my tribe licks oyster shells

my tribe licks oyster shells

“The bank is hiring Di, you could be a Teller! I could push your application through.”

“You’re welcome to come live in the basement, but only if you go back to vocational school.”

What?

(There are more but I will spare you.)

Ahhh…those moments you hear something out of the mouth of a friend who’s known you for years, and you can’t help but think: After all these years, you seriously haven’t a clue about who I am do you? 

If I had a dollar for every unsolicited, absurd, possible employment suggestion or life direction I’ve heard over the years- people would be asking me for cash loans, not recommending I count their cash at that proposed teller job that’s up for grabs. Since my teens, I’ve been pushed, poked, and prodded to try and somehow “find myself” (was I ever lost?) in more most mis-matched, ill-fitting industries than I could count on a calculator. These proposed options for my professional life I’ve heard on a regular basis over the years have made me furrow my brow so hard and so often, I now need BOTOX. (Yes! That’s it! I can be a plastic surgeon when I grow up!) As if my responsive looks of horror and sighs aren’t enough, my facial expressions are usually followed with my big mouth: “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Then comes the moment I experience all to often that I realize I have to understand my audience, and remember who’s in my tribe.

I love people. Lots of people. I love to be around all shapes, sizes and sexes of people. I like to eat meals with and have drinks with, play soccer with and booty shake with, and have easy and difficult conversation with- every kind of people. I saw the world as my oyster long, long ago, and started licking every corner of It’s shell with a smile on my face. During my time as the president of the clean shell club however, I have realized there’s a very small group in my rainbow of people that truly get me. I’m fortunate enough to have buckets of peeps who love me (and I love you for loving me- believe me) but most just simply don’t get me. (Or they can’t put me in a category so it freaks them out.) Last week I surpassed my gazillionth conversation about life, work, money, and this never ending obsession so many seem to have about me needing to fit perfectly in a pretty little box. Different perspectives are awesome, hearing the “other side” is always healthy, It’s refreshing to have options brought to attention, and I love a good challenge, but for the love of god people- not only do I have no interest in climing in the box, but that thing would light on fire if I tried to fake my way in, don’t you know that by now? I’m 34- not sure much is going to change about me at this point after all.

Time for adjustments. Time to start really start sticking to my own tribe more. (As much this pains me because I really play well with others.)

So, I’m  like a baseball player adjusting his cup incessantly during the World Series right now. Adjust, adjust, adjust before I go crazy (and maybe apeshit) on some of those who I love and who love me because (sigh) they just don’t get me and I’m not sure I can take the lectures anymore. Apparently my transparent as Saran Wrap/talk about everything with any one, at any time/nothing is off limits/I think anything is possibe self, scares the shit out of most of America. I’ve taken little interest over the years living up to anyone else’s expectation (I’m hard enough on myself) and turns out that bothers some people. Thank goodness my tribe doesn’t have any expectations. They don’t care whether or not I can rattle off exactly what I’ll be doing tomorrow during my day on the high-powered career train, how much money I have in my bank account, or how many bedrooms are in the house I own. They really could give a shit about that stuff actually. My tribe simply cares that I’m waking up feeling good and healthy, exercising my brain and body regularly, that I work hard at whatever “thing” I’m passionate about, and that I’m regularly giving back to whatever community I’m in.

Oh how I love my tribe. I love the rest of you too, but you non-tribers are starting to drive me bonkers with the homework on how to “achieve greatness”, not to mention the judgements on why there must be something wrong with me because I haven’t chosen to get a picket fence I’ll have to maintain after my trips to Home Depot on Saturdays.

I’m thankful to have so many incredibly loving generous and well-intentioned people in my life. I am one lucky lady, and I appreciate everyone- really. The problem is that I have been fighting so hard to keep some of these people who love me in my life for so long even though they don’t get or support who and what I am, that I just don’t have the energy (and don’t want to) do it anymore. Fly away little birdies- fly away. (Sigh again.) I tried to keep you but you just couldn’t see my forrest through your trees when I could see yours, so I have to let you go now. As you certain birdies fly away, I must stay among my tribe of people who I never have to explain a thing to.

The only job I’m interested in applying for? The only box I’m interested in fitting in? The Chief of my tribe job of course, and that bruised, smiling box that’s busted open, tattered- completely worn and full of good stories about an authentic life.

Cheers to Starbucks Tall Cup #31! (That’s for you Rita:)