In a sea of brilliant, talented, witty, funny women, I was drowning.
In my eyes, everyone had something that made them unique, and I had nothing.
I tried to emulate the styles of my social media crushes, to no avail. That style was reserved, already being done, hence why mine felt like a watered down version. Better to be a first-rate version on yourself than a second-rate version of someone else, and all that.
I have been so fixated on others and their uniqueness, that mine wasn’t shining through. Or it was, but I didn’t deem it good enough.
The summer of 2014 was an interesting time. I had just finished uni for good, and left a job I wasn’t particularly fussed about. Well, I say left, I was more pushed out of the door, after they conveniently decided to downsize two months after hiring me. But I guess that’s the nature of sales jobs, one day you’re in, the next you’re out. Anyway.
I still had a large chuck of the summer ahead of me, and when I wasn’t searching and attending interviews for jobs that I actually wanted, I had a lot of time to kill. And how else does a millennial kill time, but browse on Tinder? It’s not that I was particularly interested in meeting anyone… but I was looking for ways to pass the time.
“Everyone knows that if you’re born with a vagina, creepy dudes are just a part of the deal.” Denise, Master of None (S1EP7)
A few weeks ago, Vix Meldrew asked the women of Twitter to share stories of being followed or harassed by men. After recently watching Season 2 of Master of None, I’ve been rewatching Season 1 and was reminded of this particular line.
When I was 18, I was at home in Brighton during a uni break. We lived quite centrally, really close to the station, and town was just a stone’s throw away. I was walking home after some drinks with friends – it wasn’t particularly late, maybe 9 or 10pm – and as I was walking down my street, I noticed a guy at the other end coming towards me. No big deal usually. Usually. I was expecting us to just cross paths swiftly, like you would with any other stranger. But literally the millisecond before I turned to walk up the path to my door, he stopped me.
I actually had a different post scheduled for today, the second part of my short story Strangers, however I had something on my mind that I needed to get down. Part two of Strangers will be coming next week, so just bear with me in the meantime.
I went to Sheffield this weekend to see some friends put on some plays and short sketches in Thestival, a three-day theatre festival. Thesitval was the brainchild of my friends Vicky and Michael when we were all part of the drama society way back when, and it is so great to see it still living on all of these years later, with different people putting their own spin on it. I guess with a lot of drama societies at university, people tend to put on more widely known plays and musicals most of the time, so it’s great that Thesitval encourages people to put on lesser known plays and sketches, and even submit originally written stuff, to really show the potential from the future stars of tomorrow.
It made me think about my own potential.
My gorgeous friend Liv wrote a very thought-provoking piece the other day (which you can read here, and give her a follow while you’re at it). She discussed a topic that I’ve seen floating around more and more often lately, in regards to the ‘blogging community’ and whether such a thing exists.