The Life I Could Have Lived

I blocked my middle school crush on Facebook. My high school crush came out of the closet. My college crush became Lady Gaga's dog walker and got shot. My crush from my twenties died recently. Small Town Guy got married. And the Model repeatedly made a fool of himself in front of the entire country. 

One of my favorite movies is Sliding Doors, starring Gwyneth Paltrow, which shows how one brief moment can have a controlling effect on your life. In one reality, Gwyneth's character, Helen, misses a train and thus misses seeing her cheating boyfriend with his ex-girlfriend. In another reality, Helen catches the train and also catches her boyfriend in bed with his ex. The movie shows the aftermath of both scenarios. 

I've also read several books recently about how one moment or choice can lead to a chain reaction of events. The Midnight Library, by Matt Haig, shows a woman named Nora several alternate versions of what her life could have been like, such as if she'd become a successful musician, an Olympic swimmer, the wife of her ex-boyfriend, and so on. In This Time Tomorrow, by Emma Straub, middle-aged Alice relives her sixteenth birthday and makes different choices that affect her future. In Maybe in Another Life, by Taylor Jenkins Reid, the author shows what happens if Hannah chooses to be with her high school boyfriend, and what happens if she doesn't. 

It made me think about what would have happened if the guys I'd crushed on in the past had liked me back. My life would be very different. In middle school, I had a crush on a farmer's son. I watched him exchange Christmas gifts with his girlfriend, and my twelve-year-old heart shattered. Many years later, I ended up blocking him on Facebook because we got into an argument about transgender soldiers. He kept asserting that Trump's ban on transgender people in the military was right because they were mentally ill. I said that I'd taught several transgender students, some of whom confided in me, and that I admired their courage. If I'd ended up with that bigot, we'd be living on a farm in the country, driving around in a pickup truck with the bumper sticker "Lock her up", and arguing about whether or not to attend Trump rallies. I also probably would have tried to figure out a way to train the cows and/or the horses to kick some sense into him. 

When I was in New York a few years ago, my high school homecoming date contacted me on Facebook because he'd seen my posts about the city. He was in the city on vacation too, and he invited me out for a drink with his partner. I accepted, and he introduced me to his longtime boyfriend. If I'd ended up with him, we would have broken up once he realized he was gay. And I might have reacted like Joan Cusack's character did in the movie In & Out, when she ran outside in her wedding dress, shrieking, "Is everybody gay?"

In college, I had a crush on a guy who lived in my dorm. I only spoke to him a few times because I was shy. Years later, he became Lady Gaga's dog walker, the one who got shot by thieves who stole her dogs (fortunately, he recovered and the dogs were later returned to her). He also reportedly came out as queer, so again, if I had ended up with that guy, I might have run around shrieking in a wedding dress. 

When I was in my twenties, I joined a youth group at my church for people close to my age. There was a guy there that I had a huge crush on, and unlike several of the other crushes I'd had over the years, he stood out because I actually tried to do something about it. I joined a committee that planned events for the group just because he was part of it. I spent a lot of time with him, and I liked him a lot. He was friendly, good-looking, smart, and kind to everyone. 

But one day, he mentioned talking on the phone with another young woman on the committee. He didn't say anything about dating her, but I thought it was significant that they had exchanged numbers whereas the rest of us had only exchanged email addresses. I think they dated for a while, but then his job transferred him to Hong Kong and he didn't take her with him. He followed me on Twitter a couple years later, not knowing who I was because I went by my online screen name Neurotic Workaholic, and I sent him a DM to say hi. He didn't remember who I was at first, which crushed me. Years later, I found his obituary online. He had died at the age of forty (although the obituary didn't say how). He was still living in Hong Kong and was engaged to a woman there. If I had dated him, he might have left me behind in the U.S. to pursue his career overseas. Or maybe I would have become the grieving fiancee. 

Small Town Guy got married last year to his girlfriend, the same woman who had once referred to my classes as "throwaway classes that no one cares about". When I saw their wedding pictures on Facebook, I must admit that I felt a pang in my heart as I wondered what my life would have been like with him. On paper, he was perfect for me: he liked to read, so we could talk about the same books; we both worked in academia, so we could talk about our jobs and relate to each other; he was the extrovert to my introvert, and he introduced me to his friends in Small Town; he also loved coffee as much as I did and I often ran into him at one of the only coffee shops in town. We still keep in touch on Facebook and the occasional text; out of all my friends in Small Town, he was one of the only ones who actually reached out to talk after I posted about my cancer diagnosis. I think I could have been happy with him, if he had felt the same way about me.

