A Work in Progress

  We all need to calm down!

  In that first year of school, I was emerging from that superawkward phase where every feeling is magnified and disproportionate.

  I didn’t know how to be social outside of my friendships, and I can’t say that I was the most gregarious student.

  I remember giving my first speech during a class presentation freshman year and, boy, did I sweat bullets. I’ve always had a fear of public speaking. I think most people do. It’s hard to be confident standing up in front a room full of people, with them staring you down and scrutinizing the delivery of every one of your words. I’m beginning to shake just at the thought of it. I. HATE IT. There’s something about being the center of attention in that specific way just gets my blood moving and my heart racing.

  Even today, I get nervous speaking in front of big crowds. It’s not like a YouTube video, which I can film, edit, and post from the security and comfort of my apartment. Public speaking means the people are real and right in front of you. I’ve gotten better at public speaking with age, but by no means am I comfortable with it. But, anyways back to the story.

  I got up in front of the class to do my speech, gave one huge gulp, opened my mouth, and began. “Hello everyasdfghjkl”—and at that moment, my voice stumbled and cracked louder than it ever had before. Everyone giggled, and my face turned redder than a tomato. Somehow I soldiered on, got a B-, and moved on with my life. What’s funny about looking back on that excruciating moment is that speaking is now my job. It could have completely stifled my confidence, but I had to own it so I could get over it. To this day, my voice STILL cracks, but now I roll with the punches, make a few self-deprecating jokes, and continue. Some things never really change. You can only control your perspective. If you do, the big things that haunted you at school seem so pointless.

  Aside from pubescent self-consciousness, I was a good, well-behaved teenager. It was rare that I received anything lower than an A or was anything short of an innocent angel. But high school made me realize what a sheltered life I had lived until then. I saw kids rebel. I heard them swear. And I had no idea what the hell this “weed” thing was that everyone mentioned in passing. Me, the goody-two-shoes, walked around thinking, Is this what real life is like? I’d never had a real relationship, hardly ever swore, never tried a drop of alcohol, and certainly hadn’t experimented with drugs. But of course, purity doesn’t last forever, and I soon became engulfed in this new world of teenage angst and rebellion. Okay. I’m making it sound like I became a drug addict and had lots of sex, but hold up! That wasn’t the case. I just became exposed to the world, like the blinders had been removed. In typical good-kid fashion, I never really experienced the “bad” things I was around, but my awareness of them increased.

  Maybe all this exposure had an indirect impact of me because in my junior year, things began to change and the inner rebel began to emerge. I didn’t care if my homework wasn’t done to absolute perfection. I stayed out late with friends, even on school nights. Hey, I even went to a few parties! I most definitely came out of my shell. And I don’t regret it, though I did some things that were out of character for me—the consequences of trying to care less. I failed several tests, got pulled over a few times for speeding, and stayed out late instead of taking care of my responsibilities. My parents eventually had to have a little chat with me about it, which forced me to realize that I wasn’t being me. Yeah, my “bad boy” phase was by no means bad compared to some of the other kids around me—you wouldn’t believe some of the horror stories I heard and witnessed—but it still didn’t make it okay. I started to see myself in a bad light, and I knew I had to reevaluate my priorities. So that’s what I did.

  I went back to the old me.

  This is what happens in high school. We’re exposed to what’s not familiar while trying to work out who we are. We explore, make bad decisions, and learn from them. I may have not made any life-changing mistakes, but I witnessed many friends meet the consequences of some ill-considered choices. So I watched and learned instead of actually committing the crimes myself. Not so bad, if you ask me. High school, like any other new environment, can feel weird at first, but that’s also the challenge of our teen years: being able to adapt. I noticed how everyone seemed to gravitate toward the cliquey friend groups they had in middle school, which sucked because I hadn’t gone to the same school as everyone else. But I had some friends from sports, so I figured that if I sidled up and stood silently by them, they would introduce me to their friends, and I would collect friends by association.

