I had one of the most random conversations yesterday.  And when I relayed it to the man while cooking dinner tonight, I was reminded acutely of the oddity of it all.

Without getting weighed down by too many (perhaps unnecessary) details, a girl in my office stated that she had been to three shows so far this week and just as people followed Phish, she would follow DJs if she could.  Sort of random, I know, but at the time (while still a wholly odd sentiment for me to wrap my head around) not completely unfounded.  She then continued, talking about her love of house music, and how it (and this is my wording, and how I understood what she was trying to say, as I really can’t remember her exact words) reached her soul, her very being.  It woke her up when she was tired, inspired her, spoke to her.  It almost became a sales pitch, as though she was trying to convince me that if only I gave it a listen, I would feel exactly the same way.

“I’m not embarrassed to admit it.  I totally love it.”  She smiled and laughed a little, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

Initially, I felt slightly disconnected from the conversation ~ almost an interloper.  I looked up and smiled weakly back at her, shrugging.  Our other two co-workers were simultaneously declaring both their love/disdain for house music, stating their cases emphatically.  She looked expectantly to me, to hear where I came down on the issue.

“Listen, I listen to musical theatre every day, so all I have to say is, whatever makes you happy.”  

She laughed, as though that were infinitely more ridiculous on every level than her love of house music and DJs.  I felt a little stung, and then reminded myself that I was at the mecca of ‘judgement central’ (aka, the restaurant industry), raised an eyebrow and went back to work.

Here’s what it made me think today.  I am who I am.  I’m a girl who grew up in a very protected environment, who believed the commercials of a fried egg being your brain on drugs, who followed (and still follows) rules because, well, that’s the rule … a girl who fell in love with Andrew Lloyd Weber at the tender age of five, and the majesty of his music.  A girl whose entire music collection, until her first year of  college, consisted nearly solely of musical theater.

That’s who I am.  Well, part of who I am.

And in the past, I’ve let people tease me, belittle me for what I loved, for who I am.  And I felt proud of myself yesterday, for that small passing moment when I didn’t deny who I was, or pretend I should check out house music.

I’ve done it in the past.  Rap and punk, psychobilly and R & B.  Some of it was alright.  But none of it was me … not like folk, and acoustic singer song-writers, country and bluegrass, classical and opera and musical theater.

I’ve had the idea of ‘who I am’ on my mind recently, for various reasons.  And the thought that I’ve come back to time and again, is how much more comfortable life is when I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.

I like musical theatre and old movies and the comfort of fantasy tales and good, human interest books.  I’m never going to be a hard-edged person ~ I’m always going to be the naive one who believes face value even when I shouldn’t.  I believe that hard work and a sharp intellect are more valuable than loud words and bullying (probably why I haven’t advanced further in my career).  I believe in merit and loyalty; family and true friends.  I like who I am ~ my imperfect, quirky self.  And that, after so many years of questioning and uncertainty, feels pretty okay.