For the longest time, well, for the majority of my life, I’ve had some crippling insecurities. To be honest, I still have some, and I don’t know if they’ll ever fully go away. It’s only taken the “x” number of years I’ve been on this giant floating rock to realize that, goddamn it, it’s okay, and it’s going to be okay.

It’s okay to simply be who you are: insecurities, quirks, oddnesses, and all. We are who we are, and for as much as we want to fight it, we can’t change it. We just have to find a way to be comfortable with that fact and live within the blob of space we occupy. Unfortunately, the blob I take up is a serious amount of real estate. SHIT! I need to work out more! One day I’ll fit back into my extra-medium crop top, but for now I’ll stick with my normal clothing size, which is most applicable to a bed sheet.

I heard a quote a while ago that said, “Stop comparing yourself to others; compare yourself to who you were yesterday.” To be quite honest, that’s something I needed to hear, I just wish I hadn’t waited almost 40 years to hear it. I wish I’d heard it back in elementary school and every year after that. That being said, I’m glad I heard it at all.

It was one of those epiphany statements where you think, “Duh, moron. What a simple concept. Why didn’t you think of that yourself?” Clearly, with all the time I spend overthinking everything, that thought never crossed my mind, but plenty of other shady and questionable shit sure did. Regardless, hearing it gave me an entirely new perspective on a lot of things.

To be a little vulnerable, and with no ill will toward anyone, for a long time I felt like I was living in a shadow. I felt like I had to live up to certain standards and meet expectations I had no interest in. And not to play woe is me, but I also never felt good enough to meet those expectations anyway.

That was my perspective on the world, good, bad, or indifferent. I don’t carry negative feelings about it. I look at it now as growing pains that got me to where I am. Still not where I want to be, but a hell of a lot farther than I ever thought I’d be at this point in my life. Honestly, that feels like a small miracle.

When I say I never felt good enough, that wasn’t about everything. One thing I figured out early on was that I was good at laughing. I’ve always been good at it. And while I’m not one to brag or boast, I think I have a fairly decent sense of humor.

Laughing became a safety blanket, a place where I could be myself without fear of judgment or expectations. It’s my solace.

Over time, I learned not just to laugh, but to laugh at myself and not take things too seriously. That didn’t come without growing pains. Learning to laugh at yourself is a skill, and if you can learn it, it’s an invaluable one to carry through life.

It still shocks people when I tell them I was incredibly shy growing up, terrified of public acknowledgment, let alone public speaking. Learning to laugh at myself helped me embrace my weirdness. I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s fine. That’s partly a them problem and partly a me problem, and that took time to accept.

At some point, something clicked. I realized it was far easier to be comfortable with who I am than to squeeze myself into some box society, whoever the fuck that is, thinks we should all fit into. As cliché as it sounds, thanks to The Rolling Stones, I didn’t want to be another brick in the wall.

So I embraced my weirdness and idiosyncrasies. I stopped hiding in whatever shadow I thought I lived in. Now it’s my turn, and my giant body to cast the shadow.

One unexpected perk of my weirdness? I’m pretty fucking good at bar trivia. If your brain is filled with useless knowledge, song lyrics, movie quotes, and bong resin, you too can be the bomb diggity at trivia night. Not that it’ll take you anywhere, but it’s fun knowing things like Shameless by Garth Brooks is a Billy Joel cover, Scotland’s national animal is the unicorn, bananas are slightly radioactive, and duct tape was invented in 1943 for WWII ammunition cases.

Anyway, I digress. Embrace the weirdness. Laugh at yourself, but not at the cost of losing respect for yourself.

I tend to sprint past the line of self-deprecating humor straight into making people uncomfortable territory, and honestly, that’s where I like to be. The difference now is that I don’t lose respect for myself doing it, and I don’t think others lose respect for me either.

When you believe you live in a shadow, you spend a lot of time alone, but you also learn how to blend in. Like a chameleon, I learned to adapt to my surroundings. That adaptability probably explains why I’m not terrible at my chosen profession.

I know when to turn things on and when to turn them off. I can be serious when needed, but I can also act like a child with the humor of a 14-year-old if the moment calls for it. What really happened was I got comfortable with the fact that I wasn’t going to be certain things, and that’s okay. I’m 100% me now, and I’m good with that.

A lot of people don’t know this, but I’m a big fan of tattoos. I don’t have many, and there’s one I don’t particularly like, but I keep it. Not because I love how it looks, but because of the experience behind it.

When I got that tattoo, I knew I wasn’t gifted physically, genetically, or intellectually. I was just trying to figure out where I fit in this giant petri dish of humanity. That tattoo required me to be shirtless in public, cue gag reflex. I was mortified.

About two hours in, the shop door opened and in walked a couple of LA-hot women. Beautiful in the “painting or ocean sunset” way. I turned every shade of red imaginable. The tattoo pain was nothing compared to the discomfort I felt.

The artist noticed and asked if I was okay. I told him I was just shy and hated being shirtless. He paused and said something that stuck with me forever:

“It’s just your body. If that’s all anyone cares about, you don’t need people like that in your life. It’s just skin. There’s so much more to people than what’s on the surface.”

Something changed at that moment. I calmed down. I stopped caring. He was right. That perspective reshaped how I see myself and others, and I’ll always be grateful for it.

The moral of all this is simple: we can’t change who we are. Good, bad, weird, hail damage and all, it’s ours. Embrace it. Don’t rob the world of what you can offer just because you don’t fit a mold.

Laugh at yourself without losing respect for yourself. Don’t take life too seriously, you don’t get out of it alive. Laugh loud, laugh often, and laugh until you cry, especially at yourself.

It may not work for everyone, but it helped me step out of the shadows and live honestly. Weirdness and all.

Until next time. Peace out, Girl Scouts.