The Model has become obsessed with getting attention for himself. I've had to go to the hospital so many times for doctors' appointments, medical procedures, and chemo, and so I've spent a lot of time waiting around and reading random stuff on my phone. I like reading celebrity tabloids, and his name kept popping up in them. At first, he was faking one relationship after the next with minor celebrities and influencers. And I know they were fake because as he gave interviews declaring his "love" for these women, he was literally posting pictures of himself in the apartment he shared with his girlfriend in Chicago. He would "date" these women long enough to get articles written about him in tabloids, and then he would dump them. Some of these women posted about their confusion and hurt feelings over his callousness, and I felt guilty, wondering if I should tell them what he was really like and that he was actually dating someone else. But I didn't think they'd believe me, and I was also afraid of his retaliation if I exposed him.

A lot of people weren't fooled by his so-called relationships, and people who knew him in real life called him out online for having a girlfriend that he hid from the press. I looked at his girlfriend's Instagram page, and she made her page private right after those people called him out about her. She covered up all the pictures of the two of them together that proved that she was his real girlfriend the whole time he pretended to be in love with those celebrities. She was scamming and lying to people just as much as he was.

Last year, he came out right before Pride Month as bisexual. I remembered that we'd once talked about how his Instagram followers kept asking him about his sexuality. I asked him, "So what is your sexuality? You don't have to tell me, but are you bi?" 

"Hell no," the Model answered. "But I can't say that because more than half of my followers are gay or bisexual men."

During Pride Month that year, he claimed to be married to a guy but refused to identify him. He posted pictures of the two of them together, yet he covered the guy's face up with a heart emoji. In one picture, they were both shirtless, and I suddenly realized who his "husband" was. It made me think of a time I'd been at the Model's apartment years before, and I'd picked up a framed picture of him standing next to another young man. "That's my brother," the Model said. "He lives in Chicago." His brother had a tattoo, the exact same tattoo in the exact same place that his "husband" had. He literally faked a marriage to his own brother! 

At the end of Pride Month, the Model claimed that he and his "husband" had split up because the latter couldn't deal with his online fame. I thought that faking a marriage was the worst thing he could have done. I was wrong. A few weeks ago, I was getting my hair done when my stylist asked me, "Did you hear about the Model?" (He is originally from College Town, and has a notorious reputation here. He is also a regular client of the same salon I go to, although I've never run into him there.)

"No, why?" I asked.

"He's claiming to be transgender. He now identifies as female." My stylist pulled out her phone and showed me an article, complete with pictures, of the Model posing in his girlfriend's bikini (I recognized it from her Instagram pictures) and a full face of makeup in the apartment they shared in Chicago. "But when he came to the salon," my stylist continued, "he wasn't dressed as a woman. He kept talking about bulking up his muscles and his workouts at the gym."

"Oh dear God," I said. I read the article, and the Model claimed that he'd received a lot of hate from people who didn't believe that he was actually transitioning; the doubters insisted that the Model was just seeking attention again. I read through some of the comments, and I've included a few of them here:

"I really used to look up to you. But right now you are just out of control; I really hope you get the help you need. Straight, bi, confused, political, depressed, anxiety...now trans?? I just can't."

"I understand why people are upset. It reads total mockery and abuse of your platform, all for likes."

"Everything you do is fake and for attention."

"Here you are, transitioning in a way that looks forced and even when I would like to be mistaken, seems that you are just using the trans community for your HUGE need for the spotlight."

The Model responded by accusing them of being transphobic bigots and claimed that they were just jealous of the Model for being a more attractive woman than they were. But in the bikini pictures that the Model had posted, he still had a full beard and chest hair, although he claimed he was undergoing hormone treatments soon. 

Any lingering attraction I might have felt for the Model quickly evaporated as soon as I saw a video of him in the bikini and talking in a high-pitched, feminine voice that was different from his regular voice. I thought, I can't believe I wasted so much time on you. The Model had a crazed look in his eyes, and I started to wonder if he was mentally ill. Don't get me wrong: I do not believe transgender people are mentally ill. I believe that they have the right to transition if they want to, and I also believe that they deserve to be treated with respect. My transgender students taught me that.

But I'm not buying for one second that the Model is actually trans. I think this is another desperate attempt to gain publicity, and I think that as soon as Pride Month is over, he'll announce that he changed his mind or that this was just a "project" to expose people's "transphobia". And then he'll be on to the next publicity stunt. I wouldn't be surprised if he claims that he has cancer next.

If I had ended up with the Model, I would have had to feed his addiction to attention. He thinks that attention validates him. Like any addict, he keeps resorting to more and more extreme behavior to get it. Every new follower, comment on Instagram (even if it is negative, because according to the Model, even negative attention is still attention), tabloid article, and interview were another way for him to get their "fix". I read through one of the Model's Instagram posts, and I found his girlfriend had posted a comment that stated, "Yaasss, queen! Get it, girl! You look pretty." 

