On Being "Popular"

How did I become more popular than you?

I rarely speculate over things of this nature, but a lot is changing as I get older, and I wonder now why I feel such a need to spread myself so thin for the benefit of others. I actually loathe it. You’d never know that by the way that I smile and spend money and do fun things with my friends, but I can’t stand it. It drains me like nothing else, but I love these people, so I do it, anyway. It’s so weird to me, though. The sheer thought of being… Popular. That word still makes my skin crawl, as if I were back in middle school, asking you about what it felt like, telling you I wanted no part of it.

I really didn’t. Even at ten years old, I knew that I did not want to be popular.

You told me many things. You said it was because you were confident, and people liked that. I knew innately that confidence was something that I would always lack, even at such a young age. I was fully aware of the fact that I was painstakingly shy, and I did not try to make others feel comfortable about it. What would follow in the next ten or so years would be a result of my trying to make others comfortable, actually, and now I’m wondering if that was such a good idea.

I am an introvert by nature. I’ve been reading since I was about three years old (or so my mother says), and my favorite place used to be the library. I still read as much as my schedule allows, what with my friends, my jobs, and my other obligations that I feel ultimately smothered by. I would rather be at home reading, I’ll tell you that much. I really do mean it when I say that all-too-trite-phrase: 

"I love books more than people." 

Some people say this about animals and things, but I honestly don’t see how. Books are so much better than any of those things. Books are better than movies. You could make your own movie inside your head and cast it perfectly with people from your own life, if you wanted. You could imagine your favorite actors, even, playing all of these rich, developed characters perfectly. You could put yourself in the protagonist’s shoes and live a life that you’d otherwise never get to live. You could live inside of their heads for a little while, instead of your own. You could think their thoughts. I mean, who could ask for more than that?

Reading used to be my escape. It still is, in a way, but it’s more like a tool these days. I don’t like to be out of the loop. I also don’t like not knowing what certain words mean, so I frequently Google things on the fly when I want to pretend like I know what other people are talking about. I don’t like to be proven wrong. I like knowledge so much that it excites me. I want to be the smartest person in the room, and if I can’t be that, then I’d like to at least convince you that I am. All of this sparkling wit and adaptation has turned me into something that I would have never expected as a tween: I’ve become what’s known as "popular." Ugh, seriously? Ten-year-old me would sneer at myself and roll my eyes, the prude that I am… Or was. The “intellectual” that I used to be would turn my nose up at the word and give me a pair of narrow, judging eyes.

Alas, it is what I’ve become. I care more about social engagements now than I do a good book. I plan trips to events in the city, I go out and dance and drink with friends when I could be at home, exploring the depths of my own psyche and expanding this hungry mind of mine. If anything, I’ve dumbed myself down in the past couple of years because it’s just more fun that way. It was a form of rebellion, at first. It was a way of saying: I can have fun, too; watch me. The rebellious nature of it has faded, though, and it’s become more of a lifestyle. It isn’t all that fun anymore. I was confronted with the fact at Mardi Gras this year on Tchopitoulas Street, in the thick of the NYX parade, while my best friend flung angry, drunk words at me about how much everyone likes me, and how (ugh) "popular" I am. I’ve been conquered by FOMO, and now it feels like there’s no going back.

It's true that I haven’t gotten to travel nearly as much as I would have liked, and I try my hardest not to think about that. That actually is another reason that I used to read. I got to travel in my mind to all of the places that I’d always longed to visit, and while that may seem like a seriously depressing thought, it was always good enough for me in the past. I think I’ll really get to travel someday to all of those places, but right now there’s so much impatience in my twenty-seven year-old self that it’s practically screaming with frustration for some big adventure when, honestly, I go on adventures just about every night. I spend most of my time with my friends doing many, many recreational things, and do you want to know the worst part? All we do is talk about things that we’d rather be doing. I mean, it’s like an American plague or something.

“Haven’t you heard? This is the new thing. Why aren’t we doing it? What’s wrong with us?”

We’re like a Greek chorus, throwing our hands up to the sky, begging for an answer when the answer has always been right there in our pockets.

