It was July. My friends and I were at the lake, sitting in the sand, near the shore. I wasn’t surprised by their looks as I finished talking. All three women stared at me. At least one in the group had her head cocked slightly. I know that baffled, twenty four degree angle, head tilt well. It was followed by puzzled wrinkles forming above her eyebrows.
There was silence as my last phrase was left hanging mid-air.
I heard crickets chirping.
(No one else did, because the crickets chirping are my mental, cartoon background noise to signal that I’ve said too much, again.)
I attempted to smooth the social situation with self deprecating humor.
Rubik’s cube photo by William Warby
“Nope? I can tell by your blank stares, and the uncomfortable silence that I am the only weird one in this group who thinks about stuff like that.” I flashed a quick smile. “Now, if we can all pretend that I never said anything, I will stand up to dip my feet in the edge of the lake, and wish that I could be swallowed whole by it to hide my embarrassment. Just be glad that you know this Jen, and that you did not know the dramatic 13 year old Jen.”
I flashed them my smile that said, “it’s okay to laugh now”, and chuckled along at my own expense. I shifted the conversation to something else, and mentally noted to not bring that topic up with them in the future.
I’ve thought about that moment last July a lot. I’ve thought about it, not because it was particularly embarrassing, or socially awkward for me.
I have a few so many more of those stories.
Mostly, I’ve thought about that moment on the lake with my friends, because it encapsulates how I’ve felt most of the past four years since I moved to the mountains. It is the reoccurring pattern that I’ve had play out most of my life in various social situations/ groups.
That uncomfortable feeling of hearing the crickets chirp is why I often feel lonely, even when I’m physically surrounded by people. To fill that lonely void, I spend hours connecting with internet friends, I’ve never met In Real Life, or online with people I went to high school with.
When you are an outlier on the IQ bell curve, there statistically aren’t a lot of people to identify with, and keep you company.
It can feel like it’s just you and the crickets.
Being gifted can be lonely.
Being gifted has made me feel misunderstood, isolated and out of place more times than I can possibly count. It also makes it that much sweeter and more precious when I’ve been able to identify with people who truly get me. They understand Jen. They are the people that embrace that part of me I usually keep hidden, because most people don’t get it. I’ve come to appreciate how important it is for me to nurture relationships with the rare few who fully understand me, to combat loneliness, and overwhelming feelings of isolation.
Over a year ago, I attended my 20 year high school reunion, and rank my evening spent with my former classmates, as one of the best experiences of my life to date. More than people who shared hallways or teachers,
My classmates were the first people to help me feel like I belonged.
My family moved at the end of my 6th grade year. Three weeks into 7th grade, Mrs. Miller offered me the opportunity to move from her traditional block English, Language Arts and History class, to the Honors class with Mr. Cheney. I spent half of my classes everyday, plus lunch time, with these remarkable, gifted kids, and felt acceptance.
My gifted friends shared many of my over-excitabilities and passion for learning. They didn’t laugh or make fun of my enthusiasm. They shared my intense passion, even if it was for different interests than mine, like math, music or science. No one called me a “Walking Dictionary”. They understood the words I used, and liked to read books, too.
There were enough honor’s students between two separate 7th grade block classes, that I felt, for the first time in my life, that it was okay to be smart.
I wasn’t alone.
Making gifted friends gave me confidence that spilled into every area of my life. I made a lot of friends, and found people who cared about me, and encouraged me.
I was part of a group that liked to learn, and competed for good grades and class rank. I was intellectually challenged, and I didn’t always know the answers. The core group of gifted friends I made as the dramatic 13-year-old Jen, and through out middle and high school are still my favorite people today. They continue to uplift, encourage and inspire me.
For some people, middle school and high school years are painfully uncomfortable and full of negative memories. They are years spent waiting to become who you want to be away from mislabels you’ve been given by others, and forced to absorb. They are transitional years spent trying to adapt by blending in with the crowd.
By contrast, my middle and high school years were full of positive memories of recognizing who I could become by being myself, and forming friendships with other gifted people who challenged and inspired me.