If the Model had chosen me, I would have had to be like his girlfriend. I would have had to do what she does: let the Model walk all over me and cheer him on while he does it. My stylist said, "He says they're in an open relationship, but his girlfriend doesn't date anyone else. She doesn't really like that he hooks up with other people, but she loves to brag about the expensive vacations he pays for." 

I used to wonder why the Model had chosen her and not me. Now I think I know why. She is his biggest enabler. She remains faithful to him while the Model dates and hooks up with whomever he wants. She remained in the shadows while the Model publicly proclaimed his "love" for other women. She continued dating him while the Model posed for sexy pictures with his brother and passed him off as his husband. She helped the Model scam the media and lie to millions of people. And now she lets him borrow her clothes while he claims to be a woman. He knows that no matter what he does, she will never leave him. She will never stand up to him or disagree with him to his face. It's the ultimate ego boost for the Model, and for him it's all about his ego. 

I called the Model out for the crappy way he treated me, and I did stand up to him, which enraged him and caused him to threaten me and cut contact with me. I finally feel glad that he didn't choose me. I could never live like his girlfriend in the long term, constantly suppressing my feelings and desires in order to please the Model. I tried to live like that, but I couldn't tolerate his selfishness anymore. And with the Model, I finally understood that it's quite possible to still feel lonely even if you're with someone. 

None of these guys was right for me, but it is interesting to think about what my life could have been like if they had chosen me. What about you? Do you know about how your former crushes ended up? What do you think your life would be like if you had ended up with one of them?

Country Mouse and City Mouse

I am still applying for full-time teaching jobs with no luck; I've even contemplated getting my old job back at Expensive Clothing Store, where I would get paid slightly more than the minimum wage to say, "Thank you! Come again!" when I really want to say, "I bet when you sold your soul, Satan flinched and offered a refund."

One of the benefits to being single is that I can apply for jobs pretty much anywhere, since I don't have to worry about how a move to a different city or state would affect my spouse or kids. I'd like to stay in Chicago, but I'd also like to wake up looking like Sofia Vergara tomorrow. Unfortunately, the chances of either situation happening are highly unlikely. The former is especially difficult to achieve, due to the draconian budget cuts that the governor is implementing, which have severely and negatively affected the schools in Illinois.

I've applied for jobs all over the country, everywhere from New York City to tiny towns in West Virginia with only a thousand local residents. I'd prefer to live in a big city, rather than a small town that is similar to the small town that I spent eighteen years wanting to escape from. But most colleges are in smaller or medium-sized towns.

Small town life isn't all bad. I do miss the peace and quiet, and how, when I was a child, I used to lie on the grass next to my dog and hear nothing but birds chirping and my dog barking at passers-by. In the city, I lie on my bed and hear sirens blaring, horns honking, and my neighbors yelling, "Chug! Chug! Chug!" as they gulp down their umpteenth beer.

I don't miss the fact that in a small town, everyone not only knew each other, they knew everyone else's business. So if you made any big or small decision in that town, everyone would know within days (or hours), and they'd be sure to throw in their two cents. I like the anonymity of Chicago, where I can walk down the street and not run into an old acquaintance who wants to rehash one of the many times I publicly embarrassed myself at school.

I miss the sight of farmland and wide open spaces, unlike Chicago, where everyone is always bumping into each other or pushing each other to make space for themselves. I remember crossing the street in my hometown and waving to drivers I recognized, whereas in Chicago drivers are much more likely to honk and scream at me for not moving fast enough. I respond by screaming, "I'll move faster...in HELL!"

I don't miss the fact that in my hometown, it seemed like everyone was expected to be the same. If you were even a little bit different, you were a freak, and everyone treated you like a freak. And that was my life for eighteen years, because I was different. I'm not saying that all small towns are like that, because they're not; I'm sure that other towns are more accepting. But one thing I like about Chicago is that there are a lot of people who are much "freakier" than I am, and here, they're viewed as "cool". I don't have to hide who I am here, and I've always felt more comfortable here than I ever did in my hometown.

It makes me sad when I think about leaving Chicago and all the things I'll miss (which is another post in itself). But I always knew that my time here came with an expiration date. The thing about the academic job market is that you can't afford to be choosy. You have to go where the work is. So if I end up in a town even smaller than the one I grew up in, so be it, as long as I get to teach at a good school. But as my rejection letters pile up, I am starting to lose hope that I'll find anything.

Also, I really don't want to go back to working in retail, because I think that a few days at my old store just might end with several customers running out of the store, shrieking, while I chase after them with a mannequin.

What about you? Do you prefer city life or life in a small town?

