The Odd Fear of Excelling

Back in high school, during my senior year, as I had already taken most of my required courses, I was rewarded with fewer classes per trimester, and a handful of electives like art, one of which was a ceramics class. Ceramics class consisted of making and baking things of clay and talking with our classmates. I was a bit of an outsider, and one of two girls amongst a roomful of guys, none of whom I really trusted all that much. I took my art seriously and was good at it, I enjoyed it, and was a bit of a teacher’s pet which somehow resulted in me sitting alone at the edge of the table and doing my own thing as I tried to ignore any grungy talk by the juvenile young men at the other end. Overall I was pretty content with it.

Every so often, the guys would get my attention and tell me how quiet I was (no really? I didn’t think it was obvious) and try to talk with me which usually meant teasing me in some way. As long as it was just light teasing, I didn’t mind so much. But there was one conversation, on a day when the other girl wasn’t present, that has always stuck out at me. One of the guys began by telling me loud and clear, in front of the whole class, how he had seen me bend over when I dropped something and according to him, my butt was pretty “damn sexy”. Alright.  I could have told myself to ignore it and try and warp it somehow into a compliment. But as if that wasn’t disrespectful and awkward enough, he didn’t stop there. He commenced to tell me how when I turned around, he was incredibly disappointed because my face looked “like a twelve year old”. Ouch. This brought on a round of laughter, much to my indignation and embarrassment.

This same guy then continued to question me and try to find out if I was underage (I was) as he was 18, and he continued to make sexual comments to me, while the other guys egged him on. Though he seemed pretty serious and it scared me, I knew the reason that everyone was so amused by it was because I was that cute, quiet, good little Christian girl that not many people paid much attention to.

 

It would have been impossible for my teacher to not have heard the conversation as we were the only people in the room other than he, and we weren’t exactly that far away. But the teacher didn’t say a thing. Horrible at comebacks, and at a loss for what to say, I sat there quietly, trying to ignore them, my cheeks red in embarrassment, as they kindly pointed out.

The conversation didn’t end until I told the guy that if he didn’t shut up, one of my brothers would beat him up. I didn’t exactly say it very convincingly, but one of the other guys there who knew my brothers from the wrestling team confirmed it. By that point, class was over anyway. Leaving the class, I wanted to cry. I think what had made it most degrading and also frightening was that I was so ganged up on. The guys there that I actually knew hadn’t stood up for me and actually joined in. The teacher hadn’t even stood up for me. I was one against many.

I’m sure many of them had just perceived it all as funny and harmless. But it wasn’t. And in what kind of society is this kind of talk tolerated by teachers? What gets me most, though, is that it wasn’t until after I graduated that I was brave enough to even mention the whole gist of it to anyone. It wasn’t because I was scared. Or maybe I was. Maybe I was scared of more rejection and anger from others. I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me, or say that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. My teacher didn’t seem to think enough of it to stop it. I mean, “boys will be boys”, right? (I hate that phrase, by the way, but I’ll probably save that for another blog post!) Was I really just being that overly sheltered conservative girl that annoyed everyone again?

Throughout my life, I had received a lot of hate and cruelty for standing up for what I thought was right, or even for just doing my own thing, without the expectation that others would follow along. When I actually did the workout my coaches laid out for us that day while the rest of the team slacked off behind their backs, I was despised and singled out by the group. When I didn’t swear, because I thought it was wrong and immature, I was laughed at. When I didn’t watch movies or listen to music that I thought was inappropriate, people thought I was self-righteous. When I wouldn’t date a guy (I wasn’t allowed to date until I was eighteen) behind my parents’ back, I was cowardly. When I didn’t go around kissing guys and told my friend to be careful about doing that as well, I was “cute”. And because of these judgments, I was lonely. And entirely misunderstood.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not a post meant to brag about how good I might have been back then. I was also pretty black and white in my thinking too! And in some ways, I was just as judgmental of those who didn’t hold the same conservative values, as they were to me. Looking back, there are some things I said to others that I greatly regret now, and I realize how naïve and limited my worldview was at the time. I like to think that to some extent, I have grown beyond my very black and white worldview and no longer judge others to the extent that I did. But what others misunderstood was that I liked being good. I had no desire to go out drinking, partying, casually having sex, or even to do something as simple as watching a movie that I thought was inappropriate. I wanted to be the best I could be and follow the workout plan. I didn’t feel the need to be popular. I knew that my lime-green corduroy pants were totally out of style at the time and I loved them! I wanted to spend the extra time on tests and projects to get good grades. What others needed to realize was that it hurt me in my heart and soul not to act in alignment with the concept I had of “good” at the time. And it likewise hurt me to see others act in ways that might hurt themselves. And I didn’t need others to try to bring me down a notch. I think it was that mentality in others that bothered me the most in the first place. Their very frustrating, but natural feeling (that I admit to having felt particularly when I see someone I perceive as more beautiful than myself) of wanting to tear someone down who makes you feel or look bad.

