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For the love of cute and cuddly middles
Did you celebrate Groundhog Day yesterday?
I did.
Along with Bill Murray and a host of top-hat-clad Punxsutawnians, I love Groundhog Day.
For one thing, the older I get, the more my middle resembles Punxsutawney Phil’s. And if he’s considered cute and cuddly, well, then, maybe I still have a chance.
That’s worth celebrating.
However, my affinity for Groundhog Day started long ago, as a grade-schooler, when I inaugurated the official (and uber-cool) Groundhog Day Club. So many friends wanted to join I had to limit members to my one best friend, Katie.
Katie and I made signs and announcements. We created invitations and decorations. We had grand plans for the club: a neighborhood play about ground hogs; exclusive membership benefits; a contract with fast food chains to put ground hog action figures in fun meals; and a Siamese cat and miniature dachshund as mascots.
Sadly, the club fizzled.
Might have had something to do with the fact it only occurred once a year.
But hey, we had a club.
And we were members.
Official members.
Exclusive members.
We were cool.
The longing for membership doesn’t fizzle with age. Deep inside, we have an insatiable need to define ourselves by jobs, square footage, spinning classes, club memberships, children’s activities — even wearing blue and white jerseys this Sunday.
We live vicariously through a cracked lens of how we perceive others perceive us.
The problem of looking through a lens is that we never truly look at ourselves.
It may come as a surprise to many readers that I tend to buck the status quo. I resist conformity and membership. I challenge those who tell us how we ought to feel and think. Occasionally — and admittedly — this I-just-gotta-be-me mentality gets me in trouble. Mostly, it just embarrasses my dear husband.
Somewhere between Groundhog Day 1976 and today, I realized “belonging” means far more than membership, far more than performance, far more than what others think. Clubs, groups and, the newest buzzword, “tribes,” are ill-equipped to define a person. At least not in entirety.
In honor of Groundhog Day, don’t be afraid to emerge from the proverbial hole of conformity. I’ve been in that hole. For a long while, it’s warm and cozy. Indeed, when I first took a chance and emerged from my burrow, I was frightened by my own shadow. I wanted to retreat and hibernate again.
But I emerged again. And again. And with each emergence, I found the sun shone upon new, undiscovered facets of myself. The fresh air and wide open spaces brought hope and possibility.
Regardless of whether I see a shadow or not, winter passes in time.
Spring comes, inevitably.
And swimsuit season, after that.
Which is when I remember the real reason I cherish Groundhog Day: for the love of cute and cuddly middles.
Amy Sorrells is a Zionsville resident and writer working on her first book. E-mail Amy at aksorrells@gmail.com.
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