Back to the 90s

If there's one fictional invention that I wish was real, it would have to be the time machine. The closest I can get to having one is by listening to certain songs from when I was growing up, because there are certain songs where all it takes is hearing one line or one chord; I'll close my eyes and I'll remember very clearly a certain person or event that I associate with that song, and I'll remember what it was like to be the age that I was when that song was popular.

For example, the Proclaimers' song (released in 1988, but it didn't become famous in the U.S. until 1993, when it was featured on the soundtrack for the film Benny and Joon) makes me feel like I'm twelve years old again every time I hear the song. Here's the video for it:


It makes me feel like I'm twelve again because in the summer of 1993, I went to camp, where I met a boy and got to go on my first "date." We went to one of the dances together that were hosted by the camp and which all the preteen campers fussed over, precisely because we were all obsessed over whether or not we were going to get dates. (Looking back on it now, it almost makes me feel like I was in a storyline for a YA novel.) That song by the Proclaimers was the most popular song at camp, and they must have played it several times during the dance.

The thing about THAT date, however, is that the boy I went to the dance with literally hid in a corner of the room where the dance was held for the first HOUR. Why? He was embarrassed because he was one of the only kids who was wearing dress pants instead of jeans. I didn't care about the clothes, especially because I don't think I was wearing jeans either; I think I wore some kind of dress instead. I just wanted to dance, but it was kind of hard to dance with a twelve-year-old boy when he's throwing a tantrum in a corner and his friends are trying to coax him out. When he finally emerged from the corner, his "dancing" made me think, "Hmm. Maybe I should follow in my Catholic school teachers' footsteps and become a nun."

Girl band TLC's single, "Creep," was a popular song in 1994 (when I was thirteen), and the band was one of my favorites when I was in high school. Their clothes remind me of the baggy outfits that were popular in the nineties, long before "jeggings" (I CURSE whoever invented those, and if I ever find the person or people who invented them, I'm going to chase them down, make them eat a doughnut and then force them to try to fit into just one pair of jeggings, hahahahaha!!!) was even a word.


My mother once glanced at the TV when I was watching the music video for the song (remember when MTV still played music videos, instead of reality shows about teen moms who spend a LOT more money on boob jobs, boyfriends, and bail money than on their own children? But I digress.). She saw the women of TLC and asked me, "Why can't YOU be thin like them?"

This was when I was about five foot one and 120 pounds.  By the time I graduated from high school four years later, I had gained a significant amount of weight, and I still cringe when I look at my graduation pictures. I've spent the last twenty years struggling with my weight, which has gone up and down, and I WISH I was still 120 pounds. That's why, by the time I was in my twenties, I finally joined a gym, cut WAY down on my sugar and salt intake, drank more water (and less soda), and tried to learn how to cook. I say tried because my cooking is so bad that the judges on Top Chef would probably just ban me from the kitchen altogether or perhaps weep with fury at my ineptitude.

The Backstreet Boys was my favorite boy band during the late 90s boy band craze. My favorite BSB song was "As Long as You Love Me," which was released in 1997, when I was sixteen. I liked boy bands like them because they were cute and their music was fun to dance to. I also liked them because their music was a refuge that I could escape to, if only temporarily: I could escape from the boys in real life, who ignored me unless they were making fun of me or unless they needed help with their homework (Word of advice to high school bullies: if you want the class nerd/brain to help you with your homework, then don't be mean to them, or at least don't be surprised by the kind of "help" you get as a result. But I digress.)


When I listened to the boy bands, I could also escape from the girls who talked on and on about the high school formal dances, most of which I didn't get to go to, since I usually didn't have a date, not even for prom junior or senior year. It was difficult to look at my friends' prom pictures, listen to them go on and on about what their boyfriends gave them for Valentine's Day, and be excluded from the double dates that they went on (I was excluded because I didn't have a boyfriend).

Every once in a while, a part of me regrets that I missed out on that part of the high school experience. But looking back on it now, I realize that while I may have not had the typical high school experiences, there was something about who I was (and who I still am) that was different from most of the other girls who did get to experience those things. I wanted a different life than the one that they wanted, though there wasn't anything wrong with what they wanted; I just wanted something different, because I was different.

I could go on, but there's not enough room in this blog post for all the songs that take me back in time. What about you? Which songs bring up memories for you from your childhood or teen years?

The Best (and Worst) Things about Summer in Chicago

1. I don't have to put on four layers of clothes before I go outside.

2. I just wish that I hadn't eaten all that chocolate last winter so that I would feel more comfortable about walking around without four layers of clothes on.

3. I can go for a bike ride by the lake.

4. When I go bike riding, I have to deal with all the aggressive, nasty, and territorial cyclists on the bike path who yell, "On your left," "Incoming," and "GET OUTTA THE WAY, DAMMIT!"

