Catawampus

Catawampus

Other versions of the word: cattywampus, kattywampus, catywampus 

Meaning: 1. Awry, askew, crooked 2. Out of kilter 3. A fierce imaginary creature thought to inhabit forests

My mom is the only person I have ever heard use the word catawampus, and she pronounced it “katty-whomp-us”. I remember as a young girl hearing that word and then adopting it into my own vocabulary. It’s a fun word. In fact, I am fairly certain that all four of my siblings use the word. Like peanut butter kiss cookies and banana bread, I grew up believing my mom had invented the word. I love this word because it feels like a softer, more gracious term to describe something that is off center or not quite right. It doesn’t feel overly judgmental or damning; it feels more like a playful standard deviation from the norm. 

Although my mom did not invent the term, it still surprises people all the same because it lands as one of those spontaneously made up words like ginormous. Katty-whomp-us also perfectly depicts my place in the world, or at the very least, how I experience my place in the world. I have always been and done enough to relatively “fit in” but never enough to feel like I “fit in”. After all, if you’re working hard to fit, do you actually fit? Obviously, I know this is not a unique experience; however the older I get, the more I lose the capacity to pretend to fit, to want to fit, or to contort myself to be or not be whatever it is that the current accepted path demands.

While not fitting in seems to be a familiar theme for most, refusing to pretend to fit is still foreign territory. In the last five years, there has been an uptick of social media posts empowering us to “embrace our flaws”, “give zero shits”, and “ be-YOU-tiful”, but for a variety reasons, the vast majority feels performative and pretend, too. Frankly, I have found that behavior in line with the refusal to pretend- in a world that works tirelessly to make conformity attractive- is typically messy, unpopular, and riddled with conflict and upheaval. It’s not fit for consumption via social media.

Five weeks ago, I walked away from my teaching career. A large part of my departure stemmed from my inability to pretend one second longer. I’m 47, and right now, I have two, daily consistent thoughts: what the hell am I doing and who the hell do I think I am making some wild and free decision like this? I have some ideas around the next steps, but I have no real traction on them. However, this decision will go down as one of the bravest things I’ve ever done, and the first, truly outrageous act towards living the katty-whomp-us parts of myself out loud.

What if the focus of the second half of my life is not some washed over version of accepting my jagged, wonky pieces? What if it’s to recklessly and unabashedly nurture these pieces? Maybe give them a shelf and track lighting and just follow their lead?

As for the blog, I am holding myself to only three rules: Rambling is permissible, stay colorful, and for the love of God and all that’s good, don’t overly revise and edit my posts to soften my voice or my edges.