitting in, being so different as to not be universally accepted. Because I was accepted enough. Usually by others who were a bit squared-off themselves. And that was ok, too. But just ok.
I want to get it out there early that I have never willfully changed myself to fit in. I didn't get out a palm sander and round off my sharp corners. In middle school, before the term "transgender" was really anything, kids asked when I was going to get a sex-change and a substitute teacher kicked me out of the girls' locker room (I've stopped counting the number of times this has happened). In high school, I was called a "faggot" for wearing pink pants and a "girl's" letter jacket (Look closer, douche-bag, I'm a girl). As a grad student, I was uninvited from playing in a softball league because I wasn't a lesbian. In my thirties, I came under fire for not being feminine enough to be considered a woman (I had dared to suggest that the boundaries of femininity be expanded). Through it all I remained steadfast. I didn't start dressing more like a girl or less like a "fag", nor did I suddenly become a lesbian to play softball (that took another five years and was more about a beautiful curly haired girl than softball).
Instead, I have learned to stand up for who I am. I'm odd, there's no denying it. And why would I want to? I'm not like a lot of other women my age - I've never been married; I don't have kids; I occasionally wear baggie shorts and my ball cap backwards (incidentally, I'm also about as likely to wear skinny jeans and high heel boots). I'm spiritual atheist (which means I'm not your standard atheist...and we know how well atheism is accepted among believers); I like contemporary classical music, Frank Sinatra, and modern country and pop more than I like classic rock; I work a nothing job and write novels on the side; I'm a socialist, politically and economically speaking; I'm also happen to be gay (Some will tell you I'm not gay enough. Apparently, liking women is not the only necessary and sufficient clause that makes one a lesbian).
On first blush, there's really no one group I could possibly fit with. And yet, I have found, in my middle adulthood, nearly universal acceptance. Why? I think this has as much to do with me as with the people around me. I can narrow this down to one short phrase - I'm authentic. What does that mean? I'm me, Stacee, and I make zero apologies for who I am. People, by and large, seem to like that. Maybe it's because it's something they struggle with or maybe it's because they too seek to live an authentic life. I'm sure it's a little of both. In turn, I accept people at face value and truly believe that everyone is doing the best they can. I'm sure that helps, too.
Tennis, though, has brought the most acceptance. I used to think I was accepted by other tennis players because I'm a decent player. Truthfully, especially in Austin, there are a lot of really good players (and many who are light-years better than me), so that can't be it. My game might open the door, but what keeps it open? Why do my teammates who I seemingly have so little in common with appear to love me unconditionally? I've always been the odd girl and yet... And yet time and time again, I've found teammates that love me and want me around (Ok, so there was that one time I was asked - in way that seemed like telling - if my 'people' had their own teams). Maybe tennis gives us a common frame of reference which then allows for more personal exploration.
I don't really know, but I do know that it feels good. Even in Texarkana, where I couldn't have been more different (a lesbian atheist in the Bible Belt), I found people who accepted me for who I was. I truly believe it was (and is) my authenticity that shaved off my sharp corners and allowed me to fit.
The moral of the blog? Be who you are, even if that means you come off as somewhat (or completely) odd. People admire people who are honest and self-assured. And really, who wants to hang out with a bunch of people who are merely Stepford versions of themselves? I know I don't. I'm good with being odd. What's really odd is that the more I've come to accept it, the more I fit in. I'm the odd girl in and it's pretty cool.
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