Impostor Syndrome Part II

For the first time in my life I have found myself surrounded by people who don’t remind me of myself. Yet here we are, all together,  and supposedly working towards the same goal. Part of me wonders how similar or dissimilar I really am from them – I mean, this is the bar industry, we’ve all had three day coke benders and wild group sex, right? Or we haven’t? I’m not really sure how to approach this, although, it’s not really a topic of conversation, it’s more that I’m trying to suss out where the boundaries lie and if I like where they are. Because, well, everyone acts like this is a “community” (although, really it’s just the intersection of liking alcohol and also liking money), but do I fit in here? Are these people really my friends? Do we really have that much in common? Or I am just way out of my league here. This might not even be impostor syndrome – it might just be straight up paranoia. Because I can kinda tell that we all have different values here, and I’ll admit that I’m not particularly ready for this or excited about being lumped into the same group as these people. For the most part, I like hanging out with slick women with diamonds in their eyes, and I don’t really understand this thing called morality. Which is why when people speak of the commonality of our “shit fuck days” that we all spent partying, I wonder: what did all that partying do for you? Because I know what it did for me. It got me here, and I am very happy to be here and I don’t have anything to hide. I do the exact same shit now as I did then, but I probably drink less and go to bed earlier and eat more vegetables because time is an unstoppable demon. I just have a hard time believing that you did a ton of drugs in this city, too, and you wound up being a hypocritical liberal with thinly veiled socially conservative values. Like, how much coke did you do and who were you getting from? You never crossed paths with the black radicals or the trans femmes? Did you turn your nose up at riding around in stolen cars and kicking it with sex workers? Did you miss out on the point of all those hundreds of gay raves and ratchet ass house parties? How did we have parallel life experiences but you happen to be so fucking boring? Ugh. Which is why I try to sit here and look pretty and not talk about any of that. Not because I don’t want to be that person – fuck, I love being that person.  But more because I don’t want to be disappointed by having to hear out anyone else’s middling, snivelling opinions on politics right now.

Or, who knows, maybe I’m just being judgmental and paranoid and not taking the opportunity to get know all these people better. Who knows. Probably just gonna kick it with my friends for the rest of my life, so maybe I’ll never know.

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