I am not good at copying.

Looking at the white board in class, I can never copy the notes down without changing one thing or adding another. Drawing is a difficult task—if you said draw and copy a pear, I would draw an apple. Simon Says wasn’t my game either. I usually forgot what Simon said or didn’t pay enough attention.

People say I’m excellent at impressions, though. I can sound like a girl right off the Jersey Shore or a girl that just had a spot of tea in England—give me an ultimatum to sound like I’m from Ireland and I will probably attempt it. But this is the only thing I can copy.

I rarely follow trends for extended periods of time. Instead, I enjoy reading recipes and old literature as well as wearing essential oils that smell like lavender, which some might say is a trend but compared to snapchat, rompers and articles like “Would you Survive a Day on Tom Brady’s Work Out Routine”, recipe finding and essential oils are a safe bet for me.

The inability to copy doesn’t make me a rebel or a trendsetter; I am neither. I have tried to follow; I simply lack the skill set.

As a freshman in high school, I decided to be a cheerleader. Despite my lean toward volleyball—which I’m glad I didn’t do being I’m only 4’10—and my mostly positive attitude, cheerleaders seemed fun. In the movies they had bouncy hair and represented a musical-type of experience that was appealing… Grease anyone?  I could be peppy and positive, I thought. I wanted to join the squad to fit in.

I was so nervous during tryouts that instead of mirroring every cheerleader I observed, I showed up as Uptown Maven, or better yet myself. I managed the moves, yet I could never “mirror” the motions.My moves were no where near true to form, I was just checking off the list of requirements—leg kick, hands straight, big cinnamon roles in front, smile.

Now that I have always been expert at—following rules.

Knowing how to dance, natural body confidence and being able to jump four feet off the ground with my legs in a certain form are not natural tendencies for me. I remember being so tired that night after tryouts. I remember thinking maybe it was okay that I was different.

Side note: Let’s just take a moment to thank the heavens it was a “no-cut policy” or I bet I would have been asked to not join the team. A special thank you goes to my coach for believing in me and valuing my positivity rather than my less than stellar dancing skill set.

I know this post is different compared to my usual ramblings but I ask, a penny for your thoughts readers? Any words on copying? Does anyone like being a “copy-cat”, dare I say the word. No, but something I struggle with is being accepting of my differences. I always find myself looking at a fashion magazine thinking—or wishing—I could be that… whatever that may be.

A penny for my thoughts you may ask? This is what I think:

Some woman can wear red lipstick with confidence, and some can talk at length on the themes in the Illiad. I personally can make a mean pot roast on a Sunday afternoon and describe a kiss in two dozen different ways—all thanks to Jane Austen. I suppose those are skills but sometimes the gloss of what I’m not seems worth getting out the tracing paper.

And after years of fumbling and trying to fix myself, today I made, yet again, another effort to stick with what works for me, my genuine self. I need to accept my limitations more often. I need to not wish to be someone who I am not.

Although, I have to admit, last week I read an article about a woman who only wore gorgeous, artistic rolled-up jeans everyday as she completed her internship in SoHo and for a fleeting moment I wondered if I too could pull off only wearing rolled-jeans and red lipstick everyday.

Sign… maybe there is a recipe for acceptance somewhere in this cookbook I just finished skimming over.

Not twinning with anyone, Uptown Maven