During the past three years, I had spent so much time trying to blend in with people from my small rural community, that I had ignored and forgotten part of who I was. It took a high school reunion to see myself through my friend’s eyes. It helped me recognize that I was missing the most important parts of Jen by keeping them hidden.
Many of our friendships as adults are created by one corner of our personality. Our lives touch others through a hobby or job. We form a connection based on children of similar ages. We form connections based on religious or political affiliation, geographic proximity or socioeconomic status.
We only allow one portion of ourselves to intersect and form a friendship and bond.
My 21st fear is getting too close, or sharing too much with friends, because it is so rare for me to find friends who appreciate and understand a multi-faceted Jen, and not just the portion me where our lives intersect. Most people know Jen The Triplet Mom, or Genealogy Jen, or Fix-it Jen, or Jen The Mormon, or Jen The Runner, or Jen The Boy Mom or some other version of Jen.
Rubik’s cube by William Warby
I shift like a Rubik’s cube to show people the side of Jen with which they are comfortable.
The shift to highlight the familiar Jen, leaves me frustrated that there are so many equally important sides of me left invisible.
Turn bottom row right twice.
Turn left side counter-clockwise three times.
I’ve socially mastered three red squares in a row, but I’m still incomplete, and missing six more.
I see a Jumbled Jen, with no apparent Solution. I’ve nearly quit in frustration. I’ve never really liked puzzles. Then, I listen to the friends who have seen every side of who I am and helped me become who I am now.
“I’ve always admired how kind you are to others, Jen.”
click
“You are an amazing writer, Jen. I really enjoy reading your blog.”
click
“I know that it’s not much, but I thought it would help. “
click
“You always make me laugh, and I really enjoy spending time with you, Jen.”
click
“Jen, thank you for being my friend.”
click
Sometimes, it only takes reassuring words from friends who understand who you were, to help mentally shift perspectives. These are friends who see and celebrate all sides of you and your personality.
You know that you have found a friend worth keeping when you finally feel like you
click.
Genealogy Jen’s Challenge of the Week – Friends are the family we choose. Call, text or write to share with a friend the influence they have had on you and what you appreciate most about them. Bonus points if you send them a care package with a few of their favorite things, or tell them in person.
This post is part of Hoagies’ Gifted Education monthly blog hop series on the social and emotional issues of being gifted.
Click the graphic below to explore more articles from some of my gifted friends.
http://www.hoagiesgifted.org/blog_hop_social_issues.htm
Love the Rubik’s cube analogy. I understand that. ❤️
Thanks Beth!
I love this post, Jen. It is certainly a great example of sharing, as well as being thought-provoking to us readers.
I am bright but not gifted, As with anyone, I do have sides of my personality that many of my friends don’t know. That Rubik’s cube analogy is great. So many times we can only connect on a limited basis. Some people know me better than others, are aware of the sides of me that many don’t see, but nobody knows me fully. Nobody can, when I don’t even know myself that well!
Linda, I would vehemently disagree with you saying you’re not gifted. Based on regularly reading what you’ve written over the past year, I think quite the opposite is true. I can relate to the challenge of sharing different aspects of your personality with others. I worry about one of my other fears of rejection when I do share. It also makes me feel vulnerable. (Another fear.) The more time that I spend exploring my fears, the more I realize how interconnected they all are. Glad you appreciated my analogy. Thank you for supporting me.
“It can feel like it’s just you and the crickets.”
YES. I love this post and it is so true how reassuring words can change everything and help it all “click”
Thanks Cait! I agree. Well spoken and timed words can have a lasting positive impact on us.
Challenge accepted. No sense waiting until the person is departed to share our thoughts about the special and meaningful impact they’ve had on our lives.
Very true Alessa. Taking the time to share how much a person/ relationship means can make a lasting difference, and hopefully leave less regret as well.
Jen, thank you for a beautiful, honest, amazing post (as always). 🙂 I can relate to everything you said. It’s hard to watch our kids go through the same thing… but I think your post will give gifted parents hope and determination. Thank you. <3
Thanks Emily! I think it can be even more difficult watching my children go through it, because it brings up all my issues, too. It also wakes that Mama Bear instinct to protect and defend my boys. I want to save them from as much pain and hurt as possible… even though that’s not possible. I also know that those painful/ awkward experiences are also what help us grow and change the most.
