This week I read somewhere (I’ll be honest, it was probably Instagram) that ‘belonging’ is the opposite of ‘fitting in’.
I re-read the sentence, ‘belonging’ is the opposite of ‘fitting in’.
I repeated it a few more times to myself and took a deep breath as it sunk in. That one sentence in a sea of social had blown my tiny mind.
I’m adept at ‘fitting in’. I proudly consider myself to be able to get on with anyone. Approachable. Open. One of those faces. Strangers ask me for directions or strike up conversations on public transport and I’ll happily chat away. Throw me into most social situations and I’ll ‘fit in’ just fine.
But when I consider where I ‘belong’, my mind goes blank. Scarily blank.
Why don’t I feel like I belong anywhere?
The building blocks of my identity have shifted dramatically in the last five years. Currently I’m at a stage of my life where a lot of things are in limbo, still pending or have been left behind. Not unpleasant necessarily, just an awkward in-between stage.
I used to live in the middle of a city and now I live in the middle of nowhere. I used to be in a band and now I stare guiltily at my guitar. I used to be child free (by choice) and then I changed my mind and became a Mam.
And soon I’m also going to be leaving my place of work, the place where I always wanted to work, where I did unpaid work experience (that nearly bankrupt me), wrote countless applications, failed countless interviews, achieved a short-term contract, extended my short-term contract, worked in this department, worked in that department, applied for attachments, covered holiday, worked extra hours, days, weeks. Nearly left. Then was finally given the title I had coveted from the start.
I didn’t notice but I’ve been doing a lot of ‘fitting in’ the whole time. Morphing myself over 17 years into the ideal corporation colleague. Institutionalised. But my views are my own (are they really?).
If I don’t work there anymore, if I’m not that title, who am I?
Well I guess that’s what I’m excited to find out.
