I had both hands deep in the warm water at the kitchen sink. The phone was tucked neatly between my ear and my shoulder. I could see the bare trees and yellow grass of winter out my big window as I washed dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. Suddenly the conversation with my neighbor took a turn when she said, "To tell you the truth, I just don't feel like I fit in." Slowly, I turned off the water and reached for a paper towel on the roll next to the sink. Drying my hands, I took hold of the phone, as if grasping it would help me to listen better.
In my new calling in the Relief Society, as I've come to better know and love the women around me, I've heard a variation of these same words repeated so often, that it has caused me to deeply reflect on the meaning of "fitting in."
When Greg and I moved to Ohio over sixteen years ago, we both needed a temporary full-time job. We only had a few months to work before he started medical school and I gave birth to our first baby. It was a little hard to find a job quickly in a new town, but we finally found one. We told ourselves that whether we liked this job or not, we would stick with it for the few months we had available.
We walked into the training meeting that first day, and I felt quite out of place. I was very aware of my bulging belly. And I felt like there was a sign plastered on my forehead that read, "I'm from Utah." Greg and I were the only ones who had gone to college, let alone already graduated. I looked around the small room at the group of trainees assembled and literally thought, I do not fit in here. This was the first job I had ever had where smoking breaks were serious and necessary for everyone. It was also the first job I ever had where on the day of the drug testing, another guy sidled up to us and quietly asked if we would be willing to share our urine. I was experiencing a bit of culture shock in this inner-city job, and it seemed like everyone else was warily eyeing the Mormon couple (which they were, because they later told us they were).
I decided not to let those unwelcome feelings overwhelm me. This was my first time living so far from home, and I had brought along the most optimistic attitude I could muster. The job was a bit mind numbing, so I focused my energy on befriending my coworkers. It was hard. I probably couldn't have been more different from some of them, but somehow we forged friendships amid conversations about hair extensions and cigarette brands. It was all very informative for me.
After Greg started medical school, I stayed on for another month or so without him. I admit, it was terrifying to walk in the building without him. But soon enough, I stopped feeling so scared. On one of my last days on the job, my fellow coworkers surprised me with a little baby shower. On our lunch break, they had all walked as a group down to the Dollar Tree and picked up some presents for me and my new baby. I was incredibly touched by this kindness.
This is just one of the many times in my life where I wasn't sure if I would "fit in" with the group. I think this is a common feeling, one that maybe never goes away. But I also think it is Satan's voice telling us that we won't fit in with those around us. Where are all the elusive people who are seamlessly "fitting in" everywhere they go? I've yet to meet anyone who walks into a new situation and says, "I just can't believe how much I totally fit in here!" And if by "fitting in" they mean that they are exactly the same as everyone else in the group, well, how boring is that?
Some situations are more comfortable for us. I've walked into places before and felt happy to see so many familiar faces. Those are blessed days. But I've also walked into places and wondered if I had a friend in the world. But whenever I hear myself saying, I just don't know if I fit in here..., I remind myself that I'm probably not the only one saying that to myself. I'm probably not the only shy person. I'm probably not the only one with insecurities. And if Satan could make me feel unwelcome then think of how that might negatively change my behavior.
I've been so surprised at all of the different people who have expressed feelings of not "fitting in." Some are old, some are young, some are social, some are not, some are busy, some are lonely, some are the kind of people that the last thing I would ever expect to hear coming out of their mouths are the words, To tell you the truth, I just don't feel like I fit in.
One time, in sort of a lonely moment, I invited a woman I didn't know very well in my neighborhood to ride with me to a meeting. I was surprised when she agreed. I then started wondering what we might talk about or whether she would like me or not. We made it to the meeting and sat quietly next to one another. When it was over, we chatted on the drive home. Just as I pulled up to her house, she thanked me for offering her a ride. "To be honest," she said, turning toward me in her seat, "I sometimes feel like I don't have any friends here."
I was so surprised. She is beautiful and confident and talented. Like a repeat of kindergarten, I heard myself asking her if she'd like to be my friend. She smiled and said yes. Today, she is my dear, dear friend.
It doesn't always work that way, but I wonder if fitting in is more a perception of ourselves. And I wonder if there are more friendly faces waiting to reciprocate our love and friendship than we realize. And I wonder if our Father in Heaven would rather have us use our energy to reach out to others around us than focusing on how out of place we feel.
We are all different and unique, and that's a beautiful thing. I know I need those different personalities and perspectives in my life. I don't need or want everyone around me to be a perfect group of people who all fit together. Maybe I didn't form any lifelong connections at that job in Ohio, but I did learn that "fitting in" can be a false notion, and kindness and friendship can pop up in the most unlikely places. We just have to go looking.