5. The good-looking, muscular guys in tank tops.

6. The fact that most of the good-looking, muscular guys only have eyes for the skinny girls in short shorts.

7. Neighborhood festivals, like Halsted Market Days, Chinatown Summer Festival, and the Taste of Chicago.

8. People at the festivals who spill beer on you, which leaves you with no choice but to sneeze on their food.

9. Old movies that are shown on huge screens in the park, where people can set up beach towels, bring snacks, and watch the movies for free.

10. The jerks who set up huge lawn chairs right in front of the people sitting on beach towels, which leaves the latter with no choice but to throw popcorn at them.

11. The blue sky, sunlight, and a cool breeze that make you want to spend the whole day outside.

12. Sunburn, sweat, and bug bites from spending the whole day outside.

13. The view of the Chicago River and the skyscrapers in the Loop, which makes you realize how beautiful the city is.

14. The tourists who crowd the sidewalk, walk very slowly, and make you look forward to winter, when it'll be too cold for anyone to be on the sidewalk.

What about you? What are some of your favorite things (or pet peeves) about summer in your hometown?

Selective Truth Telling

I heard through the grapevine that some people from my high school graduating class may be planning a fifteen year reunion. When I heard about it, my initial reaction was, Jeez, I'm getting old. And then I ran to my bathroom mirror to see if I needed to get Botox yet. (I don't need to, but I kind of don't want to anyway; I'm afraid I'll look like the female version of Bruce Jenner.)

I have mixed feelings about going to the reunion. I don't really keep in touch with anyone from high school anymore. On the one hand, it might be nice to see everyone again, and I am curious to see how everyone is doing. I did Google a few of them years ago, and I found out that at least two classmates married each other, one of them became a farmer, and another person may or may not have gotten arrested (though that may just be someone who has the exact same name as my former classmate and happens to live in the same town).

I'm not on Facebook, which would probably be a more reliable source of information. I have little interest in joining Facebook, partly because I'm not photogenic; I would probably just post pictures of food, my favorite books or authors, and stuff like Buckingham Fountain, the lake, and independent bookstores. I'd also post pictures of my loud neighbors (with their faces blurred) when they're drunk and passed out in the hallway (I have found more than one of them using the hallway as a bed and/or as a place to throw up) and captions that say stuff like, "This is your brain on drugs." (Incidentally, the last time I saw my classmates was at a wedding several years ago, where several of them got very drunk AND loud.)

I don't know if I want to go back though. There were at least one or two other reunions before this upcoming one, and I didn't go to those either. I figure that at a reunion, everyone will be reminiscing and saying, "Do you remember when..." I also figure that everyone will remember all the embarrassing things that I did. Then they'll have a lot of laughs at my expense, just like they did all the time when we were teenagers.

If I did go back, I think I'd probably engage in what some people call "lying" but what I call "selective truth telling". Here are a few examples:

I live in a really great apartment in Chicago. There's a lot of space and I get along really well with my neighbors.
The truth: I live in a tiny studio in a building with neighbors who may or may not have sold their souls for beer.

I'm not married, but I am dating. I've dated several amazing guys that I'm still friends with.
The truth: I'm married to my work. I've dated a guy who flirted with the waitress right in front of me, a guy who turned out to be at least thirty or forty pounds heavier than he looked in his profile pictures, a guy who insulted me for working in retail, and a guy who told me that I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, the one who he still had nightmares about. And those are just SOME of the guys who are on my NEVER DATE AGAIN list. If I ever saw any of those guys on the street, I'd buy a Chicago hot dog (or better yet, a nice, big, greasy piece of Chicago-style pizza) that I could then throw at them.

It's so great to see you! We should totally keep in touch from now on. 
The truth: I'm still mad at you for making me cry/mocking me/excluding me/believing the lies your manipulative boyfriend told you about me back in high school, and you'd better run fast before I start throwing pizza and hot dogs.

My career is going really well. I make a lot of money, and I'm like those teachers in those inspirational teacher movies.
Truth: I have to work additional jobs just to make ends meet, like retail jobs where I get bossed around by twenty-two-year-old supervisors on power trips. I also have finally inspired my students to stop texting during class, partly because I turn into the neurotic, female version of Mr. Hyde when I catch them taking out their cell phones.

I've changed a lot since high school, and I live a different life now. But there's a part of me that's afraid that if I go back I'll become the person I was before. I'm afraid that they'll judge me for still being in school, even though it is graduate school. I'm also afraid that I might head butt one or more of the people who bullied me, especially if they start up again. I really wish I could be like this girl in what I think is the coolest film preview ever. Then no one would DARE mess with me at the reunion:


Maybe they've changed too, at least some of them. Maybe it wouldn't be like when we were teenagers. Or maybe not. 

