Step Out of Your Suitcase

I would hate to deprive you of my usual antics for a whole week, so I’m back with another story from my arsenal. I would like to start by officially apologizing to my mother, who will probably read this, and will probably not be too happy about it.

Growing up I was a rule-follower. I do mean, I followed all of the rules. I didn’t drink, do drugs, stay out (too much) past curfew. I didn’t sneak out, steal anything, joyride, or basically any other form of teenage rebellion. I once was at a sleepover when I was 13 or so and called my mom to come pick me up because there was alcohol present (*gasp*). Also because I knew whoever fell asleep first would get their bra in the freezer or hand in a cup of water and I was getting pretty tired. Because of this little aspect about me, I never really got invited to anything.

Then, when I was 16, I got the call. My friend decided to throw a party while her parents were away for the weekend, and I. Was. Invited. I was thrilled! Finally! I was going to throw off my chains of societal oppression and have a drink at a party. I do have a picture of myself at this party, and honestly, I look so lame. I should have asked someone to dress me. It’s embarrassing. Nonetheless, I went. I chatted with some friends, had a Smirnoff, I was being so bad (to me, this was wild). Then, blue and red lights flash across the walls. We hear sirens. Oh my God the first and only party I go to is being busted by the cops.

I happened to be upstairs in my friend’s little brother’s room with a longtime friend of mine (taking a tour of the house), who by some twist of fate went unconscious right as the cops arrived. I PANIC. My mom is going to kill me. I literally follow every single rule and yet the one time I don’t I am caught. This is my luck. This cannot be happening.

I hear them enter the house and start calling out for everyone to come downstairs. There were going to be tickets. Parents called. Oh dear lord in heaven please, just this once, let me escape. I look out the window and see some kids who tried to run get tackled to the ground. NO. This will not be me. I look around the bedroom and see a tiny closet in the corner.

Game time.

I drag my friend into the closet so he is facing the door, which means if the cops open the door they might think he’s the only one in the closet (sorry, friend). I grab the life-size cardboard cutout of some actor that was in the corner and slowly close the closet door as I place the cutout right outside of it. Maybe the cutout will hide that there is a closet here, and the cops won’t open it at all! Inside the little closet I spot a suitcase, and you bet your butt I climb inside and zip myself up. If you thought I was kidding about getting out of this, you are mistaken.

The cops climb the stairs and start tearing apart all of the rooms. I hear them step inside the room I’m hiding in and involuntarily hold my breath (like they could hear me breathing inside of a suitcase inside of a closet). I hear them looking under the bed and behind the TV stand in the corner, and by some miracle THEY DON’T SEE THE CLOSET. They leave the room. Is this really happening? Did I really just get away with this? I hear other kids being found and ticketed, and then I hear the sweet, sweet sound of the front door closing for good. My friend called out for anyone who was still hiding to come downstairs; the cops were gone. I DID IT!!

I unzip myself and by this time my friend is regaining consciousness (impeccable timing). We walk out of the room and are joined by three other kids who hid and weren’t found, and triumphantly we descend the stairs with fists raised in the air to see a handful of others in the living room. We all exchange our stories, eyes wide, shaking with adrenaline. Inside, I’m ecstatic. I just gained SO much street cred. And I’m not going to be grounded.

We all leave the party, since her parents were called and were heading back, and the next Monday at school I felt pretty legit. You might be wondering if I got invited to more parties, if this moment kick-started my high school life into one of rule-breaking and hanging with the cool kids. HA! No. Even though this weekend was definitely one I’ll always remember, it taught me that I’d rather suffocate in a suitcase in a closet than face the consequences of those actions. I got away with it once; I doubt I’d be lucky enough to get away with it twice.

So I continued to live my life within the confines of the rules I liked. The rules that made me feel safe. I blamed my mom for why I couldn’t do “fun” things with my friends (thanks Mom), and studied instead like the true nerd I was. Don’t think I couldn’t be fun though, I once got my hands on a cookie cutter in the shape of a man’s you know what to bake cookies for a Ouija board séance. That was my kind of rule-breaking.

I look back on that weekend and am glad I experienced it. It’s important to step outside of our comfort zones and experiment with what we might enjoy. Maybe you’ve never done karaoke before, but once you do, you’ll realize you love it. Maybe you’ve never gone dancing before, but once you do, you’ll realize you hate it. We need to push ourselves (not suggesting beyond the law) to find ourselves. If I hadn’t gone to that party, I might have always wondered if that was a life I wanted. Instead, I opened myself to the possibilities, and found a greater sense of who I am. I am a rule-follower at heart, and though I’ve grown to break some here and there (I like to drive like I’m on a mission and some “keep out” signs are just for show), I am confident and comfortable with that part of myself.

The hardest part of living in the world today is being true to who you are. We want to have fun, and sometimes we do things that don’t feel right to chase that feeling. To feel free, accepted even. But freeing ourselves from ourselves, that doesn’t often lead to liberation. Freeing ourselves from societal expectations, I’ve found, does.

I’ve been in dance offs in the middle of a unicorn themed club; I’ve danced the man’s part of a two-step with my female friends; I’ve done the lawn mower dance move in the middle of a Miami nightclub. Am I good at any of it? Probably not. Am I having an insanely good time, and as a result, influencing those around me to have an insanely good time, too? Probably. I had four or five other people (strangers) join me in that lawn mower dance in a nightclub. You might worry about what others will think of you, but what if they think you’re awesome?

Be confident in who you are, whatever that may be. I’m a rule-follower who likes to dance like the nerd I am, but I feel good about it. If you don’t like you, you can’t expect others to like you either. So OPEN UP, stop worrying about what someone else might think of you, and be the you that you know you are. You don’t like parties? That’s fine! You like to watch historical documentaries? Right on! Don’t hide behind what you think others want you to be. You will not live a life that’s meaningful to the one person that matters, you, if you live like you’re someone else. Surround yourself with people who love the real you, and while you’re at it, love the real you, too.

So be bold, babe, and have the courage to be wildly, insanely, uniquely you, like no one else in the world can ever be.

xoxo

Bold Babe