  My plan worked.

  It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be the new kid. At one of the first football games, just a couple of weeks in, one girl said to me, “Everyone is obsessed with you, Connor!” “Wait. What??” I said, shocked. “Why?!?” “I don’t know! They all think you’re cute and good at sports and stuff!”

  What shallow standards for liking someone, I thought. But I’ll take it!

  Little did they know that I didn’t feel cool at all. But, hey, I was okay with living the lie as long as my social status benefited. And that’s totally what I did in high school. Faked it ’til I made it. And improvised. I did a lot of improvising. That’s the downside of growing up. There’s a lot of pretending involved. We frequently act like someone other than who we really are because we don’t know or aren’t comfortable with our true selves. “Just be yourself,” parents and grandparents often say, but that’s easier said than done. It seems we must grow up before we can even begin to think about flourishing. It’s taken me years to realize and embrace this.

  I loved what that girl said at the football game because I so desperately wanted to be seen as a cool kid, regardless of how cliché that sounds. I cared far too much about what I wore and how I spoke; hell, I even began to worry about the words that would come out of my mouth. Did they sound cool enough?

  The idea of not being accepted was scary. Look cool and be cool, I always thought. After a couple of trips to the rundown mall across the river, going in and out of fitting rooms—there were only three stores to choose from, so my new style was very limited. Mom, aka my personal stylist and fashion guru, judged me head to toe, and she and I both liked what we saw.

  I was happy with my new look: more fitted jeans, nonathletic shoes, and a cool graphic tee. Yes, they were back in then. (Don’t give me that look.) I felt ready to brave the judgment zone that is high school. My pretend-cool was so thick that it felt like a suit of armor—an armor of confidence. I told myself that if the high standards were not met, I’d suck up the dreaded disapproving glances and backhanded compliments. As it was, I clocked more approving glances and noted a few admiring whispers as well. At least, I think they were admiring. Maybe everyone thought I was ugly and trying too hard. Whatever, I don’t want to know the truth now.

  Regardless, all that pressure you feel when you’re growing up—especially self-imposed pressure—is not fun. It’s no walk in the park to feel as if all eyes are on you, even when 99 percent of the time they’re actually not. Each gender has it bad. Boys have to live up to these big, athletic, manly standards, while girls feel they need to be sweet, best-dressed, flawless-faced robots. It is here, in high school, that the seeds are first laid fostering the myth of what is masculine and what is feminine—how men and women should be. The truth is that no one HAS to be anything. You leave school, look back, and realize how insignificant all that thinking and worrying was.

  Girls can be athletic. Guys can have feelings. Girls can be smart. Guys can be creative. And vice versa. Gender is specific only to your reproductive organs (and sometimes not even to those), not your interests, likes, dislikes, goals, and ambitions. Guys need feminine energy as much as girls need masculine energy to get by in the world. These are the things they don’t write on the chalkboard with the mathematical proofs.

  I felt this pressure when I was a teenager. It just wasn’t cool to be effeminate in any way at my school. Whether that meant dressing well, e
njoying art, or being dramatic, I felt I had to be constantly aware of how I presented myself out of fear that I would be seen as too feminine. In my experience, the social structure that many people unintentionally follow is too black-and-white for boys or girls to cross the line of perceived gender norms. It was exhausting to have to pretend to be macho, enjoy football, and hate anything creative. That just wasn’t me.

  When I first thought that I liked art—that art is fun—I was hesitant to act on that because I didn’t want to come across as girly or feminine for being creative. I suppressed my artsy side and held myself back from pursuing the things I wanted to do: plays, art classes, and clubs. Those things were scary to participate in because of my fear of being looked down on. It took me years to slowly get over all that and just do it. What a shame.

