..about how much I care what other people think. It’s one of my worst traits, in my opinion, and generally it can’t be helped. I can’t stop myself. Every morning when I wake up, I’m not dressing for me, I’m dressing for them. I don’t even know who they are. The world. I think I may be making progress on this identity crisis thing when I say: the root of my problems is my lack of personal strength.
Now I don’t mean to say that I’m not strong, I am. I’ve been through some tough things in my life, as has everyone. I mean that I don’t always draw my strength from within. What I should be doing is relying heavily on myself for my problems, issues, attitude. Instead, I choose to base my mood partially off of what other people say to me. It’s not fully this way, all the time, but somewhat, a little too much for my liking. I don’t like the thought that somebody else has the power to make me feel something. What’s that Eleanor? Yeah, I know that nobody can make us feel small without our permission but hey. It’s not always that easy, kay? Kay.
I just feel like I’m in this tiny little box, and so many people around me are lying on top of their boxes, sprawled out and happy in the sun, showing their quirky, strange, creative side. It’s like I haven’t given myself permission to be creative, with all of these people watching. This blog for instance. I thought I wanted more views. More people coming to see it. And you know why? Because that would mean something about me, that would make me happy to know that people cared. It would make me joyous to see a comment, or a large spike in page views. But you know what? That’s wrong, and completely stupid. If I’m writing this blog only for other people, I shouldn’t be doing it. If I’m writing it only for the attention or praise I’ll get, I shouldn’t be doing it. No, the only reason I should be doing it is if it makes me happy, all on its own. And it does. But I think I really need to stop caring what other people are going to think when they read it. What do I care what they think? This is my therapy, not theirs. If they want something different, they can go write a blog.
Today, as I took off my absolutely adorable jacket, I actually found myself wondering if anyone had said anything nice about it. For a split second, before I smacked myself, I was about to weigh the jacket’s worth based on what other people thought of it. I stopped myself as I realized something really important. I don’t give a horse’s ass what anyone else thinks of it. Not even a little. Because when I wear clothes, I should be wearing them for ME and me alone. And guess what? I felt damn good, slim and adorable in that adorable jacket all the adorable day. I gave myself a good talking to and really had a mini-epiphany while standing there in my closet.
Here’s the epiphany, in short form: “I’m doing this for me.” That was it, the whole thing. Pretty mini, huh? I just mean that at the end of the day, I’m alone. I will spend much more time alone than I will with any other person in my life, and that makes me the most important person in my life. So guess what? I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it all for me. What makes me happy? I’m going to do whatever it is. I’m going to dress for me, talk for me, do whatever feels right to ME. It’s time to start living to make myself happy (and others I haven’t gone completely narcissistic, I’m just being symbolic here) because that’s what counts. I need to stop living my life trying to please others, it just doesn’t work like that.
And to end on a similar note, I’m giving myself the permission I apparently need to stop caring what other people think and be as creative and quirky and strange as I like. Because I like it. So there.
Take that, world.