Ever felt like your excitement is a little too over-the-top? As someone who’s always been brimming with enthusiasm, I can relate. Growing up, I was a bundle of energy, but I also grappled with fears that often overshadowed my joy. It wasn’t until the event I dreaded was behind me that I could finally breathe a sigh of relief and feel the thrill of happiness. My enthusiasm was like a hidden treasure, waiting for the right moment to shine, and that moment took years to arrive.
In my late twenties and early thirties, I finally found the words to articulate my feelings and developed skills to handle situations that once felt overwhelming. As I conquered my fears, my excitement for life began to blossom in ways that some might consider too childlike for an adult. You know the type: that genuine thrill when planning an adventure or meeting someone you admire. Apparently, in the eyes of some, that’s just not “cool.” But I refuse to believe that I’m weird for embracing my enthusiasm.
I genuinely enjoy life and find immense joy in engaging with brilliant minds. Conversations that challenge me elevate my spirit, and with every new piece of knowledge, I feel more reassured that life isn’t out to get me. I’m not pretending to be uninterested, nor am I trying too hard to be engaged; I’m simply being myself—authentically curious about the people and experiences around me. After all those years of feeling like life was an uphill battle, I’m now fueled by hope and possibility, even when things seem unlikely.
Aloofness, in contrast, is something I can’t stand. It’s often mistaken for “coolness,” but all it really does is create distance and discomfort. I remember chatting with my friend Mia, who is in her twenties. She remarked that while she thinks I’m cool for someone in their forties, I also come across as “a bit of a nerd.” When I pressed her for details, she said, “It’s because you show your enthusiasm.” Ouch! That hit me right in the feels—not just for my sake (okay, maybe a little for me), but for the very essence of enthusiasm itself.
Aloofness is just not my style. I’m sensitive to how others feel, which drives me to be warm and inviting. But that also means I sometimes feel out of sync with people who prefer to maintain a cool distance. It’s a conundrum: my eagerness to spread positivity can sometimes make me feel like an outsider. What’s a spirited person to do?
I have a friend named Tom who’s unapologetically enthusiastic. He tells everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, that he loves them. Sure, it might make people squirm a little, but he’s not fishing for compliments. He genuinely feels it and can’t help but express it. That’s the essence of enthusiasm—an overflowing joy that demands to be shared.
Part of my enthusiasm stems from a desire to uplift others who may struggle with the fears I battled during my childhood. In a way, my friendliness is a protective shield for both others and my past self. Ironically, that very enthusiasm that helps me connect also sometimes isolates me. People might label me as weird or dorky because I’m quick to embrace ideas and individuals instead of rejecting them. I’ve tried to tone it down, but let’s be honest—my energy is hard to contain.
What surprises me the most isn’t how others view my enthusiasm; it’s the fact that after years of grappling with fear and discontent, I’ve blossomed into a genuinely enthusiastic person.
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In summary, embracing your enthusiasm might make you feel like a misfit at times, but it’s also a source of genuine joy and connection. Instead of conforming to the idea of “cool,” celebrate your enthusiasm—it’s what makes you unique.