Mutual Weirdness

The fantastic thing about starting college is that no one knows who you are. I know, that's totally a cliche, but it's true. No one knows about the time you fell down a hill on the first day of high school gym, or the time you threw up in front of your locker before the morning bell even rang, or the time you had a major braces/glasses/bowl haircut going on for about 5 years. (Not that any of that ever happened to me... ever.)

My first moth of college was exceptionally suck-tastic. I gained about 5 pounds that month from laying in my bed eating peanut M&M's and hard-core moping. It seems that moping is not, as I had originally anticipated, an aerobic exercise. The few times I did get out of bed (usually because I needed to pee so badly I thought I was going to die), I would avoid the mirror at all costs. Every time I'd catch a glimpse of myself in any reflective surface, I felt like I was looking into the past. The new environment and lack of friends seemed to have thrust me back in time to Middle School Me. All the insecurities of early puberty came rushing back to me faster than I rushed to the vending machine after the peanut M&M's had been restocked. Suddenly, I was 12 again. Everyone else was older, more "developed," more mature, more blonde,  more... cool... and I was... well... me. I had never felt more out of place in my life.

I tried to make friends, I really did, but every time I would meet someone that was potential friend material, I would clam up with the horrifying realization that there was nothing interesting about me. By the end of the first month, I was completely convinced I had alienated every single person I'd met by cracking corny jokes about... well... anything... that I got to a place where I was sure I had nothing to lose.

That's when it happened. I woke up one day and for once in my life, I didn't give a crap. There was going to be a dance that night, one that I had avoided thinking about for the last two weeks. As is wont to happen in the weeks preceding a dance, the conversations of all my female acquaintances had dissolved from mild coherence to crazy, "who's taking me to the dance?" rants. I knew with 100% certainty that no one was going to ask me, so I made plans to go to my aunt's house that day. A few hours before she was supposed to pick me up, she was in a car accident (I'm not even kidding), leaving me stuck on campus for the dreaded event. I decided not to go, after all, I didn't give a crap about anything. Then someone knocked on my door. It was the girl from down the hall and she was determined that I spend the night dancing. I resisted, but she was impressively persistant.

Long story short, I went to the dance and acted like a total dork. I had fun. I made friends. I ate disgusting, room-temperature cheesecake without gagging. It wasn't until I was walking home after the dance that I realized that I had successfully functioned as a human being for like, 4 whole hours. And when I went back to my room that night, I had a new friend with me. She liked Gossip Girl. We watched that together.

When I looked in the mirror the next day, I realized that I had, in fact, gone through puberty. Some girls from down the hall wanted to sit next to me at church. I talked to a boy without making a polygamy joke. I blew my hair dry.

I realized that trying to be friends with people is pointless. Real friends can't be forced, they just happen. They see you in all your dorky-wonderfulness and think "Goshdarn, she's weird but dangit if I don't love being around her." They think that you're at least kind of cool, even when you use words like "copious"or "enthralling." Real friends are the people that you meet and fall into a sort of mutual weirdness with.

I'm so grateful that I'm blessed with such wonderful friends, both old and new. I'm also grateful for puberty.

x,
   m