So I decided to make some changes to my lifestyle this past weekend – changes which were much needed, long overdue, and made out of utter necessity.

And I frickin’ hate it.

But I’m supposed to hate it, and it’s supposed to drive me crazy, and someday, maybe, I’ll feel a whole lot better about it.  I can’t help but feel like a little kid again – back in the “Look what Angie did” role instead of the “Look what Angie’s doing” role.  Eventually, I’ll come out of this stronger, better, healthier; in the meantime, however, it’s just another quiet little solo-undertaking of mine that the rest of the world will find out about once I’ve managed to do it. If I manage to do it (oh, how I hope I do it).

I’ve started to look back on my life as a source of strength.  I think of all of the things I’ve gotten through alone – all of the things – and know, with a high degree of confidence, that I can tackle this.  But the nature of having to do it by myself can’t be ignored, and it keeps pulling me into this ancient mindset of fending for myself.

During my junior year of high school, I decided to take a photography class.  The class was normally reserved for seniors, and this particular class was over-filled with students.  Desperate to reduce the class size to a manageable one, the teacher looked at me and asked if I’d opt to take the class the following year. I refused to budge.

That class morphed later into an independent study and enrollment in ‘Art IV’ (an elite and highly-respected class which was near impossible to get into, but our principle was at a loss as to where to put me and my ‘independent study’), and my teacher quickly lost the ability to spend a great deal of one-on-one time with me.  After absconding to the darkroom with most of his photography textbooks, I ended up teaching myself a slew of darkroom techniques that evoked intense shock and surprise from my teacher, who hadn’t a minute to spare for me.

“Hey Angela,” he said one day, holding one of my solarized prints in his hand, “how’d you learn to do this?”

That question would come to almost define my lifestyle.  Placid little achievements, most when no one else was looking – surprises along the way at what I’m actually capable of.  This is one of the benefits of being an underdog – there are no expectations for your success in life.  No matter what I do or do not achieve, there will be no looking back with, “we always knew she’d make it” or “she had so much promise”.  That being said, there’s no self-pity in that statement. There may have been a time when I longed for encouragement (especially from family), but being the shining example of Darwinism that I am, I’ve learned to count on my own encouragement.

So while I may seem rife with defeatism or highly self-absorbed and whining, it’s actually quite a remarkable feeling to realize that, despite your best efforts, upbringing, and penchant for giving up, there really is this sort of emotional ‘survival of the fittest’ that takes place while you’re busy looking at what others have.

And even if there’s no one around me (literally speaking, of course), cheering me on, I can never forget that I have it within me to look around, if only at myself, and say with confidence, “I got this.”

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