I don't really want to go. Like I said, I don't keep in touch with anyone from high school anymore, so I'm not really motivated to go back. And anyway, it hasn't quite been fifteen years yet, so I still have time to make up my mind.

What about you? Did you go to your high school reunion? If there hasn't been a reunion for your class yet, do you think that you will go if there is one?

Small Town Girl

Even though I've lived in Chicago for a long time now, I think I'll always be a small town girl at heart. It's been fourteen years since I graduated from high school, which means it'll be only six more years until my twenty-year class reunion. (That makes me feel old. But then again, watching a One Direction music video makes me feel old too.)

I don't really keep in touch with anyone from high school anymore. I suppose I could reconnect with old classmates and friends if I joined Facebook, but seeing as how I have an obsessive personality, Facebook would probably prevent me from ever leaving my apartment again. If and when there is a reunion, I'm not sure I'll go. The thing about growing up in a small town is that everyone knows everything about each other, and I'd really rather not spend an evening listening to people reminisce about the top ten times I embarrassed myself.

Also, I feel ashamed that it's taken me so long to complete my PhD, and I'm still not there yet. I always thought that I'd have my act together by the time I was in my thirties, but I'm still figuring everything out.

There are some things I miss about living in a small town and being a teenager, though.

I miss going to the movies with my friends on Saturday nights.

I don't miss the parties that only the football players and cheerleaders were invited to, which meant that less than half a dozen people in the class (including me) didn't get to go. (I was a cheerleader in junior high but not in high school, partly because I once accidentally caused a pyramid of cheerleaders to collapse.)

I miss the peace and quiet, especially now that a new neighbor has moved into my building and is an aspiring musician. I say "aspiring musician" because he apparently only knows three chords on the piano, which he keeps playing over and over again for hours every night while he sings (off-key) at the top of his lungs. I'm half-tempted to steal his keyboard, take a picture of it, and then slip a note under his door that says, "If you want to see your keyboard again, buy a pair of headphones. Otherwise, your keyboard will be sleeping with the fishes."

I don't miss the gossip that people would spread about each other, because it was nearly impossible to keep secrets in a small town.

I miss the familiarity, where I could take a walk around the neighborhood, go to the store, or visit the public library and inevitably run into several people that I knew.

I don't miss the cliques that formed in the first grade and more or less stayed intact through senior year of high school.

I miss eating pizza and hamburgers with my friends after we went to the movies.

I don't miss the Salisbury steak and corn dogs we ate for lunch in the high school cafeteria.

I miss being able to spend money on fun things like CDs and concert tickets instead of sensible things like rent and groceries.

I don't miss working in a supermarket, where I routinely had to tell customers to put their shirts back on if they wanted to continue shopping in the store. 

I miss the sense of optimism and hope I had for the future, back when I believed anything was possible.

I don't miss the people who made me feel bad because I didn't have a boyfriend, because I read and studied most of the time, and because I kept getting hit by the ball every time I tried to play sports. One thing that I like about being an "adult" is that I can be "different" and not have to worry about the most popular kids in school judging me. 

If I could talk to my teenaged self, I'd tell her that it's not the end of the world if you don't have a boyfriend, even if it seems like all your other friends have boyfriends and like to spend hours telling you about them. I'd tell her that it's okay if you don't go to prom, because there are so many other things in your life that you'll have to look forward to. I'd tell her that high school doesn't last forever, and eventually you will be free of it.

What about you? What do you miss/not miss about high school and your hometown? If you already had a reunion, did you go? If you haven't had one yet, will you go if there is one?

Why I Write

In my small Midwestern hometown, there were two things that people talked about a lot: football and farming. But for me, almost every sport was dodgeball, because I always ended up getting hit by the ball, even when I was watching the game. In an attempt to fit in, I joined the track team. They put me in the relay race first, but I kept accidentally tripping the other girls, including the runners on my own team. It was like watching a stack of human dominoes fall over. The coach finally had me running the half mile, so that I would be by myself and thus decrease the likelihood of knocking anyone over. But I came in last in almost every race, except for one race where I came in second to last.

When I wrote, I didn't have to worry about people making fun of the fact that I couldn't run very fast, except when I was running away from the ball. I didn't have to worry about being picked last for the team. None of my main characters in my stories are athletes.

When I was younger, I wanted to believe that the fantasy worlds that writers created were real. I wanted to believe that the people in fairy tales really existed, and that there was such a thing as a happy ending. I wanted to believe that there was something else out there, something more for me.

When I wrote, I could escape to a different world that was all my own, away from the kids who made fun of me or ignored me at school, away from their parents who made comments to my parents about how I was so shy and quiet and read too much, away from the town that was my home but where I never really fit in. I could create my own world with my own characters, and I could write my own happy ending. In my world, I always had the last word.

