Tell us about a time when you felt out of place.
I have a healthy amount of Imposter Syndrome going on, stemming mainly from feeling so horribly untalented at what I went to grad school for, even though I loved it. But mostly I’ve been able to blend in, make conversation, or at least get by in whatever situation I get thrown in.
I admit I felt uncomfortable during the years we were studying real estate renovations and investment, especially when we got labeled as “big investors” and getting invited to special receptions and events (like a sky box at a football game—I couldn’t do rich people small talk so I sat in the seats and watched the game. I’m good at football watching. I grew up working class or barely middle class, so I missed out on rich people issues and topics. They talked a lot about taxes when just a year or two before mine were easily done by Turbo Tax.
But the time I felt most out of place was the 1971-72 school year, when I was removed from a junior high school where I fit in, had my advanced classes, and was popular among the smart hippie kids. I was placed in a new town, which was a kinda snobby suburb. That was ok. But the school was an “open classroom.” Three grades, 6-8, were all in a giant room with lockers delineating learning areas. Black kids were bussed in from miles away and not thrilled about it. All abilities were in the same classroom, which was supposed to be just fine for learners and teachers, because we were supposed to teach ourselves, each at our own pace.
It was hell. Science class was good, because we all learned at the same time, mainly how to hurt each other with lab equipment. Much of the year, the white kids would have nothing to do with a hippie kid. The black girls were more friendly. Eventually I had friends.
But this whole system was chaos. By halfway through the year I’d finished English and social studies, so three of us would go to the open air library and crawl under a table to read plays to each other. Shakespeare was quite naughty, we thought. Probably it’s banned today.
But I couldn’t teach myself algebra, even with a friend trying with me. She was brilliant. But we needed a teacher, and Mr. Schecter had no interest in teaching, just grading papers. So my friend and I crocheted purses. Hmm. I did a lot of extra-curricular stuff.
Anyway, that was the year I fainted in volleyball and took a golf club to my head. Only chorus was fun. Made lifelong friends there!
I was a square peg in that giant round hole of a school building. I lost a year of math, too. I had to do Algebra I again, so I was behind many of my friends.
I’m sure I drove my parents up a wall, as we used to say, that year. I felt like a complete misfit, but these memories reminded me there was plenty of fun. Change was just hard for an adolescent with severe anxiety. I didn’t even know what anxiety was. I was just “too sensitive.”
I’m glad I have my circle of human and animal friends to support me now!
The Hermits' Rest 