Special Snowflake

I have always hated the expression “special snowflake.” The implication is, when this particularly snarky phrase is employed, that the person in question is not so special and is, in fact, just a snowflake like all of the other snowflakes out there. Yes, I realize that the belief is that no two snowflakes are alike, but these two words when put together imply that someone thinks s/he is…well, more special than all of the other snowflakes. And this bothers the crap out of me because I feel that we ARE all special snowflakes- with no snark at all intended. Every last one of us is special and wonderful and unique and deserving of all we desire, and just because we think this does not make us entitled or delusional or- most importantly- of the opinion that we are somehow better than the other snowflakes.

But this weekend I had a comeuppance of sorts in relation to my particular belief in my own special snowflakeness. As any of you who followed my weekend at ComicCon via Facebook know, SDCC was a huge disappointment for me. I went in thinking I was going to get to get a tshirt signed by the cast of Sons of Anarchy - never bothering to look more fully into a) the way the tickets for said signing were being dealt out by FOX, aka The Evil Empire or b) the fact that even those who did get tickets were only allowed to have the provided poster signed by the cast- unpersonalized, no real face time with the actors and definitely no passing along of the cookies I am now very grateful I was too lazy to make before I left Santa Monica. I also thought that I’d get into Hall H to watch the Sons of Anarchy panel, and even after I saw the literally tens of thousands of people in line for Hall H, I still rationalized that since the Dr. Who panel was over hours beforehand, I’d certainly be able to find a seat in the cavernous epicenter of the ComicCon experience. Let me be wholly, nakedly honest with you all- I spent just around $500 on my overall ComicCon experience to do the two aforementioned things – and I got to do neither. And it sucked. And I think that while I publically applied logic to my belief that I would get to do these things (“I am getting there really early!” “The hall will clear out in time for the panel I want to go to, and anyway it’s at the end of the weekend, so who’s really going to stick around for it?!”), the sad truth is that I believed I would get to do these things simply because I wanted to.

Let me be even a little more honest for a moment. I generally get what I want a good deal more than your average person. Whether this is because I am very tenacious or because I can be very charming or because I do seem to have better-than-average luck most of the time, I don’t know. I just know that people I am close to marvel at the way things often fall my way, and people who don’t know me or don’t like me… well, don’t like me even more. I posted on Facebook that I wanted a ticket to ComicCon long after they had ostensibly sold out; a ticket to ComicCon appeared (thanks to a generous friend who let me buy one of the tickets allotted to his booth). My lodging plans got more complicated than I was happy with; a reasonably priced hotel within a reasonable distance was suddenly available (and I got an upgrade, btw! J). These things were well within my wheelhouse and the “bubble” (a la Jon Hamm’s character on 30 Rock) within which my life often seems exist.

But friends far more experienced with San Diego ComicCon kindly (or at least matter-of-factly) told me that I was going to be tired of the lines, that even if I waited I wasn’t going to get into what I wanted to, that the crowds would prove daunting and that I was not going to have the golden experience I anticipated and, frankly, felt I deserved. And I poo-poo’ed them soundly. I knew more than they did- not about ComicCon, per se, but about me. And my special snowflakeness was simply not going to be bound by the rules and parameters that the rest of the hoi polloi were subject to.

Lesson learned.

I’m not going to stop thinking I am special, nor that anyone else is every bit as special as I am. But I think I have had a valuable (and rather pricey, both financially and psychologically) experience in recognizing that there are some things that I can’t want into existence simply by the strength of my desire to make them so (Number One ;-). And if this lesson is going to prove truly worthwhile and actually have some value beyond my just swearing up and down that there is no effing way I am ever going to ComicCon ever again, I need to extend it a bit.

There are other things I want- to be thinner and healthier, to meet someone I can have a loving, healthy, romantic relationship with, to more consistently be the better version of myself I see from time to time. And if I really want those things, then I am not going to be able to just “magic” them into existence through the sheer force of my desire for them: I’m going to have to do some actual work in those directions. And it’s not going to be easy work. It’s going to require discomfort and self-denial and making difficult and unpleasant choices in the short term because they will…no, may… lead to better things in the long term. And even if I put in all that time and effort and thought and desire, I still may not get what I want, but I need to be willing to take that risk.

For now, I am going to thank my friends for not saying “TOLD YOU SO, DUMBASS!”  and I’m going to go ice my aching knee to make up for the hell I put it through this weekend. Maybe my snowflake will regain some of her sparkly specialness when I can take the leap of working towards something(s) I want while fully recognizing I might not land softly.