In high school, the guys teased me, ignored me, or asked me for help with their homework. When everyone else went to prom, I went to Dairy Queen. I pretended that it didn't hurt me when my friends told me all about prom night and showed me pictures of themselves with their dates. I wrote down everything that I felt and everything that I didn't have the courage to say to everyone else.

I grew older, and I started writing chick lit. I used my own failed attempts at finding love as the basis for my stories. I wrote about the bad dates and the guys who didn't call. I wrote about wanting to punch the TV whenever one of those online dating commercials that featured happy couples came on. I wrote about the guy who posted a picture of himself French-kissing a giraffe (I wish I was making that up) in his online dating profile, the guy who wrote that he believed he was a cat in a former life, and the guy who wrote that he was looking for "an exceptionally beautiful woman with a morally relaxed attitude towards dating". In real life, these guys were just weird...or disturbing. But writing about them made the whole experience of online dating funny and more interesting.

After I got my master's degree, I started teaching at different schools around the city and working in retail at night and on the weekends. It left little time for a social life. But at least once or twice a week I would go to a coffeehouse and write for an hour or two. It was something that was just for me, and it was a relief to write fiction after spending hours grading papers or making lesson plans. I wrote about how overwhelmed and exhausted I felt about working seven days a week, and I wrote about how I felt like my twenties were passing me by. Those trips to the coffeehouse gave me something to look forward to, and my writing kept my work from completely taking over my life.

If I had never become a writer, or if I had stopped writing years ago, my life would be completely different. I would be completely different. It would always feel like something was missing from my life. That's why I can't stop writing. I don't want to stop.

What about you? Why do you write? What motivates you to keep writing?

Side note: Check out Theresa Milstein's blog, Theresa's Tales of Teaching Tribulations and Typing Teen Texts! She is hosting a Halloween Haunting; this contest gives people the opportunity to promote their own blogs and check out other people's blogs. The prize is a free book!

Loneliness is Good for the Writer's Soul

I first started writing stories when my third grade teacher showed us how as part of a creative writing assignment. I wrote stories (complete with illustrations) about a girl my age who lived in the woods. I wish I'd kept them.

I started reading a lot when I was in the third grade too. I read through almost all the books in my teacher's classroom library and earned several of those Book-It Pizza Hut gift certificates (remember those?). I especially enjoyed Beverly Cleary's books, because she seemed to understand just how little girls my age viewed the world.

I kept reading all the books I could get my hands on, and I kept writing stories and jotting down my ideas and feelings in journals too. One reason I read and wrote so much was because I didn't have any close friends in grade school. I grew up in a very small Midwestern town and went to an even smaller Catholic school; the cliques formed in the first grade and more or less stayed intact through senior year of high school.

I always hated recess, because I used to stand on the sidelines and watch the girls play tag or other games. I'd call out tentatively and hopefully, "Can I play?" Once in a while they'd say yes, and I'd run with them, happy that I got to be included. More often than not they'd say, "Sure, but after we finish this game," and I'd watch them keep playing until the bell rang and we had to go back inside.

I dreaded class field trips because of the bus rides. I usually didn't have anyone to sit with, so I was stuck sitting next to a teacher or by one of the "couples", who were never very happy to have me invade their "couple" time (yeah, like I was ecstatic about it).

I was one of the "smart" kids, so I wasn't completely ostracized. The other kids were usually nice to me when they needed help with their homework. And if one of the kids had a birthday party where the whole class was invited, then I would get invited too.

When I got to junior high and high school, though, kids started throwing parties where only the ones playing on sports teams or who were on the cheerleading squad were invited. In my hometown, sports was the main form of recreation, so if you weren't athletic, then you were "out".

So I played along for a while and joined several teams and even became a cheerleader for a while, even though I am one of the most physically uncoordinated people you will ever meet.

First of all, I almost always get hit by the ball, even when I'm watching a game; that was why I often would run away from the ball when it came at me, which really wasn't the best idea when I was playing in a game. Second of all, when it came to cheerleading, I couldn't do the splits, because I had this slightly irrational fear that I might rip my entire body in half if I did them. I also couldn't do cartwheels, because I was afraid I might land on my face and then the crowd in the bleachers would shrink back in horror at the sight of all the blood and think that they had stepped into a scary movie titled Klutzy Cheerleader Gone MAD.

The fact that I wasn't good at sports didn't help me make friends and only made even more people make fun of me. In both grade school and high school I was often the butt of other people's jokes. They'd laugh and say, "It's just a joke. Can't you take a joke?" I wasn't even allowed to feel bad about the fact that they didn't realize how much they hurt my feelings. Looking back now, I realize that I was overly sensitive sometimes, and I did take some things way too seriously. But sometimes, the other kids were just being jerks.

