The Odd One

You ever walk into a room and immediately feel like you weren’t supposed to be there? Not in an “oops, wrong meeting” kind of way, but in a “wow, I am fundamentally out of sync with whatever’s happening here” way? Like showing up to a costume party only to realize the theme was not what you thought, and now you’re a pirate in a sea of superheroes.

Yeah. That’s me. A lot.

It’s a strange kind of isolation—not the obvious, dramatic kind where someone tells you to leave, but the quiet, unnoticed kind where you slowly realize you were never really included to begin with. The little things add up: conversations that move too quickly for you to jump in, decisions that happen without your input, inside jokes that make you wonder if you missed a whole season of a show you thought you were part of.

The funny thing? No one even notices. They’re just carrying on, perfectly content, while you stand there wondering if you’ve turned invisible. It’s like being in a group chat where the conversation flows effortlessly—until you send a message, and suddenly, it’s radio silence. Classic.

I know it’s not intentional. No one wakes up and thinks, How can I make this person feel like an NPC in their own life today? But that doesn’t change the fact that it stings. There’s a fine line between being independent and just… being left out. And the tricky part? I want to be independent. I want to prove that I can stand on my own, that I am capable, that I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. But at the same time, there’s a small part of me that misses being a child—back when my opinions were considered, when what I wanted seemed to matter, when I wasn’t expected to handle everything alone. It’s a strange tug-of-war between wanting to be seen as strong and secretly wishing someone would just see me.

Now, I could make a scene. A grand exit. A dramatic monologue about how I deserve better. But let’s be honest—I’d probably trip on my way out, and that’s just not the lasting impression I want to leave.

So instead, I make jokes. I laugh at the absurdity of it all. Because at the end of the day, what else can you do? Hand out flashcards labeled “How to Notice Someone Who Feels Invisible”? Tempting. But unlikely to work.

Maybe one day, something will shift. Maybe someone will look around and realize I’ve been standing here this whole time, waiting for an opening, waiting to be seen.

Until then, I’ll just keep being the pirate at the superhero party.

au revoir. 🙂