I’ve always wanted to be popular. Well, like, secretly.
I didn’t really like attention drawn to me as I was a bit shy and very insecure. But secretly, I would hope that I’d one day somehow garner a few votes for Homecoming Queen or something. Not that in my school of 1200, more than 20 people knew who I was, but there was always that small hope that when they announced the homecoming court, I’d come out of hiding from behind my long, black permed hair and get my crown.
20 years later, I don’t hide as often from attention, and I don’t dream of being on the homecoming court anymore, but a part of me still is searching for the accolades from my peers. A part of me longs more than ever before for acceptance and popularity – in my work, in my life, in my accomplishments.
My ego wants the stroking. I’m not above that. So even though I care less now at 36 about what people think of me, I still desire what my 16-year-old self desired – the acceptance and the acknowledgement of people around me.
I’m not sure I’ll ever grow out of that. It’s in my blueprint.