I have always been a collector of things. It’s part of having an obsessive personality. When I was a kid, I collected folders and plastic animals. Now that I’m an adult, I collect notebooks and FunkoPops. As you can see, my tastes have developed greatly. However, I have an ever-growing collection that I’m ready to toss out, and that collection is: misconceptions.
Now, we all have misconceptions, even about people we know very well. It’s nearly impossible to know everything about a person. I’m sure I have an enormous amount of misconceptions about other people, because even for a highly intuitive person such as myself, there are many mysteries yet to be solved. Cue the Sherlock theme. Or the Doctor Who theme. Either works here.
But although I may be used to misconceptions (when one has been a blogger since one was thirteen, they do pile up), there are a few I’d like to kick to the curb.
I’m a fairly whimsical person. For better or worse, I always have been. But I dislike the idea that a whimsical, positive person is automatically also an immature fluffbrain. It is very possible to be level-headed and mature while enjoying the finer things in life – like toys, or socks with narwhals on them. (And no, people don’t walk around calling me an immature fluffbrain – but the idea is implied. Usually, it’s implied with a smile and a remark about how ‘sweet’ I am, which brings me to point number two.)
I am not sweet. By which I mean: my first reactions to things are rarely of the ‘sweet’ variety. As surprising as it may be to some, I used to be a pretty judgy, self-centered person, and going out of my way to do things for other people is something I need to consistently practice. (Practice still hasn’t made it perfect, but here’s hoping a few more years might see some more automatic sweetness happening.)
‘Precious angel baby who survives on cotton candy and milk’
For the record, I didn’t come up with that title. Arielle did. She uses it as a joke whenever she sees someone assumes that I’m a fresh-faced innocent-hearted angel, because the reality is quite different. I hate to burst any bubbles – but not only do I have the bawdiest sense of humor I know (fortunately for most people, 90% of said humor remains unspoken) and a mind that honestly looks a little like the Beast’s castle before the enchantment is lifted. I laugh when people drop an innuendo around me and then look mollified because boi, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
I’m actually not much of a go-getter. Oh, I may have all the motivation in the world – I’m just bad at following through on it. I’m a terrible procrastinator. I have to drag myself away from a good book, or a fun vlog, or a great website, to get anything done. Responsibilities, you say? I need to finish this art commission if I want to make money? I have to edit this novel if I want to send it anywhere? Drat.
‘Head in the clouds’
I’ve been told my whole life that I live inside my own head, which is true. (Sometimes embarrassingly true. Like when someone catches me talking to myself and I hadn’t realized I was doing it.) But there’s a distinct difference between living inside your own head, and living with your head in the clouds – which implies little concept of reality. I know reality, and I understand it very well. I’ve had harsh bites from reality and it’s also treated me very kindly on many occasions – but my feet are firmly on the ground, no matter where my head is.
Now granted, most people don’t usually tell me they think I would be ‘loud’ in real life (as opposed to the internet). Most people use terms like ‘excitable’ or ‘enthusiastic.’ However, no matter how much I yell in capslock, no matter how many exclamation points I use, I’m an extremely quiet person and unless a subject that interests me is being bandied around, I’ll probably have a hard time thinking up anything to talk about. Also, I’m not good at talking to more than one person at a time, because all those ‘inclusive’ subjects aren’t ones I find interesting. One-on-one I’m usually good to go; just wind me up and set me on the ground. So if I see aloof and/or mute, you can still talk to me. (In fact, please do.) I don’t bite.
Up-front, my skin is not actually flawless. I recently had a beautiful girl ask how I kept my skin so beautiful, and I told her the truth: My skin sucks. I have a certain kind of acne that results in hyperpigmentation , I have chronic breakouts, and rosacea. (Not only do I have this on my face and occasionally my shoulders, but my legs as well.) I have a routine now that helps keep it under control, and I’m no longer embarrassed by it – but it ain’t flawless.
I do not, in fact, have eight hundred best friends. I have two. I have a handful of what C. S. Lewis would call ‘second-tier’ friends, and I have hundreds of acquaintances of which I’m fond. I’m actually extremely private person and keep my cards pretty close to the vest.
Says the ironic blogger.
I used to think I could live happily as a hermit with little-to-no human contact, but the older I get the more I realize – I need people. I like people. I enjoy being around people – but I also need to be alone for long periods of time. When I’m around people, I’m receiving that person’s emotions and feelings, and being in crowds isn’t something I enjoy because it feels overwhelming to me. In peace and quiet, I can think and exist without distraction. I enjoy being alone, but, as Audrey Hepburn said, I don’t want to be lonely. I used to joke that I wasn’t a people person but honestly I’m very much a people person – but in smallish doses.
I don’t know what about me makes people think I’m petite, but I would like to clarify: I am not. I’m five feet and ten inches tall. I weigh 170 pounds. I exercise daily. I win arm-wrestling contests against guys. I could beat the average person to a pulp if I so chose. I’m not petite, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Which is fortunate, since one can’t make oneself petite at this height.) The only downside is finding clothes that fit in all areas, because they don’t make pants with a size 10 leg and a size 8 waist, ya feel?
There are other misconceptions, of course – that I’m ‘cutesy,’ that I have red hair (it’s light brown in winter and dark blonde in the summer and pink in-between), that I’m not actually a person (I am absolutely 100% a person and you can trust me on this, I have a certificate somewhere) etc. and most of them are unimportant – but hey, I like being understood. Don’t we all?