I mean money, of course. It’s something our baby-boomer generation parents had in excess, and they enjoyed the hell out of it. They got to own houses by the time we started earning enough to finally be able to foot the bill for our own car insurance. While that may seem unfair, they also didn’t have a case of FOMO. They had enough. They were content with their little versions of “The American Dream.” They didn’t ask for very much, and they were very grateful for the little that they had. Which is why they have everything now. They were also raised by children of the depression era, so I guess the two opposing trains of thought make sense. I don't mean to sound bitter; I love my parents. And honestly, they didn’t do anything wrong. They did what we would have done in their shoes.

The media, society, celebrities and, I don’t know, reality TV shows? They make us all so aware of what we don’t have so that FOMO is practically impossible to avoid. I should know. I was and still am a victim of it. I woke up, though. Taxes woke me up. My parents woke me up. My parents have been offering to let me live at home for about five or six years now, but I never took them up on it. As a result, I am now being forced to move home because I don’t have any other choice. My stubbornness and my rebellion ultimately got in the way of what should have been my top priority, and I am now paying for it, quite literally.

This FOMO thing, this whole “Fear-Of-Missing-Out” attitude, has defined our generation as young people. We are never satisfied with what we have, and this is also something that I’ve been forced to look at dead-on this week as I’ve been house-sitting for a gay couple that I adore. I’ve been watching their beautiful home, as well as their three dogs and their blind bird. They’re older than me, which explains why they own a home at all. They are also extremely generous, and I am suddenly acutely aware of how selfish, self-centered, and just plain obtuse I’ve been about life so far.

I used to hate dogs. Well, not really hate, that sounds inhumane (and it is), but I didn’t see why people were so infatuated with their animals. I was just at a loss, even though I’d had a cat for two years that I was pretty fucking infatuated with, as well. Now, as I sit at my desk at work where I should be working, I am missing their dogs like crazy. I am actually laughing at myself because, well, of course this is how I learned! Only a stubborn person would learn this way, and I am very stubborn. Their animals have brought me so much comfort and love and adoration, and in the best way. I’ve never known a peace so true and so real, and like, why would you want anything more than that? I wonder now about why I’ve been judging people so harshly from my hometown for settling down and getting married and having kids. I mean, just who did I think I was? Was I jealous? Former me would swear up and down that I wasn’t, but I honestly don’t know the answer to that question anymore. I still hunger for something amazing and earth-shaking, but I also hunger for just… Peace.

Twenty-seven has been a weird year. I’ve become very self-aware, and quite honestly, I’m over myself. I’m over puzzling over every single contradictory thing I do, and I’m over trying to feel whole. I realize now that nobody feels whole, even when they are with someone. Nobody makes complete sense. Nobody feels at peace all the time, and nobody is as consistent as we expect them to be. No one could possibly hold up to the ideal image I have of them. Expectations really can be too high, and I know that now. They can also be hindering.

They can keep you from growing up.

I’m not here writing this because I want to. I’m not saying anything that I enjoy, and I am definitely not saying that I’ve said goodbye to my inner child. Nah, if anything, she’s resurfacing. I wanted so badly to grow up all my life, and now that I’m here, all I can do is bang on the table with clenched fists and cry about why it's not fair.

I just can’t believe you’re not here to say, “Where? Where’s the fair?”

And I still can’t believe I’m more social, outgoing, and popular than you. That is the most life-changing truth, and it isn’t something that I ever wanted, as you well know. But it’s where I am, and I guess it’s time to admit that and start working on getting back to my introverted, intelligent, independent self. Thanks, Dad. I don’t know that I would have ever become this charming, capable, likeable, and popular person without you to look up to. I don’t know who I was trying to be (probably you), but maybe I should get back to being myself? I’m still not very confident, and that’s something that I’ll always envy you, but I don’t even really know that I want it anymore.

Maybe confidence and popularity don’t go hand-in-hand. Maybe speaking less will teach me to listen more. And maybe reading the novels that I love will force me to appreciate what’s around me. I don’t know what the future has in store, and for once in my life, that’s okay. For the first time in a very long time, I don’t fear missing out. The only thing I fear is not being able to appreciate what I have right here, right now.