  Now, four years out of high school, I’m in an environment where people appreciate personality over appearance, and that makes me happy. In a broader cultural sense, some of the shallow standards are being remade as “alternative” people claim more of the spotlight, but there is still work to be done. Only once we can all accept that what matters is on the inside, not the outside, then our society will truly progress.

  An Anxious Boy and His Plastic Crown

  I’M SITTING ON A STAGE in my high school auditorium, and the entire student body is staring at me, weighing my royal prospects. Thank the Lord none of my family is present—that would only add to the nerves. Next to me, in this indoor theater of sorts, five other juniors are filled with equal trepidation, if not quite as much dread. (Some are in school plays; others are star athletes and love being on stage.)

  We’ve all been nominated for homecoming king, and today is “crowning day.”

  Autumn is coming to an end, so the air has a slight chill that doesn’t help my already clammy appearance. With all seats in the theater filled, I hate that everyone is gaping at me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to win this award and be “crowned” in front of five hundred people. That would be torture. Cruelty. Well, okay, it’s not that bad, but you get the idea of how mortifying this whole experience feels for me.

  For the past two weeks, my name has been plastered around school. I see people check the box next to my name—the mark that says they prefer me to anyone else on the sheet. I’ve had people issuing hearty congratulations on the nomination. “Hope you win!” they yell, getting all giddy. Neat. Win what? A plastic crown? Cool.

  If you look at any of my online work, you might assume I’m a huge extrovert. I wouldn’t say you’re 100 percent wrong—more like 62 percent, to be exact. I just don’t like a certain kind of attention. Yeah, sure, I enjoy hanging out in social situations and love talking and interacting with other humans, but that’s about me expressing myself, about being in a room full of people feeding off each other’s positive energy.

  Being evaluated while I sit on a stage is not about that.

  I’m telling myself that if I win, I’m going to pull a Cady Heron Mean Girls act. (It’s going to happen.) She can’t believe it when she’s nominated for Spring Fling queen. She knows the sense of humiliation that comes with the applause. (Actually she kind of enjoys it, but I still want to break my crown and throw it at the audience if I win. It’s kind of a dream of mine. I love that movie.)

  While waiting on stage, I’m hoping one of my five peers will be anointed. We sit there and a teacher tells us that one of the boxes in front of us—the ones at each of our feet—contains the crown. A sort of Deal or No Deal format. “If you have the crown in your box, you’re homecoming king!” *dramatic music begins to play* Hesitantly, I begin to open the carefully taped box. I break the seal. I look to my left, hoping to see someone else pulling out a crown to big cheers. I dig through the tissue paper inside and—oh God, no—there it is: the hideous plastic crown that probably cost five dollars at Walmart. I’m cringing at the thought.

  My stomach sinks as I keep my head down, trying to pretend that I haven’t seen anything. But the guy to my immediate right notices and starts pointing, and the whole place erupts in cheers. I have no choice but to stand and claim my title, let them put the crown on my head as my cheeks blush bright red, and walk to the center of the stage. I’m joined by my queen, appearing from my left, and everyone applauds.

  I’m dying behind the smiles and can’t even think straight enough to follow my Mean Girls plan. *sigh*

  Okay, don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly flattered that people apparently liked me in high school. I guess that’s cool, but I don’t like the quality of that kind of attention or how it makes me feel; that’s what it all comes down to. I don’t want all eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus. It makes me sweat. But that’s what this crowning ceremony brought: a whole load of attention. I wasn’t the extrovert that kingly role demanded.

  Here’s what I think people sometimes have trouble understanding about people like me. Yes, I’m a vlogger, but I do it from the privacy of my own home, confined by walls. While I don’t squirm under attention as much as I did back then, I’m also very okay with not having all eyes on me. This is something that anyone close to me would tell you: I’m somewhat shy, not a show-off. I’m a flower that doesn’t require a lot of sunlight. Make sense?

