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Tell me about your uncoolness.

TellMeAboutYourUncoolnessI love to laugh, as much as I love hugs, which is to say, it’s both sunshine and oxygen for me. My man and I, we laugh long and we laugh hard… a lot. It starts out as it always does – we find something funny (usually each other). He laughs. I laugh. Then I can’t stop laughing, which makes him laugh harder, which turns us both into teary-eyed, screwy-faced, belly-aching crazies. We catch our breath, look at each other, and collapse into more shoulder-wracking laughter all over again. By the time we’re swept into this Phase of Uncontrollable Hysterics, we’ve forgotten what we found funny in the first place. We’re laughing just because. And it feels good. In the midst of one of these spells, early in our relationship, I did something totally uncool… I snorted.

Gasp. Horror. Oh, the mortification.
The laughter halted abruptly. We stared at each other – him in delighted surprise, me with agonizing self-consciousness. In that moment, I felt exposed. Oh my gawd, now he knows I’m not perfect. The vulnerability was excruciating.

Then we fell right back into shrieking fits, I snorted again and decided:
Uncool is – and always will be – the new cool. Twitter Bird Icon: Neshika's Tweetable

We go around pretending to know it all and have it all together all the time, hiding our quirks and insecurities behind perfectly polished fronts. For what? So we can all look at each other in our spurious coolness, wishing we were truly as cool as everyone else who’s faking it, and continue to feel shitty behind our cracking facades? How exhausting!

We can take things so seriously, in our efforts to be taken seriously. But if being taken seriously means I have to feign coolness, then you know what, I’d rather be uncool. You know why? Because uncool is real. Uncool is honest. Uncool is me, unapologetic and uninhibited. And that’s really cool. It makes it easy for people to relate to me and connect with me. It celebrates my humanness and my authenticity. And ironically, realness garners respect.

 

I’ll quote Kate Northrup here: “When we’re busy pretending that we’re perfect we’re also simultaneously making another serious error: we keep people at arm’s length and never give them the honor of truly knowing us — flaws and all. And we don’t ever get to experience true intimacy.”


We're allowed to be uncool. No, actually, we have to be uncool. It’s a prerequisite for wholehearted living.


Trying to fit in with the in-crowd, doing shit to please other people just so they’ll like you, pretending to like what everyone else likes, not speaking up because you’re afraid to offend or hurt someone, and other forms of shrinking to blend in are not helping your street-cred or your sense of worth; they’re making you numb to who you really are. Let’s just drop the pretense. I’ve got the Goddess of Uncool on speed dial and she’s saying: Don’t be cool. Just be yourself.

 

So, tell me about your uncoolness and I’ll tell you about mine.

  • I like to think I’m the world’s best undiscovered comedian. But the truth is, I’m a terrible joke-teller. I laugh before I deliver the punchline. I can’t help myself. It happens every single time. (And as you now know, sometimes I snort when I laugh.)
  • I have conversations with my cat that generally go like this:

Mila: Meaoooooooow
Me: Really? (in mock surprise.)
Mila: Meaooooow
Me: I know, baby. Tell me more. I’m listening.
Mila: Meaoooow.
And on it goes. It’s hilarious. It’s wacky. And we love it.

  • I sing like a wannabe-diva while driving. Off pitch and all out, all the way.
  • I’m a clumsy fool in very high heels. I love ’em. And as much as I wish I could walk in them, I can’t. So I stick to the less high variety.
  • I’ve fallen asleep at some point during what many would deem absolute movie classics, like Star Wars (all of them) and The Big Lebowski.
  • My heart beats close to the surface. I get emotional at the slightest hint of sentiment. Anything that tugs on the heartstrings, speaks to our sensitivity, celebrates our inherent goodness or calls on our reserves of empathy and I’ll need a tissue, please.

 

Your turn.

Tell me about your uncoolness.

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