Be the Change You Wish to See in the World.

Isn’t it interesting, to look back on your life at certain points, and realize that what you thought was so very difficult to get through, was actually a very good learning experience? Going back and re-examining points in your life with new skills you’ve learned is pretty interesting, and sometimes helps you get through things you never thought you could.

Like deciding that despite your fear, you were GOING to college, dammit.

You’ve never done this before, and it’s terrifying, but also a little exciting because Change is Scary, and the Unknown Can Be Anything At All!!

I remember that feeling of the week before my first day of college. I was jittery, and worried that I’d look stupid, or that I’d feel overwhelmed being around a lot of people I didn’t know. I WAS afraid, that first day we were expected to talk about ourselves. I was shaking inside, but nobody saw it. I spoke as if I knew everyone in the room; that I was friends with them all, and that we were enjoying a random moment of insight into our summer activities.

“I’m Shya, my favourite meal to cook is Spicy Asian Spinach Fettuccini, and this summer I started going to SCA events.” An explanation of what the SCA was, and I was done. Sat down and felt sweaty and nervous and … rather stringy, like old jerky.

I feel like that almost every time I’m to speak in front of people. Even people I know! It’s been a hard road, but I feel I’m getting a better handle on public speaking.

Which takes me back…

Time-warp!

I don’t have many memories of my childhood, but I do remember making the conscious decision (around age 12) to stop being shy. Growing up with a name like Shyanna (“Oh that’s such a pretty name!), I was called “Shy”, by everyone but my teachers. And without fail, any new person I met would greet me with THIS EXACT QUESTION:

“Your name’s Shy? Hu-Hu-Hu are you shy?”

I’d had enough. The problem was, up til that point, I WAS shy. Or at least, very quiet. Watching people and listening to them talk seemed way more interesting to me than participating. Also, remember that nervous, jittery feeling I mentioned? Way worse back then.  By the time puberty hit though, I was full up to HERE with that question, and I fought my shyness.

I’d had self-esteem issues and almost crippling shyness for so long, and I was tired of it. We were really poor growing up; I remember once having a spoonful of peanut butter for dinner because we had nothing else. The hand-me-downs I wore to school got me picked on a lot, especially since it seemed I had absolutely no sense of any kind of cool fashion. Basically if it was brightly coloured, clean, and kept me warm, I didn’t really think about it too much. My passion was watching the world and drawing it in my sketchbook. When kids found they could get a reaction from me by calling me names, or calling me fat, they continued for a long time. No matter that we moved around a LOT; it seemed everywhere I ended up, I was the outcast, the loner, the weirdo who people could safely pick on. Until I was 12.

That’s when the fighting started. I fought back, against my fellow students, and kids in the neighbourhood, when they touched me. I bottled up the rage I felt when they called me names, and I unleashed it if they got close enough to shove me. What I only now realized is that when they called me fat (From age 12 I weighed about 80lbs, to a max of 120 when I was 19) I wasn’t crying because they hurt my feelings. I knew I wasn’t fat. I was crying from suppressed rage.

I knew fully well that I had a serious disadvantage to the kids making fun of me: I was alone. One small girl with no fighting skills and barely able to speak to people is no match for a posse of self-righteous little asshole kids. One strikes out, and they all get in on it. Mob mentality. So instead of shoving my way past them and getting out of there, I would try to walk away, crying with rage and frustration, so I wouldn’t get physically hurt.

It happened anyway. Becky Pauley was my first real fistfight. She had moved into the neighbourhood and was the same age as me, so I tried to make friends. She was loud, crude, a lot bigger than me, and seemed like she knew what she wanted in life. (Yes, at age 12. Lol, so worldly.) Our relationship was one of Friend/Enemy: Some days she was my friend and we had lots of fun, and others, she hated me and everything I did, so we’d be at odds. One memory I have of her, during one of our “off” weeks, was of her on her bike, about 20-30 feet in front of me. I was walking. She looked behind her, saw me, and promptly fell over, falling off her bike and scraping her knees and hands. I was baffled at this behaviour; what was she doing that for?

I headed home as she scrambled up onto her bike, burst into tears and rode home. About a minute after walking in the house, there was a knock at the door. Becky had told her mother that I had pushed her off her bike! She recommended that my mother keep her “little trouble maker” away from her daughter, and her and Mom got into a yelling match that ended with Mom slamming the door in her face, and me being grounded. (You get in trouble a lot when you don’t talk much; I guess people believe the quiet ones are more capable of being assholes.)

Pictured: Sheer 90s Awesome! (Read: Bully-Magnet)

Not long after that, I got my new glasses. They were huge, clear plastic with black and red lines across the top; I thought they were spiffy. (This was back in the 90s; they'd look cool now but these were a huge embarrassment for most kids) Certainly they were the coolest that Welfare glasses had to offer. And of course, new glasses means, “Time to pick on the quiet kid!” She waited til our teacher left the room at recess, and then it started. I don’t remember clearly what she said, but I do remember finally snapping, jumping out of my seat and mowing her down with a right jab to the face. What followed ended up with us on the floor, her under my desk with me banging her head off the floor.

I was suspended and transferred to another school. I KNOW there were other incidents involving that girl specifically, but I can't remember them. When you’re an honest person up against a practiced liar/actress, nobody hears the part where she taunted me for weeks, every day, before I snapped and punched her lights out.

Looking back, I realize that I started changing myself, but my view of the world never really changed with it. I always believed that people, for the most part, were good inside, they just did things because they were following others. Understanding now that there were a lot of insecure people around me helps me realize that I made out fairly okay! And also made me see it this way: people are threatened by those they perceive as greater than they are, and if you are one person against many sheeple, you’ll get trampled unless you can fight your way clear.

From “Shy”, I became outspoken, cheerful, optimistic, giving, loud, funny and .. I almost wrote cautious but that’s never really been a part of my make-up. I speak without thinking, because I don’t have anything to hide. The older I get though, the more I have to shut up; the word has been so taken over by the media that people are trained to believe what their televisions, Internet videos and searches, and “news” tell them, and never really think for themselves what they’re doing. They don’t like being reminded that they have no real thoughts, goals, or skills anymore. They get offended when you try to help them be better people, insisting they’re not flawed.

See that box? Who said you had to live in it?

Who said you had to only take in what it gives you?

If you’re dissatisfied with who you are, STOP BEING THAT PERSON.

If I can help, I will.

From here, the next challenge I have, the one I'm feeling jittery and nervous about because I've never done it before, is starting my placement at a restaurant next week. I've never worked in a real restaurant before; only at Tim Hortons. I'm hoping I won't screw up too badly.

This blog post is a bit rambling and long-winded perhaps, but I’m doing this to set down my memories and thoughts, not write a book. (Maybe…?)

The point is here, what you thought you couldn’t do, can be done, and what you’ve been in the past, can be changed.

Change is inevitable. Roll with it or it’ll roll over you.