Throughout my life one of the most consistent aspects of my existence has been what can delicately be phrased as age-inappropriate knowledge. In my early childhood, at about the age of four, a rather frightening display of age-inappropriate knowledge led to a diagnosis of PTSD and a couple years of play therapy in a private mental hospital in the small town where I grew up. Fortunately, there was nowhere to go but less horrifying and traumatic as far as age-inappropriate knowledge goes, so I must content myself these days with knowing more about popular music and culture than is normal for people my age, since apparently pop music is for teenagers and not for people more than a decade removed from that age.

In childhood, the conspicuous display of intellect is not generally a good way to be thought of as cool. Even adults, who should be more aware of the insecurities that drive lovely and immensely talented young people to have a conspicuous thirst for achievement and involvement, especially in the eyes of authority figures and other adults, are not always understanding enough. Sometimes we can be very harsh on those whose desire to be respected leads them to act in ways that draw attention to themselves or that might make them seem a bit bossy to their peers and cohorts. Such young people may be like Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter series, well-intentioned, immensely bright, but often thought of as being insufferable know-it-alls. Having known this often myself in my own life, I have tended to be very empathetic and understanding with those whose insecurities are not so far removed from my own.

I do not think that I ever had a chance to be particularly cool. For one, I have always been too honest to have the level of disguise that is necessary to appear cool to others. Having been someone who has always openly tried very hard, and admitted my weaknesses and struggles and quirks rather candidly, I have not ever possessed the sort of savoir faire that has made me successful in every sort of endeavor. Even before one takes my horrific childhood into account, it would have been difficult for me to be cool based on the raw materials of my life. When one considers the abuse and trauma that marked my early days, I did not have the social skills to avoid isolation and rejection, or even to find a remotely tolerable place until adulthood, and even that has been rather fragile.

I imagine the same sort of experiences are not that uncommon. Even those who do manage to succeed at popularity know that it is a tough struggle to keep one’s place at the top, as people are always looking for a slip-up or a weakness to pounce on to cut someone back down to size. Mean girls (girls seem especially vicious at this sort of matter, whether it is to guys or other girls) delight in cutting ridicule and abuse, even at times resorting to physical violence and intimidation. Even those who are popular keep themselves well-hidden and feel misunderstood and oppressed by what was necessary to gain the popularity that they seek. Others are so obviously trying too hard that they never manage to be cool in the first place, a habit that starts young and that we never seem to grow out of, no matter how old and wise we become. Such is the life, though.