Identity

I am not a very fun person. This is a disappointing surprise to many people. On paper I should be a hoot. I do comedy, I wear bright colors, and I have a variety of fun interests (hamsters, Pop-Tarts, musical theatre).

But I'm actually typically thoughtful, uninterested in milling around, and industrious. I just want to get things done, and think about problems, and write about solving them. So, up until a few years ago I was a lot more hyper and willing to be a goofball, so I never had issues fitting into groups. I don't know when the change happened from bonkers lil sweetie to quiet winter monster happened, but, whatevs, it did. My current philosophy is I had too many leadership positions in college and the gender stereotypes wore me down to a mean nub. I DON'T KNOW. I think I am enjoyable one-on-one. I am a good listened and even-keeled. I am adventurous and optimistic. But in groups of improvisers? In groups of improvisers I can seem a little stuffy. The point is, how does one be better at being fun?

I was sort of bemoaning this to a friend recently, and, of course, he said "Well, would you rather not be you?" So, yeah, got me. No, I want to be me. I just want to be me and smile more with strangers I guess? Anyway, this is a new project for myself. Here I go.

"Well, sometimes we have to deal with the gifts God gives us, Alice. Some us are normal, some of us have to be giant technicolor moths." - Dusty giving me very confusing advice using Mothra as a metaphor for not fitting in

Why So Serious?

Neighbors are trying to kill me.
I run before the sun is up. I pass their orange brick home
Oh! That guy scared me--Wait. What's--?

 OH GOD.

WHY would anyone do this? My heart exploded.
I stopped. Okay, it's a cut-out. It's a cut-out.
Wait...IS it a cut-out? This could totally be like the time that guy stood still in Madame Tusseau's Wax Museum and when I inspected him, he offered a mild, "Boo" so I obviously jumped nineteen feet into the air and darn near knocked wax Will Smith over. If I were a serial killer and was going to dress up as The Joker, I would definitely take the possibility of being mistaken for a piece of cardboard into consideration. The advantages! So I stared at this promotional material/genius murderer for a long time. A. Long. Time. And then I felt stupid, so I ran away.

Maybe it seems stupid to you too, but when when I'm running empty streets at 6 AM, bumping into a tubby child holding cotton candy wearing a Rainbow Bright t-shirt would terrify me. Let alone ol' Heath.

So an interesting thing is happening. I see this creepy image like every other morning. This thing that completely wrecked me last week is now typical scenery. I've grown accustom, maybe even fond, of the lil menace. It means I have a quarter mile left. I imagine his overly-lip sticked face cheering me on. Maybe stabbing future marathon competitors with a pencil.

Is there inspiration here? Like, what really scares us can become routine? I'm still kinda of working on the metaphor. Not that we should learn to be comfortable with our fears, but rather, we should see them as just two-dimensional benign onlookers. Maybe.