When I was a younger person in college, I found a pattern in my sociology studies: people don't really want to stand out. We all just want to fit it. People want to be accepted at work and liked by their peers. Our fear is, however, that if we are radically different from our friends then they won't like us anymore. Take my personal story for example.
Right out of high school, I got a job at a local restaraunt diner, Ruby's, to supplement my life while I went to community college. It's what everybody did. We were just trying to figure out...oh, ya know, LIFE. A new girl got hired at the Ruby's location I worked at, but she was a hostess and I didn't see her very much. Many of my coworkers kept coming up to me, "Maggi, there is this new girl, Sabrina, you two are like the same person." What??? Not uh! I mean, I didn't have a grasp on anything at the ripe old age of 18, but I did know that I was a happy kid and I liked adventures. When I finally met Sabrina, I didn't really see what everyone was talking about. I mean, she had a great laugh, but, we didn't look alike. We certainly didn't think the same. She had so much more experience with people than I did. (She was popular in high school, and I was...so uncool that people knew me because I was a dork). She could do her hair, she got pedicures on the reg, and this girl went out dancing. Dancing!
One of Sabrina's favorite stories to tell is of how we became more than just coworkers. Here's the short version: She invited me and my friend, Melissa, to go to a gay club with her and her friends. Melissa bailed and I showed up. Apparently that was really friggin cool and we were pretty much inseparable ever since. Turns out, we WERE almost like the same person.
Life then happened, ya know, I got career serious and moved to follow that dream around the country; she got family serious and found a rad husband and made some pretty cool kids. We just celebrated her birthday and had probably one of the best conversations we've ever had. I told her how cool I thought she was and she laughed in my face. "I've had someone else's puke in my mouth and you think I'm cool!???"
This was not the reaction I was expecting. I mean, she is like super mom. Always put together, she is the most patient person with her kids. She is doing really well at work, has great fashion sense, and managed to surround herself with some great women. I, on the other hand, left everything I had going for me: an awesome job, a few rungs up on the comedy ladder, so many friends, bills paid on time without help. And then I moved. Away from it all to try out a new dream. And I've been feeling foolish. Here I was watching this person that I thought I was JUST LIKE, and she seems to have it all. When all along, she was experiencing the same exact feelings as me. (She though I was cool...the first and last person over the age of 15 ever).
We are so not the same anymore. I've never had puke in my mouth, and she hates being on stage. But that doesn't mean I don't love and cherish all the things about her that are different from me! She is still my most special friend. Peas and Carrots as Forrest Gump would say. And I know she doesn't hate me, yet, because I'm not the same kid that wanted to drive up and down Pacific Coast Highway with her. (She can't hate me, she's letting me live with her and her family until I can get on my feet again).
Still not convinced it is totally ok to be different than other people? Last week, I was invited to participate in an improv practice with a fairly new team. Now, there are different styles of improv but they are all generally the same idea. You listen, agree with your partner that what you are doing on stage is real, and then you reply to them with hopefully something witty, or at least really interesting. (In the biz, they call that raising the stakes or heightening the scene.) The team I had been with on and off for several years liked to edit scenes with a big "Ssswwiishhhh." So if the people on stage had been stalling, or nothing funny or interesting was happening, then someone would walk in front of them and "swish" the scene to cut to the next thing. Apparently, that was the weirdest damn thing the team had ever heard of because their version of "swish" was just a jog in front of the people on stage.
The "swish" was at first really embarrassing. But, how was I supposed to know they did the same activity differently? They all thought this was the funniest damn thing. I felt really badly at first, because I wanted these improvisors to like me and let me play on their team. I had just done something so terribly awkward and different, how was I to ever come back from that? Turns out, I didn't need to. The team is sweet and talented and seemed really excited to have me come back. Did you read that correctly, they WANTED me to come back. Weird Swishes and all.
I think that it was my different way of thinking that got these guys excited. They are all just people, and probably really relieved that they weren't the ones this week to look ridiculous.
So I won't be afraid of being different. Difference isn't bad and I promise that the world isn't full of a bunch of dickheads walking around going "Ewwww, gross, that girl is different." Well, unless you are in high school. Then I'd say, hang in there. The world does become kinder. Instead of "ewww, gross" it evolves into "whoa, that's different. How did you do that?" Bonus life tip: Those curious folks are the ones you want to keep around you.
I'll keep rocking on with my bad ass self because a) I've never had puke in my mouth and b) swish is the cool sound a basketball makes when you get points. Isn't the planet full of enough people that think and act the same?Share your story of how you stood out from the rest of the crowd and how it positively impacted your life. maggimayfield@gmail.com
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