Nobody steals my shine

When I was a child, I had a pet dragon. He was a gentle, sweet creature, more Puff than Smaug, with big sleepy eyes, silver-green scales and enormous bat wings. My dragon tended to follow me around various places, invisibly waiting for me at the doctor's office, helping me pump higher and higher on the swings at the playground, joyously soaring through endless summer skies with me clinging to his back, curling his wings around me to help me feel warm and protected at night. I didn't think too much about it back then; I guess I just assumed everyone had a pet dragon.

In those days, I didn’t remember feeling dissatisfied with myself; on the contrary, I was quite happy with who I was -- geeky and curious, a miniature romantic, and thoroughly convinced that the world was full of hidden magic.

And then I started going to school.

I don’t know what the school experience is like in other parts of the world, but in California in the ‘70s, grade school was a step or two removed from The Lord of the Flies. Bullying was nearly omnipresent, and most adults did nothing to stop it, figuring along with Nietzsche that whatever didn’t destroy us would make us stronger. Individuality, far from being encouraged, tended to paint a virtual target on the weird kids’ backs. My pet dragon was one of the first precious things to be crushed after mean kids started mocking me about him; he was summarily banished to a mental cage for his own protection, crammed so deep into my skull that no one would ever find him and break his shimmering wings again. So many negative experiences conspired to beat the shine out of my spirit that, by high school, I half-hated myself. It would take the better part of a decade to restore what public school had taken away from me.

The important takeaway, though, is that I did find my shine again -- largely with the help of Battle Geeks, drama dorks, Astronomy Society members, Random Avengers and other people I met who had never lost their shine, or who somehow managed to get their geeky mojo back once they were safely away from the people who had tried to steal it. With their encouragement, I started to own the topics and hobbies that I'd once loved only in secret. I started to be comfortable with being geeky and curious. My little romantic self began to glow again. Best of all, I began to notice that the world really was full of hidden magic, even inside me. But it took a while for all these changes to happen, and even now the most joyous part of me is still fragile and can be easily shattered. So it has to be protected.

I'm the first person to admit to my many imperfections. Tell me that I'm an obnoxious know-it-all, and I'll nod in agreement. Point out that I'm either completely withdrawn or I never shut up, and I'll readily cop to it. Suggest that I might be the queen of procrastinators, and I'll straighten the invisible crown that comes with that dubious achievement. Claim that I'm super lazy and don't get enough exercise, and I'll just shrug. I need to work on all these issues. But if you try to steal my shine -- if you point out key aspects of my personality like they're flaws, and demand that I change them? Bye, Felicia!

Because it was hard to win back, my inner shine is particularly precious to me now. So when I occasionally come across people who don’t get me, who inexplicably find me off-putting, or who just need to hurt others in order to feel good about themselves, I don't put up with it. I've chosen to refuse entry to thieves -- people who want to take my joy, and who offer nothing in return. I've decided that nobody can stop me from being weird and geeky and joyous and romantic and magical, and if you don't like me that way? That's your loss. This is how I shine, and neither you nor anyone else gets to steal that shine from me ever again.

Plus, if you still insist on bugging me, I reserve the right to sic my pet dragon on you.