American Honey

I want to go to the Renaissance Fair and not be afraid that people think I am a furry. I want to wear dresses that look I came out of the 1940s and not worry that people "won't get the vibe I am going for". I want to create art and share it. I want to read and study history and literature. I want to write down all my long profound thoughts and post them for all the world to see without wondering if they are reading it the way I intended for it to be read. 

Not that you can look at me and tell, but I have always felt set apart and unique. I do not know if I will ever be able tp put it into words for people to understand because when you look at me, you see a basic, southern sorority girl, and although I am proud of that part of my life, it is not who I am. There are a few people out there who are going to get the point I am making in this blog, and even less will relate to it. Bare with me while I set the scene:

I did not have friends in elementary school and I was not interested in the same things as my classmates. While girls my age were shopping at Justice and painting their rooms pink, I was wearing sweaters with penguins on them and I requested for my room to be painted brown. Don't judge me, I was heavily leaning into the narrative that I wanted to be different. You might think this is the sad part of my story, but it's right the opposite. I was spunky, loud, passionate, confident, and unapologetically myself. 

Instead of gymnastics, my evenings were spent at the barn riding my pony Shortie, who by the way, was my best-friend, a fact I would tell anyone who would listen. My summers were spent exploring the back-40 of the barn property, swimming in the lake, riding around to different job sites with my dad in his old one-ton, and eating Mammaw's peach cobbler on the back patio with Papaw.

I do believe that a lot of the reason I had different interests as a child is because I grew up constantly surrounded by nature and not with a screen in front of my face, forcing me to be creative. I grew up on a farm with 24 acres of wooded trails and beautiful pastures. I was constantly surrounded by beauty, animals, and open space for my imagination to run wild. I found inspiration in the trees, poetry, music, and history. I have no memories as a child ever comparing myself to other girls or wanting to be "cool" like they were because I knew I had it best. I was weird and I had it best.

Flash forward to middle school when my elementary school merged together with two other schools in the area to go to 6th grade. A trying time in everyone's life. As you can imagine, cliques began to form and all of a sudden boys and girls liked each other. Nonetheless, I remained my spunky self, at least for a while. 

One day Mom drove me past American Village in Montevallo and I mentioned that I thought it would be cool to work there one day. Next thing I know, I am learning the monologue from Alice in Wonderland to audition to a costumed junior interpreter. I am sure you can guessed that I rocked it, and the summer after 6th grade was my first year at the American Village. I got fitted for a hand-sewn 19th century costume preformed American Revolutionary War related skits for village visitors. As you can imagine, 11-year-old Ashlee relished her time in the spotlight. I did this for four summers, and if I hadn't let the fear of "being weird" convince me to stop, I would have continued this until I graduated high school. This small part in my story is not the most important, but it gives you a good glimpse into who I am.

For some strange reason, I was looped into the clique of "popular" girls in school. It was not because I was pretty, had the best clothes, or had boys lining up to walk with me to my locker between bells. I really don't know how or the moment it happened. Maybe it was proximity and my ability to mesh well with anyone. Do not confuse this with me being the Queen B. I was most definitely on the outside majority of the time and often teased for my quirks. This is probably because of my very, and I mean very, vocal Christian beliefs and refusal to engage in inappropriate middle school behavior. I won't complain about this because it kept my innocence in tact.

By 7th grade I felt my first bout of embarrassment. Mom had curled my hair up really big for picture day and I was mortified to go to school because all the other girls wore their hair straight. When I was younger I would have proudly pranced around with the curls looking like Shirley Temple, but unfortunately it only got worse from here. While still being very opinionated and spunky, I began to keep my quirks at bay as I got older.

Let's just skip high school because you can imagine how it went for me. My so-called friends at the time thought I was weird and annoying. I bent over backwards to keep what little status I had and I let it drain every once of sparkle I had left. Thankfully my luck turned around in college and I met the best people God could give me who celebrated what was once ridiculed.

Now that you have a glimpse into the great rise and fall of my essence, I will tell you what brought on all of these thoughts. 

I moved to Auburn several months ago for a job and I am here alone. I have one friend here and lots of time to think and plan my return back to who I once was. The other day I had one of the "what the heck am I doing?" profound moments where I realized I am literally at square one and can do WHATEVER I want. It's a daunting and freeing feeling all at once. No one here knows me and I can be as weird and authentic as I want. I do not ow anyone an explanation for my choices and the power to be whoever I want in solely in my hands, but in God's will of course. How do I get back to unapologetic and free-spirited Ashlee?

The band Lady Antebellum has a song "American Honey", hence the title, and it so accurately describes me as a child and the feelings I am faced with today. I do not allow myself to listen it to it often because it leaves me mourning who I once was and in a hurry to get back to her. This is not a sad feeling but I am disappointed that I let myself dull who I am for other people. I am disappointed that I robbed myself of so much happiness just to please others. My friends and family will tell you I am not emotional but I counter that with the fact that I feel very deeply, I just don't physically express it through tears or hugs. 

So what am I going to do about this realization? I can't say that I for sure have a plan but I know what small steps it will take for me to one day look in the mirror and see myself again. There are constant mental battles raging in my head that hold me back from taking the necessary steps to reach my full potential. The older I get the more I am learning to live with them. These feelings and struggles are not unique to me. Like I have already hinted at, society and our influx of technology and social media has ruined our capability to appreciate the beauty of individuality and the world around us.