When my sister was a baby and learning to talk my parents said that instead of letting her learn, I talked for her. Essentially, I'm the reason it took my sister a few extra months (years) to speak for herself. I've always loved to talk; I love sharing my opinion and my reasoning behind my beliefs.
I certainly have the opportunity to do this on a weekly basis, seeing as I write for a few different publications that encourage finding topics of my own to share my stance on. Anyone who is friends with me on Facebook knows that this is true.
My cousins are practically my siblings. Two graduated high school the same year as I (class of 2016, y'all)--one even graduating from the same high school as me. Another graduated a year later from my alma mater. I do not remember a time when I could not just walk in unannounced to their house. To be honest, I did not realize this was odd and that most cousins were not as close as me and mine until high school when my classmates talked about seeing their cousins once a year.
Now, although we are close as kittens, we are all vastly different from one another. There is the quiet(er), introverted one. The "wild child". The one all of our parents adored. My sister. The big sports dude. And then there was me. For as long as I can remember, I have been the loud, joke-cracking (sometimes at inappropriate times, I will admit), opinionated cousin who always had something to add to the conversation (whether warranted or not).
I thrived off of garnering boisterous laughs from my random comments at Thanksgiving dinners. I loved having discussions with my aunts and uncles about modern topics (politics, anyone?). And I often had a quip at the ready based on whatever was being discussed at the moment. I find myself met with eye-rolls and "the look" from my mother more times than not at our Fourth of July gathering; my father telling me to "tone it down a bit" at various points during our family events.
With the current political climate (and just cultural climate in general, to be honest) I have often found myself making bold claims (that I can back up, obviously). And falling asleep at night I mull over the question: "how did I end up being the loud, opinionated cousin".
It took me a few late night mulling-sessions to come to the conclusion that there really isn't a reason that I'm loud and opinionated. It's just who I am. And rather than shrinking into myself, I am proud that I share my thoughts and encourage constructive conversation. I am fortunate enough to attend a liberal arts college that embodies "liberal" as someone who identifies as a liberal (maybe even a "radical" liberal in some of my family's eyes). This allows me to discuss hefty topics (think pro-choice vs. pro-life, LGBTQ+ rights, and gun control) with people with similar views and ideals on the world. And people with different values, well, most of them, than mine do not engage in an angry manner--preferring to have an actual discussion where we look at our differences and talk through our reasoning for our particular beliefs. And those who prefer to respond to beliefs that differ from theirs with angry tweets, passive-aggressive Facebook posts, and tabling outside the cafeteria about their "Socialism Sucks" initiative, allow me to develop my argument in a way that addresses their anger-fueled arguments.
Of course, it has taken practice to learn how to hold my tongue in certain situations, but that's the price to pay, I suppose.
Overall, I don't think there was necessarily a "journey" to me becoming the loud and opinionated cousin in my family. This does not go to say that people who are not loud and opinionated can't become someone who speaks up. It just comes natural to me. And it can be a blessing and a curse.
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