As time goes by, I find myself falling back upon the comforting cushion of games, movies, and online media that plagued my younger years. Perhaps it’s just a symptom of getting older — a revolutionary thought, I know. Perhaps I’m desperate for the innocence of youth, back when politics were grown-up talk and all I had to worry about was finishing a chapter of The Chronicles of Narnia before my next reading group meeting. Or maybe I just miss being unabashedly weird.
Sure, it’s a bit mean to call my younger self weird, but to say I was just like any other kid would be a gross misrepresentation of my oddity. Take elementary school, for instance. During recess, my friends and I stalked through a spattering of trees at the back of the playground as “warrior cats,” giving ourselves corny names like “Skyleaf” while acting out our favorite feline book series. As embarrassing as it is to bring up, I now think back on these moments with a fuzzy fondness. I miss when my only worries were finding enough prey (leaves) to feed my clanmates (classmates).
The spring of 2020 gave a lonely middle schooler an excuse to hide from the world. I religiously wore a mask long past necessity, and I cowered behind a computer screen until I had no choice but to face my freshman year of high school with stunted social skills. Looking back, it sounds miserable. I wish I’d pushed myself further out of my shell, but the one thing I miss from that time was the freedom. Not literal freedom, evidently, but a freedom to be weird. I watched Twitch streamers all day, I played video games between classes, I drew cringey fan art and binge-watched anime and children’s shows, and no one could judge me. I enjoyed things without shame.
That’s something I struggle with now, and I think many others do too. Letting yourself enjoy things. As a kid, before you gain a social conscience, you don’t care if you’re the weird kid roleplaying as a cat at the back of the playground. You’re having fun, you have your people, and that’s all that matters. During the pandemic, I didn’t care that I was the dorky artist who made bad drawings and watched cartoons. No one could see me, and the few online friends I did have supported me.
To this day, a war is being waged within me. Some days, I feel crushed by the weight of blending in. I want to seem “normal,” I don’t want to come across as the weird kid like I have all my life. This manifests as a crippling artist’s block paired with an imposter syndrome to end all imposter syndromes.
Other times, I wake up with surging pride. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I steep in nostalgia, rewatching My Little Pony, rereading old writing, and laughing at how far I’ve come. Those days are rare, but growing. Because I miss that happiness, that innocence, that carefree spirit.
I miss being the weird kid.
If I had to boil this sentimental rambling down to one piece of advice for a reader to take away, let it be this: be kind to yourself. Do not be ashamed to have fun. Like what you like, love who you love, and be true to yourself. It’s okay if it takes time. You have one life, so live it for you.