And here’s where I reach the main point of this rant: I let their criticism and my loneliness puncture the walls of my heart and soul and let its poison run its course through my veins. I bought into the idea that I shouldn’t give myself enough respect to stand up for myself, do my best, and be who I was meant to be even if it meant excelling above others at times or being different than others. Who am I that I should have the right to live life to the best of my ability, I mean right? I believed that lie. That’s not to say that I’ve just gone all out and gone down some reckless path of rebellion. But I haven’t been living up to my potential. I haven't been living my life. I've been immovable, immobile, stuck! I’m afraid to do my best. I’ve become afraid to show what’s in my heart for fear of being laughed at. I’m afraid of more rejection and loneliness, and afraid of making others unhappy with my actions. The ironic thing is, I’m more lonely than ever! And sometimes, there are people who still reject me. Funny isn’t it? I’m worse off than before.

Part of me wants to end this cheerfully somehow with some inspiring speech about how I'm going to change it around! But reality is, it's all a mindset, and mindsets are hard to unsettle. Not that I won't try, but I feel like often when I come to some sort of realization, people expect me to have changed right off the bat. I can tell you it won't be like that. This is a fear, and fears are often irrational. It actually makes me sad to think about how I've wasted my life for the past I don't even know how many years, even before I graduated high school. How many opportunities I've missed because of this fear. But I guess recognizing all of this is the first step to change.

Look in Another's Eyes

I’ve always liked to have my opinions. It bothers me when I don’t have an answer or haven’t come to some sort of conclusion on a matter. Yet there are so many issues about which I ride the fence, high above the ground, afraid to fall to one side and lose sight of the other. Yet as I balance aimlessly, I’m also hoping someone comes along with a winding argument strong enough to blow me to a place where I feel grounded. Half of me desires to be the wallflower stuck on the wall separating opinions, the other half wants to fall to the ground and expand my roots. But I don’t like the idea of expanding them in one direction, particularly not six-feet-deep with a narrow mind and an unbending opinion, losing sight of the potential that I am wrong.

On other issues, the ones where my roots have gone to a deadly depth, I like that the wall is there. I do not touch it, but I cherish the separation from those that disagree with me. It feels safe among those who don’t challenge me and, like myself, have become content to be stuck there free from new perspectives. I like to know what I stand for. It also feels stifling, though, and I long for new information. Here’s where the other side could kindly toss us a bit of manure, which would at first appear revolting, but might just give us the growth that we needed.  

Sadly, the wall/fence is just too high and wide. What I’m saying here is that when it comes to forming opinions, maybe we should be extremely careful, but careful of extremes. In both the above scenarios, the wall felt safe, but safe from what? Others’ judgement? Being wrong? Making mistakes? Being alone? Maybe the safety of the wall serves a good purpose, but maybe not. What if the wall did not exist? What if we stood on the boundary between opinions, not above the fight on the fence like a coward, but on the ground firmly and confidently, and look each other in the eyes.
            

Look each other in the eyes. Not to intimidate. Not to glare. But to step for a minute into another’s world. Who are they? And why do they believe the way they do? Let’s tear down the wall, or at the very least, create a few peepholes.