That was the plight of my daughter, 9, this morning as I readied myself for church. I would not call it a plaintive cry for pity, it was just a statement of fact: she is not the popular girl in her class. Her friend, Meredith, is the popular girl. Ultimately, she is okay with not being popular - it just puzzles her.
I explained that I was not a popular kid when I was in school. The 12 years of my pre-college education were, to put it lightly, socially trying. There seemed to always be someone to remind me that I wasn't cool enough, didn't do the right things, didn't wear the right clothes, and did say the right things to be in the "in" crowd. I vividly remember the very first day of 7th grade, when two of the so-called "popular" girls informed me that I very definitely was not cool, and, if they had anything to do with it, I never would be. They were right - I wasn't. Oh, the social snubbing got less vitriolic as the years progressed, but it wasn't until college than I could count more than a few people in my social circle. See, by college, I figured out that clothes do not necessarily make the woman - and there were plenty of people who thought that way (many of them hadn't been the "cool kids" in high school either).
And truth be told, I am still not one of the "cool kids." I'm considered reliable, but reliability and popularity are not the same thing. I am still the one that is kind of on the fringe, no matter where I am. Not quite as fringe as high school, but still. Of course, at 37, I'm not really interested in proving myself "worthy," you either like me or you don't.
That's a hard concept for a 9-year old. Of course, her level of popularity changes depending on the group. At school, yeah, she may not be popular. The most recent "problem" is that most of the kids in her class like to play football at recess. My child does not play football. It's not that she can't - she can throw a football as well as the next kid - it's that she does not want to play football. She is a dancer and a gymnast. The other kids call her "wussy" and "girly" because she will not play football. Wussy she is not - girly, yeah, maybe. But perception in the dance studio is different. She has a lot of friends, especially among the older girls. Younger ones look up to her.
The best I could do for her this morning is to reassure her that I new what she was going through and tell her she had to "claim her space." She is most emphatic that she doesn't want to be a follower, and that is good. But it is the harder path - and no one is going to give her a "space." She's got to find it herself. I can support her, but I cannot find it for her. No one can.
We all must find - and claim - our own space. Not necessarily physical space, but the thing that helps us define ourselves. We shrink from it, or downplay it, at our own peril. A couple weeks ago, I quoted Marianne Williamson (via my friend Moritz) and I quote it again here: "You're playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you... as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."
As human beings, we like to classify people, to put them in boxes: the cool kids, the jocks, the geeks, the nerds, the dorks. But when you claim your space, you give yourself permission to live outside of other people's labels. To build a buffer that says, "You may want to stick me in another space of your choosing. But I choose this space, and this space gives me the freedom to thrive despite your label." It doesn't stop the label, but it allows you to understand that the label is not the end. It is someone else's feeble attempt to keep you down. Claiming your space makes less possible for others to make that label meaningful.
Ironically, I find myself at a point where I must again claim my space. At my son's First Communion retreat, I found myself talking with a friend who said he read my entry "The Cake is a Lie." I am always surprised that people would read what I write - in my mind, what I write is just not that interesting. He is a writer - he has written three books. Not published, but still, that's three more than I've written. I told him about my half-started attempt at a mystery novel and he offered to hook me up with a writing group that helped him find motivation. After a moment, and with the prompting of my spouse, I said sure. After all, I did say I wanted to write.
Nervous? Of course. Heck, I just said I didn't understand why people would read what I write. But that's what claiming your space means. In the end, it doesn't matter what others think or if I never publish a book. I am claiming my space as a writer. If I truly mean to claim it, I will join the ranks of those few (relatively speaking) who have not just talked about writing a book, but done it. The decision alone feels pretty good.
Tired of living according to public opinion? Find your space - and claim it.
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