These days I sometimes receive comments that mention how cool my life is.
Yes it is; every human has an insanely cool life.
But I, Emmy, am not cool. I say this with certainty because "cool" and I have had a tumultuous relationship as long as I can remember. I realize now that cool will always win.
Let's start in 5th grade. This is when I first remember specifically being enamored by "cool." There was an "it" girl in my class. All the boys liked her, and her wardrobe was entirely made of Limited Too and Abercrombie. These were brands I only obtained from hand-me-downs from our generous older neighbors.
I quickly learned that a chubby ten year old had no business trying to squeeze into clothes passed down from tiny fourteen year olds. It just didn't work. But did this stop me from trying? Heck no.
One day It Girl came into school with ugly suede shoes from Limited Too. Nobody else had them, and of course I wanted them. The following week I was in Target and saw an identical pair. Now I didn't need shoes, but like any good manipulative ten year old I shoved my toes to the front of my shoes and begged and pleaded until I left with my brand new Limited Too imitation ugly fake suede shoes. I walked with the confidence of knowing they were to ticket to cool-dom.
The next day instead of praising my taste in fashion, It Girl wouldn't speak to me. Until she did.
"You totally copied my shoes. And they aren't even the same. Mine are much better, and I know that I am the only reason you bought them. You will never be as cool as me so stop trying."
I really wish I was exaggerating that line, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
My eyes burned with tears, and I never wore them again.
I felt bad that my mom spent most of our monthly clothes and shoe budget on shoes that I a) didn't need and b) wouldn't wear again. And I knew that if I explained why I retired them she would have no sympathy.
I think I told her they hurt my feet.
So this was the start of the dark years. My impossible quest for popularity and coolness effectively made fifth through seventh grade the most hormonal, exhausting, emotional, and insecure years I will (hopefully) ever have.
I poured over teen magazines and on my walls I hung shirtless celebrities I didn't actually know because we didn't have cable. I knew other people liked them, and at this point I was willing to try a sheltered 12 year old's version of "anything it takes."
This went on, and the only social mobility that occurred was the plummeting of my self esteem. Then something miraculous happened. Drama camp.
To this day I still don't know why I went- I didn't do plays. But I do love attention.
I attended a month long drama camp with people from the ages of 12-18. These were not just normal people. Normal people go to soccer or cheer leading camp.
For the first time I saw people who didn't follow any cool equation I had ever seen or read about, and it confused me to no end. These people were were weird as all get out, but they were happy. And they wanted to talk to me and hear about the things I liked and they actually remembered my name. Based on their suggestion, I went home and watched Rent and understood nothing besides the fact that maybe being cool didn't come around I thought it did.
Thus came my alternative phase.
I decided to be different, and be myself. If I had known how long it would take to figure out who I was I probably wouldn't have even started. (Still working on it if you were wondering). In hindsight, I'm glad I started when I did.
I began listening to super alternative music. Jack Johnson...Ever heard of Coldplay? Probably not. The Killers? Yeah..I knew more than Mr. Brightside, I had their whole album. Thanks to my CD playing karaoke machine and a music collection donated by my youngest Aunt, I upped my music game. I also started wearing really edgy clothes. My favorite outfit was a pair of white cargo capris, a pink striped shirt, and black converses borrowed from my sister who was oblivious to the fact that she owned something trendy.
This was also the summer I momentarily surrendered my battle with a straightener and picked up scrunching. Which would take about 8 years to nail down.
Eight grade was a big year for me. Although my white flag to popularity was mostly forced because it had no interest in me; by eight grade I had a glimmer of peace with the situation. I took risks for the first time and was content to have only two friends that year. I found that spending my time with people who were strange but actually liked me made dealing with hyper sweaty armpits a lot easier.
Then came dress like Hannah Montana Day. To this day, I think that my sometimes crippling fear to take risks can be traced to this incident.
First of all, I didn't watch Hannah Montana on TV because as I mentioned before, no cable in the Judd house. Instead, I would watch on Disneychannel.com when I was supposed to be babysitting my siblings; which is both pathetic and wrong.
If I were to give any advice to young adolescents, its this. Dont watch Disney Channel. When you watch Disney Channel a) dont believe anything b) laugh and the bad acting and c) dont ever ever look to it for fashion advice.
Nobody told me this. So when super cool Miley Cyrus wore black leggings with a white peasant skirt and flats and a big black belt around her hips but over her baby blue shirt, I decided to wear black leggings with a white peasant skirt and flats and a big black belt around my hips but over my blue shirt.
I also added a long string of fake pearls just for good measure. That day I knew I was risking it for the biscuit, but I was confident enough to trust my Disney fed guts.
By second period, I already had two people ask me why I was wearing leggings under my skirt. By third period my then foe but future best friend told me that people were making fun of my outfit. She just thought I might want to know. I told her that she was awful, and then went into the bathroom and took off my leggings, belt and pearls. I then spent the rest of my day looking down. Some people asked me why I changed and I said the belt was making me hot.
Which was true, actually.
For the first time people in school noticed me and were talking about me. But this was not how I had planned it (you better believe I had planned it.)
I'll be honest- that story is a lot more fun (and better) to tell in person. So if you ever want to hear it again, flag me down and I'd love to be of service.
The first and one of the only times I've told that was on a college spring break trip to Colorado.
After a long day of skiing, we put on hiking socks and sat by the fire and talked about God, our futures, and eventually embarrassing stories. It was one of those rare times that I was laughing so hard I could hardly get words out. This is in part because it is a funny story.
Mostly it was because when you realize for the first time how far from darkness God has brought you, joy just takes over.
I love this story because one of the "worst days of my life" (when I was 13) lead to one of the best days of my life 7 years later.