Since I didn't have any close friends to talk to when I was a kid, I wrote down a lot of what I was thinking and feeling in my journals. Being one of the "quiet" kids made me a lot more observant of the world around me.

For example, once I was walking around outside with a group of girls from my class; I think we were doing some kind of outdoor class project. I pointed at a bird hopping towards a tree and said to one of the girls, "Look at the way that bird is moving." She laughed and said, "I can't believe you even noticed that!" She told the other girls, who thought it was hilarious too. After that I kept most of my observations to myself, and wrote them down instead. I wrote down a description of the bird I'd seen, and I wrote down how I felt when the other girls laughed at me.

It wasn't until high school, when a few new students arrived, that I finally started making friends. I became a "drama geek", even though I was neither a good actor nor a good singer. That would probably be why I always ended up with the small roles, where I'd show up on stage and say three or four lines and then try not to trip as I made my exit. But even so, I finally made friends and was happy.

The only time I really felt left out in high school was when my friends started dating. My parents were very strict and said that I should focus on getting into a good college, not on getting a boyfriend. I was, however, allowed to go on "dates" to dances.

I don't really think of those nights out as real dates, though. I think of them more as "Let's all get dressed up in uncomfortable, expensive clothes that we will never wear again, and then let's all stand in a circle and show off the five dance moves that we know while we dance to interminably long songs like 'American Pie' and think to ourselves, For the love of God, does this song NEVER END? And then let's all start line-dancing (hey, this was the Midwest) or do the Macarena (hey, it was the 90s, and we all thought it was fun; it wasn't until later that we realized how stupid it looked). Then when the slow songs start up, let's all pair off and sway back and forth and try not to sweat on each other."

Because I didn't really date in high school, I stayed home on the nights that my friends and classmates went out with their boyfriends. I wrote stories about unrequited crushes, teenage bookworms like me, and I wrote down my dreams of escaping my hometown, even though I loved it because it was familiar and the only home that I knew at the time.

When I went to college in a bigger city, I felt freer to step outside of my shell because it was the first time in my life that I was living in a place where everyone didn't know me and every single embarrassing thing I'd ever done. It was easier to meet people during freshman year in particular, because everyone was new and eager to make friends. I went around with a group of girls and guys, but by sophomore year the big circle of friends became smaller; I stayed friends with the people I had more in common with.

At my college, a lot of people went off-campus on the weekends, usually because they went home to visit their families or boyfriends or girlfriends. I stayed on-campus, because my family lived in a different state. I started walking around the city and soaking up as much of it as I could.

A lot of the other college kids I knew were more interested in partying and going to bars. I went with them a few times. Once I went to a bar with a group of people. A few of the girls jumped up on top of the bar and started dancing. They beckoned to me to join them. I am not a very good dancer, and I didn't really want to advertise that fact to all the people watching. I also thought I might fall on top of the people watching and then there'd be all this beer and blood everywhere, and then I'd get thrown out of the bar. I remember looking around at all the people standing around drinking and checking each other out without talking to each other, and I remember how lonely and bored I felt. I made up an excuse and left early, and I wrote down a description of the scene for a story.

Now that I'm older, it's more difficult to meet new people and make friends. After college, most of the people I knew moved away to different cities for jobs or grad school. Now that I'm thirty, most of the people my age are married and have children now; they're busy with their families. Other people I know have full-time jobs and work long hours; they have little time for socializing. I don't get to go out a lot either, because I'm busy with school during the week. My retail jobs often require me to work on weekends when everyone else goes out.

But I do still have a small circle of friends from high school and college. We see each other once or twice a month. But to this day I am still a loner. I actually enjoy doing a lot of things on my own, like watch movies, explore interesting neighborhoods, go to museums on free admission days, watch plays at tiny theaters that sell inexpensive tickets, or eat lunch in cheap but good restaurants. I don't feel the need to always be with other people in order to do things that interest me. In college, I had this friend who would always ask me, "Who'd you go with?" whenever I told him about how I went to a concert or a new bookstore. He could never understand why I liked going on my own.

I read somewhere that solitude can be good for writers, because it makes us more observant of things that we might not have noticed if we were with other people. I think that that's true. And when you grow up feeling lonely a lot of the time, you can either spend a lot of time feeling sorry for yourself, or you can put that loneliness to good use. I don't think it's good to completely isolate yourself, and I don't do that anyway. But I think that the fact that I grew up feeling lonely a lot of the time fueled my writing. I don't think you can't be a good writer if you were/are popular, because you can still generate good material from the memories you make with your friends. Either way, I think it all depends on how you utilize your personality, childhood, and relationships with other people when you sit down to write.

What about you? What motivated you to start writing?