Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Have you ever changed the way you’ve done something . . . or the way you’ve thought about something . . . or even changed the clothes you were wearing purely because you were worried about what someone else might think? I have. Not much these days, I admit, but certainly in the past.
When I was younger I spent a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of me—were they talking about me? . . . were they judging me? . . . what did I need to do to ‘fit in’?
So I did all the things I thought I was supposed to do.
I went to parties I didn’t particularly want to go to because I thought if I didn’t I would never be asked again (even though I probably wouldn’t want to go the next time either).
I spent late nights out at pubs and clubs listening to music that made my head ache and drinking whatever was put in front of me, when all I really wanted to be doing was sitting at home with a nice cup of tea, wearing my fluffy slippers and watching a really bad sci-fi movie on the telly.
I bought clothes that were bang on trend but looked awful on me (thank God there was no Facebook back then) hung around with people I had absolutely nothing in common with, and was careful to whom I expressed my honest opinions in case I was thought of as difficult or uncool or not ‘normal’.
Well, they say that your true colours will always show through eventually and I guess it’s true. After all that energy expended in trying to match my own colours to those around me it turns out that I am indeed difficult, uncool . . . and normal? . . . well, that’s all relative isn’t it? I reckon I am my own very special kind of normal—just like everybody else . . .
‘ . . . Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”
Actually, who are you not to be? . . . ‘