Reasons Why I Should Keep Living Under a Rock

Reasons Why I Should Keep Living Under a Rock

Earlier this year, I wrote an apologetic blog post about my lack of interest in politics, current events, and celebrity gossip – a.k.a. all the topics one resorts to when engaging in small talk with strangers. As 2022 nears its end, I thought it would be fun to contradict most of what I said back in March. Not the part about being socially awkward, which I still 100% stand by. But having to continually apologize for my quirks? Here’s a habit I’m ready to kick.


A few weeks ago, I attended a holiday dinner party with a bunch of strangers – a precarious situation for a living-under-a-rock-person. A Spanish woman who’d recently moved back to Madrid complained about feeling like a misfit in her home country. 


“Interesting,” I said when she’d finished talking. “I’ve felt like a misfit my whole life, everywhere I go. But this year I turned 40 and decided I’m done trying to be normal. Isn’t it so much easier to own your weird?”


Everyone around us grew silent. I could hear Michael Bublé singing jingle bells in the background as the woman looked back at me, wide-eyed. 


Just to be clear, I get myself into these situations often. When it comes to communicating with other humans, I have a hard time staying on the surface. My (few) friends already know this, and have learned to accept deep conversation as part of the intensity magic of hanging out with me. But when it comes strangers, my uncalled-for deviations into the profound usually leave me feeling like a fish out of water. There you go, again Monica, a little voice inside me says. Why is it so hard for you to be complacent, agreeable, small-talk worthy?


At the dinner party where I declared that we should all own our weird, my internal reprimanding voice decided to take a walk. To my surprise, a much friendlier voice emerged. What if your philosophizing communication style isn’t a curse? the new voice said. What if it’s your talent?


Whoa, I thought to myself on the car ride home. Where was this interesting and unapologetic voice coming from?


I knew the answer right away. For the past two weeks, I’d been living under a fascinating rock called human design. Created in 1992 by Ra Uru Hu, human design is a new-age astrological tool that uses basic birth facts to reveal how each person was designed to live on this Earth. 


While studying my own human design, I learned that I’m a manifesting generator, which means I’m meant to pursue things that “light me up.” Contrary to what society tells us is normal, I’m not supposed to adhere to a linear path (this explains why my resume reads like a 20-course menu). Ultimately, my power comes from saying yes to the experiences that inspire me, and no to the ones that don’t. 


Learning all this was enlightening. But my interest in human design reached even greater depths when I discovered that one of my two most dominant archetypes is…drumroll…the hermit.


I’m a hermit, people!!!


My hermit archetype explains one of the most infamous and (up until now) confounding stories from my childhood. According to my parents, as a little girl I used to cry whenever I received a birthday party invitation. Just the sight of a colorful balloon seeping through a white envelope was enough to set me off on a screaming, crying fit of terror.


Mortified, my mom took me to a psychologist. After a series of tests, the psychologist declared that I was normal. 


Normal? I don’t think this was the answer my mom was looking for – or anyone in my near vicinity, for that matter.


Knowledge of my hermit archetype has helped me gain a better understanding of my childhood. If I could time travel back thirty-five years to that psychologist’s office, I’d look my younger self in the eye and say: “You’re not damaged goods, little Moni. And you’re also not normal. The universe has given you the hermit gift. Someday, decades from now, you’ll learn how to own it.” 


Coming out of the hermit closet has been more therapeutic than…well…therapy, yoga, and acupuncture, to name a few. Also, studying my human design has helped me understand many of the recent changes I’ve made to my life. It explains why I eat simple food, graze all day, and get headaches from intense physical exercise. It confirms the fact that I’m attune to other people’s energies and tend to be easily affected by frequencies.


On a practical level, this means I can now officially ban phones from the dinner table, for the sake of my digestion. My aversion to fancy Michelin-rated meals doesn’t mean I’m picky, but that my body has a hard time processing complexity. The fact that I’ve eliminated TV from my life and insist on putting our phones on airplane mode at night doesn’t mean I’m paranoid, but conscientious of my needs.


Now more than ever, we have the tools and information to know ourselves. Meanwhile, our peer-pressure society still want us to conform. Diet fads, fashion statements, one-size-fits-all wellness solutions. Knowing yourself is the key to sifting through the information and applying the strategies that work for you. And yet, for some reason, we tend to leave our authenticity behind. We go googly-eyed over influencers and trends, leaving our unique selves in the dark. Next thing you know, we’re all wearing blazers over hoodies, fooling ourselves into thinking we look good while feeling bulky and uncomfortable inside.


“What’s the scientific evidence backing human design?” a friend recently asked when I offered an astrological explanation to my severe aversion to Hola! tabloids.


As she said the words “scientific evidence,” I could feel my eyes glaze over. I took a deep breath, put on my politest hermit smile, and changed the subject. Then I made a mental note: add “scientific evidence for mystical endeavors” to my list of subjects this unapologetic hermit is deeply disinterested in discussing.