Ponderings of a Self-Proclaimed Wallflower...

I’m forty and have been wondering all my life where I fit into this world.  

Never really a social butterfly, yet not quite an outcast…something of a loner who often still longs for the company of a friend…never popular but not really unpopular either…always looking for my niche but never belonging fully to any group…

I am a wallflower.  I am a Hazel.  I am an observer in the world.  (If you got both of those references, I love you.  If not, read “Perks of Being a Wallflower” by Stephen Chbosky and “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green.  Seriously.  Do it.  I don't care that you are an adult and they are technically written for young adults.)

But I don’t want to be an observer…

I want to be an extrovert, always the life of the party. 

I want to be the artistic soul who creates beautiful art and music and poetry.

I want to be the intellectual everyone listens to for their sage wisdom.

I want to make a mark in the world.  I want to be remembered.

But I am an observer.

Observers see things others miss.

Observers find meaning and look for connections.

Observers see both sides and have trouble choosing.

Observers see life from the outside in, never fully becoming a part of it all.

Observers catch intimate moments and angry looks and rolling eyes.

I am an observer.

People forget observers. 

When we move away you don’t miss us.

When your lives get busy, you don’t think about us.

When you call the group to go out for drinks our names don’t come up.

It’s not that you don’t like us.  Often you do…but we are so good at blending into the wallpaper that when we are gone it doesn’t feel that different.

It isn’t your fault.  Thank you for trying.

But I am an observer.  

I have tried to change, but I am me.

I will never be one who commands attention.

I will never be the life of the party.

Nobody may ever read much of what I write.

But a handful of people know and love me deeply, and maybe I just need to be ok with that.