I remember the one time at university when I decided to be a massive suck up to my the head of my course, who hated women and had as much compassion as a Hutu rebel.
It lasted ten days and by the end of the experience I was much more in favour but hated myself. It took every cell to be someone other than myself and I was exhausted when I decided to go back to being disdainful.
Which makes me think of a friends whose relative has recently decided ‘to be nice.’
If you have to try to be nice, then you’re not nice.
It’s crippling to pretend to be something you’re not all the time. This is how I felt in my old job. Now I’m free to be me with all my peculiarities and not only is it accepted but it is also expected. Individuality is the new black.
I had a lovely lunch with my YA editor yesterday at Cumulus. (Their cracked wheat salad is such a lovely dish.)
We talked about everything under the sun and when I revealed the weirdest part of myself, (it was strictly G Rated) she didn’t blink an eye.
This is what I love about people in the book world, I am accepted and encouraged as I am.
It’s good to be me.