  Looking back on that day, I think it’s a really cool story to tell people. I’m fortunate to have been part of that ceremony, as much as I didn’t enjoy it at the time. It’s not something I regret; surprisingly, I learned a lot about who I am. That’s what high school is all about: finding yourself, figuring out what makes you tick. I realized I like to blend in and go relatively unnoticed. Oh, the irony. Oh, the joys of being a complicated human.

  But there you have it—that’s the story of the day I became a reluctant king—and discovered that not all attention is created equal.

  The Voice Within

  AS A KID, I WAS never afraid to have a different opinion on things. Dad says he saw that in the wrestler I didn’t become. I see it more in the day when I purchased my first laptop in ninth grade, which might seem like a mundane thing but was a pretty formative experience in my journey toward creative expression. It wasn’t just any laptop, though. It was a MacBook. BUM-BUM-BUMMMM! *The screams of opinionated PC-users echo loudly in the distance*

  Before I made this big purchase, I of course had to ask my dad if it was okay to buy a computer that he hadn’t heard of—and neither had anyone else in the family and immediate friend group. But I thought Apple products were cool. I’d spent hours researching and, frankly, fantasizing about this leap into the future. It was like technological porn to me. Its sleek design, unique operating system, built-in creative programs, and undeniable beauty made the inner geek in me melt into a puddle. I had saved up the money, but it was still a thousand dollars, which probably explained why I was so nervous about broaching the subject.

  “Daaad?” I said, walking into my parents’ bedroom while they were still sleeping. I thought that if I caught him half-awake, he’d say, “Yes, go ahead.”

  “Huh, what??” he groaned, head not moving on the pillow.

  “I want to ask your opinion about something.”

  “Okay,” he said in his morning voice. “What’s up?”

  “Wellll, I really want to buy the new MacBook that just came out because it’s really cool and pretty and amazing and it’s a thousand dollars and I have the money and . . . and . . . um, yeah.”

  Unfortunately, that didn’t come out as confidently as I wanted—and he sat up.

  “Oh, Con, that’s a lot of money. Wouldn’t you rather get a five-hundred-dollar PC instead? It’s half the price, and they work great!”

  Parents don’t understand cool. Never have. Never will.

  So it was time to impart my well-researched knowledge. Parents like facts, not emotions—facts delivered with certainty. Know this before stating your impassioned case. Do your homework. If your parents respond with emotion to your facts and due diligence, they lose. Remember that, even if you lose.

&
nbsp; “Dad, I’ve looked into this, and MacBooks last way longer and are made for more creative people and . . .” I bombarded him with the genius of this gadgetry, from its tools to its battery life to its cost-effectiveness. “It’ll be more than worth the money. It’s like an investment!” I added.

  Dad had no comeback except, “Well, I can’t stop you from spending your own money, but I don’t think it’s a wise decision, Connor.” Long story short, I ignored his caution and bought that gorgeous piece of aluminum ten minutes later.

  Going into that conversation, it didn’t really matter what my dad said. I knew what I wanted, knew what I liked, and nothing was going to change that. The point of this story is not that I got my own way, or that I’ve never been happier with a decision, or that this very laptop was the one on which I taught myself how to edit graphics and videos in iMovie and images in Photoshop—truly where my passion began and potentially the only reason I am doing what I’m doing today. No, all that is the result of the point I’m making: know what you want and follow your gut.

  It’s hard to truly know what you want and who you are. It’s even harder to attune yourself to that inner voice that tells you what your heart is saying. You know it when something feels off, when you bristle, when you hear one big, fat screaming “NO!” in your head.

  Whatever the personal decision—in conversation, friendship, dating, career—pay attention to what your gut says, and not necessarily what you’re told and what you think you should think (because then you’ll overthink it). Whether it’s buying my first MacBook, or all the other decisions I made that you’ll learn about in this book, I always stick with my gut decision. I never let the opinions of others fog my own judgment. It has guided me to where I am today and shaped how I approach every difficult decision and situation.