Fitting In

I'm sitting here looking at the chipped, pink nail polish on my toes and the black shirt that I wear quite frequently that (very) clearly is marked "maternity" on the tag (no, I'm not pregnant).  I'm wondering about fitting in.  When we are very young, we don't worry about fitting in because we just want to play.  Sometimes we play with our mom's friends' kids, sometimes we play by ourselves, and mostly we play with our parents and siblings - so "fitting in" is never really a concern.  Then we start school and eventually "fitting in" becomes important to us.  We want to be liked.  We want to look and sound and think like our friends.  We want to be accepted.  (Ok, now I'm wondering how I ever accomplished this with those extra large, purple glasses I had during my...ummm.."awkward phase"?!?)  We start to worry about "fitting in".  By high school, we're usually established in our group only to be faced with a fork in the road as we start college...we either start the worrying process all over again as a small fish in a big pond OR say "I got this" and don't blink an eye as we resume Freshman status.  We muddle through, establish ourselves again, and enter adulthood pretty confident in who we are...ok, somewhat confident.  Life goes on.  Changes happen.  We adapt and surround ourselves with people who like us for who we are, the history we have, and the stage we are in.

I say "we".  I mean me.  That is my timeline.

And, at 34, I didn't really ever think I would worry about "fitting in" again.  I assumed those days were behind me.  I am established.  I can think of a slew of words that define me and I have my village locked in place.

But, yet, I'm sitting here worrying.

I've been told that the women in Torino and Chieri are "casual, but classy".  They don't wear yoga pants outside of the gym.  They have a wide array of scarves, jewelry, and shoes and are always "put together".  Put together???  Some days I wear what I slept in...and go to the grocery store!  Some days, my shirt is stained with spit up, dried Elmer's glue, and usually sprinkled with glitter.  My polish is chipped, my hair is in the standard pony tail, Im wearing a maternity skirt while not pregnant, and my face is dusted with blush, that's it.  But wait...I'm wearing a scarf.  That counts for something, right???

I don't know how to move to a foreign country and fit in.  I don't speak the language (although I'm trying).  I don't have the wardrobe (a shopping trip is in order!).  And my mindset has never been to follow trends and always leave the house "casual but classy".  The whole idea of not wearing yoga pants to the grocery store baffles me!

But, I have to remind myself that I already know the key to survival.  I've already written it.  "Life goes on.  Changes happen.  We adapt..."  If I am not confident in the language or the style, I have to be confident that I will adapt.  I have to - if only for my girls.  I can't stay locked inside our new Italian home.  I can't bury myself under the covers.  I have to fake it until I make it.

And so whats the lesson here?  "Self, you will fit in...eventually."  It will take time, a shopping spree, and a tweak in mindset, but its possible...even for this girl who once wore extra large purple glasses and had the most hideous bangs!