Ever feel like you just don't quite fit in? Most of us have experienced that disconcerting sense that we are somehow just a little weird, misfit, or perhaps even incredibly, incurably The Ugly Duckling. You probably know the story: Swan egg ends up in duck nest, eggs hatch, one weird looking "duck" emerges, gets persecuted, ridiculed, and rejected from life in the ducks' inner circle, rejected foul has serendipitous encounter with swans--his real peeps, and the mislabeled misfit discovers self to be--taa daa--way better than a duck--a beautiful swan; ha ha stupid, mean, stubby-necked ducks.defective. Hans Christian Anderson likely had such an experience in mind when he penned the tale of
Creative types, often marching to beat of that proverbial "different drum" (presumably the wrong beat), sometimes find themselves in this story. Like, you're born into a family preceded by four generations of Certified Public Accountants and you hate math and have only ever wanted to play bongos, congas, and djembes since preschool. You are the dubious duckling! After much hand-wringing and vain attempts at reprogramming, your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Numbercrunch, give up trying to understand how this recessive gene got past the censors and secret you off to Music U and hope the rellies don't ask about your "plans." Ah, but at Music U, you find your peeps--a whole gaggle of them, each just as "weird" as you. What a relief. You go on to become a world class percussionist and provide for your parents when their accounting firm goes belly-up. And of course, a similar story line can also be applied to the future president of the Young Conservatives born to no-so-ex-hippie parents. Oh, but all's well that ends well, right?
I love the story of The Ugly Duckling and can relate to it but there are some ways in which the tale breaks down a bit for me. I mean, what if it turns out you are a duck who hatched in a swan nest? What if you are a skunk who was adopted into a litter of kittens by a generously maternal tabby? Did Elephant Man find a colony of other elephant people? What if the ugly duckling had a red glowing bill and wanted to be a dentist? Oh, I get the point that Anderson was making, offering hope to us misfits, that we may well turn out to be not only non-weird, but indeed, extra special! How lovely. But in reality, sometimes our discovered uniqueness results in a downgraded status, so declared by some self-appointed Universal Board of Examiners. What then, Hans? Let's face it, our uniqueness is not always celebrated by others. It's a nice dream that an ugly duckling is really a swan and that a freaky red-nosed reindeer gets to save the day and become a beloved national hero and that a disgruntled elf whose motor skills are so poor that he can't make toys goes on to become the community dentist but...really?
Despite their shortcomings, though, stories like The Ugly Duckling and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer are still powerful metaphors. Some of us have spent years of frustration and pain trying to fit in with the wrong clan and be someone we aren't. Finding our peeps--whom we don't even know exist--gives us a shot at enjoying a sense of belonging and escaping a life of feeling like some embarrassing quirk of nature. We can quit waiting for the ducks, hoping they will give us what we need. The truth is that finding our place and our authentic selves is usually a journey and a process that requires persistence, faith, and usually lots of muddling.
The point is that we all long to find a place of belonging and acceptance where we can grow and develop into the authentic individuals we were created to be, whether it's a swan, an ordinary duck, or a molar-filling elf. Hopefully, by God's grace, we can find our people, our place, and ourselves. Hopefully we can help others as they struggle to do the same. It took me quite a long time to find my peeps and become comfortable in my own feathers. I do not, however, scorn my days with the ducks (not that I ended up being a swan). I learned a lot
from them and developed some character--and compassion--during my time in the pond. No, I will never be praised for my quacking and dabbling, but that's okay...I don't really care about honing those skills any more.
Copyright 2011 John D. Deyo, M.A., LMFT
