Dancing in the Rain...

Such a downpour we had today... It was wondrous.

I used to dislike the rain. We come from Oregon, where a good 7 months of the year is taken up with clouds and rain and deary skies. Everything is sad and droopy, and very, very wet.

But today I have a new appreciation of the rain. Or perhaps a renewed look at it.

Rain can be beautiful. It calls out a brilliance in things that is not to be found in the bleaching sunshine. It adds dazzling sparkles to otherwise faded leaves. It ripples a friendless pond with tenderness and fun. It slides down a window pain, adding a new dimension to life. You see things as you have never seen them before.

On that note, I have been making some discoveries. Some good, some bad.



I am not so good with putting words together with my tongue. When I speak, everything comes out all a jumble. I say things I do not mean or do not even yet understand myself and feel so foolish. I put words together that don't fit and use phrases in ways that the world does not...and forget that it means somethings so different than I intended.

Just Friday night I laughingly said I was eating Starbursts to get sugar in my blood. I meant I needed energy. I was worn out. It had been a long day. But that is not what that phrase means in this society...and I stuck my foot in my mouth. Again.

Oh, how many times can I think of that I have said what I should not or did not mean to. How many things have flown out of my mouth that were not what I wanted. Or intended. I am not good with words. I feel like Minnie in Lark Rise to Candleford. Always saying the wrong things... In my mind I can meld them together and speak them so eloquently. But when I am standing before a person, it comes down to one thing and I have finally discovered what it is.

It is this deep nervousness that bubbles up inside me, as if what I am about to say does not matter to the person I am saying it to. It goes back to that fear of people which I have spoken of before. Or rather, I called it my desire to be a "people pleaser". In reality, it is this. A fear of  people. Of what they feel. Of what they will say. Of what they care about. Of whether or not they want...me.



I need people. I want people to approve of me. And so I speak in haste, as if to assure myself that what I say does mean something. As if the faster I can pour out my words the more value they have.

What stupidity!

I have come to the decision to stop. I have always enjoyed "speaking". I am not a chatterer. But I have a sprightly personality and I enjoy laughing and talking together with friends. I can hold a conversation with a shy person. And I can listen to a chatterbox.

Still, I am always afraid. That my words are forgotten. Unheard. Unwanted. And so I speak, so quickly, so urgently.

And my words...they mean nothing. They are thoughtless. They are hasty. Oh, how I regret them the moment they have flown!

So I have come to a new impasse, a new moment in life. A new change.

I am going to try to stop. I am going try to think. I am going try to wait. Wait for that moment when I know my words are needed, know they are useful, appreciated. Not only to others. But for myself. I am tired of always feeling a fool for what I have said. What I have muddled up. Because I am talking too fast. I am going to slow down. Listen. And speak when it is time...

I hate frivolous conversations. I hate talking about nothing, about things that don't matter. I hate feeling awkward when everyone is talking about things I don't understand {which is a lot} or laughing about things I don't care about.

I am strange. I admit it. There are a lot of things modern teenagers find so glorious that I could care less about. I am not huge into pop music or most "modern" music. In fact, I have heard very little of it. I do not know actors or actresses and don't "fangirl" anything. I don't rave over cloths or fashion or styles. I have watched very few movies, even popular ones. Or if I've seen them...it would be, oh, when I was ten or so...and I can't remember them.

I don't hate these things. I don't hate people that like {or even love} these things. But I can't share in their excitement and wonder. I can't share their conversations. It is embarrassing. And I feel so left out. So...stupid. Or strange.

I know that is not true. But it is a little true. {Er, the strange part, at least. My ACT score would argue the stupid part. ~_*} I DON'T care for these things. And who doesn't?

I don't know any other girl like this. In fact, sometimes I feel much more like a boy than a girl. I am a Daddy's girl through and through. There are reasons for that, reasons that are hard to admit, that hurt. But they have shaped me into who I am.

And who I am is not something I am afraid of. I like what I am. I like not going crazy over cute boys. I like not not caring if I tear my shirt or grass-stain my jeans or mess my hair. I like not being overly emotional.

It is a decision I have made. But so few people understand it. So few people know it. So few people want to.



Yes, I am different. And people don't know what to make of it. Or me.

And my mixed up tongue only proves to them that there is nothing but bizarre thoughts in my head. I don't make any sense. To anyone. How could anyone make sense of me? Why would anyone want to? I don't know.

But perhaps that is not for me to figure out. What I am is what I want to be. What I am.