Ah, yes. I have to have many sides as well. I also have to have two languages, one vernacular and one proper tongue. People don’t seem to know the big words go with both, I think it confuses them.
I will laugh at myself by myself, I’ve gotten so used to being misunderstood. I have two kids like this, too.
Joey, I am sure that your kids appreciate your quirkiness. I do. Mostly because I share those same attributes. It is wonderful when you can find allies and understanding within your home. Sometimes, my heart hurts because I see how much my boys are like me. I worry about the years that i spent adjusting or melding my life to accommodate the needs/ personalities of others… especially with men I dated. I sought validation, acceptance and approval.
I’ve often told my boys that being “normal” is overrated. They get to be extraordinary instead. (Mostly, though it’s because I don’t know what normal would even feel like. I am so far from it, and that’s okay with me.)
PS I saw my best doors yet today. I toured the capital building in Olympia, Washington. I saw massive doors carved with historic scenes and places. There were also doors inside the building with brass door knobs with the Washington state seal on them. I’ve decided every doorknob would be instantly cooler if you held George Washington’s face in your palm. Am I right?
WOW, yeah, that sounds like a great door! Nice!
I know what you mean about watching the kids struggle similarly — I am so glad we live in a big city, I do think that helps. And I think you’re right, we do all help each other remember weird is good. 🙂
Sooooo been there. I felt for so many years that I had to be that Rubik’s cube, but as I got older I stopped caring. I’m just me. When my husband gives me that look that equates to being kicked under the table, I throw him back a look that says, “So?” and keep going, tempering it only slightly for his sake. I got tired of stifling me. I still don’t go all the way and am respective of people’s sensibilities to a degree and remember to steer away from them, sharing myself only with like minds. I’m lonely at times, but happier.
When you have children, that isn’t always easy. I was surprised that in Alabama (=the Bible belt), people were far more accepting and thoroughly loved my colorful anecdotes and personality. I loved it there for that reason. Some day you will find that fit.
Thanks so much for sharing! I can imagine the southerners saying, “Bless her heart”. Through facing my 40 fears over the past 6 months, I have realized that I am happiest when I am my authentic self. If that means that there is a choice handful of people, plus people who read my blog, where I pour out my innermost thoughts, who really see me and get it, that is better to me than masses of people who see just one side of me. I would rather be by myself.
Loved reading this of course, as I was in Mr. Chaney’s class! <3 I have been going through a lot of feelings this past year myself similar but different along the lines of feeling like I have lost what I was back then, the edge that I had at the time, the confidence and abilities sometimes. I feel that it possibly is sometimes who I have surrounded myself with (where I live and work etc, those connections that you speak of that you have one small thing in common and nothing else, it is hard to make conversation!) and in reading your blog it was helpful to see that I am not alone and also to realize that I don't need others to be who I am. XOXO
Thanks for making me cry. ♡ I’m glad you have people who know the real you.
Loved this blog entry!! I totally get it!
I loved reading this article. I also share different parts of myself with others, and unintentionally hide other parts. But don’t many of us do that? I’m shocked at times to find important qualities of my friends that I had never paid much attention to. Thanks for offering me a chance and a reminder to focus on this. And I LOVE the care package idea.
My high school English class was a test project back from 1960-64, where the school was determining if there was value to Advanced Placement classes. I was fortunate to be part of the one group that stayed together for the English AP program while other equally bright students were scattered through the general curriculum (and probably never knew they were part of the test). I suppose we all were evaluated at the end. AP must have won out because it continued and expanded.
My experience in the class was wonderful! We bounced ideas off each other in lively conversations. We listened to others’ discoveries in literature. I remember hearing students In “regular” classes grumble about hating English study and I didn’t understand why until I got to college and took an American Lit class taught by an uninspired instructor, with fellow students who didn’t interrelate. It was tedious.
Here’s to teachers who inspire and programs that challenge!