Stop Trying To Fit In

The warm breeze gently grazed my face as my running shoes squished in and out of the muddy earth. White, wispy clouds painted the deep blue afternoon sky. Carrying a Ziploc bag with my local identity card, mace and a few hundred ariary (the local currency), I jogged around the village rice paddies. As I heard giggles behind me, I turned to see a flock of seven Malagasy kids who caught up and were now running alongside me. Perhaps nine years old, sporting great smiles and jovial laughs, they were curious -- outstretching their arms and then quickly retracting them. Finally, one child reached out fully and touched my skin. “Wauw…. Wahaza” (“foreigner” in Malagasy), he said in astonishment. 

I was living in Madagascar, the world’s fourth largest island located off the east coast of Africa. These children had never seen a white person, let alone touched white skin. Each child reached out to touch my forearm, checking their fingertips to see if the “white” rubbed off on them. This was not the first or last time I would be seen as “different.” In fact, it was one of many. When I was a small child, my family lived in Brazzaville, Congo, and there too, few Congolese had seen a white baby before, and they marveled at my strange appearance. These stories are emblematic of my personal and professional journey. 

While as a child it was my skin color that stood out, later it would be my gender when I worked for the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and then the Naval Special Warfare Development Group (NSWDG). Standing alone was never an option. I was forced to prove myself against my colleagues’ incredible strength of mind and body, regularly competing with “the guys.”

In these lines of work, everything was a competition. At the CIA, I quickly learned to hold my own, as plenty of women before provided a road map to emulate. When I first arrived at NSWDG, though, these confident and intelligent men tested my grit and ability to stand beside them. One time, I was driving behind them when they started making quick turns trying to lose me. While they did for a bit, my driving skills from prior work meant I was quickly back on their tail—surprising and intriguing them. In the dojo, where we practiced Jiu Jitsu, a well-planted shin by one of them would quickly squeeze the air from my lungs. But when I wiggled out of the hold, I knew that my smaller stature and determination was an advantage that paid off. Showing up and putting up a fight earned respect, even if I lost.

When I finally came back to the United States as a pure civilian, I entered the corporate world where my race and gender were “normal,” yet I was still very different. I may have looked more similar to the people around me, but my childhood in west Africa to my early work experience at the CIA and NSWDG, meant my way of thinking and relating to others was different from those around me. I often misspelled words, using the British spelling given my time in Anglophone Africa, and mis-phrased American sentences, defaulting to French formatting given my time in Francophone Africa. Unfamiliar with American pop culture, I regularly messed up the delivery of sayings and jokes. While I now fit in physically, my experiences and way of communicating set me apart, even here.

Research identifies that people prefer to interact with those similar to themselves and tend to treat them more favorably. This tendency is known as homophily and is common across dimensions such as gender, ethnicity and functional backgrounds. This phenomenon is partially rooted in the (often incorrect) assumption that those similar to us will also act like us, which offers a comforting sense of predictability and trust—while also an implicit bias against those who are “different.”

So what do you do when you’re surrounded by people who are not “like you?” In my case, I never fully “fit in.” In Africa, I was one of the few white people; in the CIA and NSWDG, I was among very few female peers; in the corporate world, I was still different. The more I tried to fit in, the more I realized that was futile and developed a love and appreciation for being “different.” I discovered there is utility and power in being myself.

Trying to be like others creates an emotional strain, which can lead to burnout. Being comfortable standing out as our authentic self not only relieves this strain and burnout, but it also generates more positive and meaningful relationships with others.

Reflecting on my varied experiences, I’ve come to realize how powerful it is to accept who we are regardless of the diversity of our environment. I’ve sipped tea from fine china with British diplomats while wearing a cocktail dress and heels. I’ve shared tea with African chieftains while wearing cargo pants and boots, sitting cross-legged on the ground. I naturally swayed my conversation, gestures and style to the company before me. My authentic self was not defined by how I dressed, or where I sat; rather, it was defined by my ability to connect and relate to others. Experiences such as these expand our knowledge and permit us to find common ground with others unlike us. By identifying these commonalities we create a vast and diverse network of people, gaining new perspectives that help us advance personally and professionally.

The process of intentionally connecting, commonly coined as “networking” is known to be one of the most important, yet dreadful, challenges for professionals. By focusing on being your authentic self while connecting with disparate groups, it comes more easily. Though my ability to network comes from the privilege of being able to practice in situations where I don’t seemingly belong, a foreign environment is not a prerequisite. Consciously and purposefully interacting with those different than you, even in your current environment, can help hone this skill. 

Being inclusive of diversity and being the bridge among diverse entities, rather than avoiding diversity or conforming in the face of it, has given me a sense of purpose. From time in Africa to the CIA and NSWDG and onwards to the corporate world, I’ve learned to capitalize on being my authentic self. I look for opportunities to translate various communication and work styles to ensure everyone’s opinions are equally heard, valued and translated, connecting people in ways that result in innovative solutions and progress towards goals.

The lesson is simple: the sooner we stop trying to fit in, the sooner we find happiness and engagement in life and work. Being our authentic selves is a role that comes easily and is one that incentivizes others to connect with us. Moreover, we should look for opportunities to serve as that bridge between disparate groups, people and organizations. It may be uncomfortable at first, but like my time in the dojo, it is important to keep showing up; it gets easier over time. 

So when someone reaches out to touch your forearm, indulge their curiosity. As we grow and learn, we help others do the same. I’m appreciative of the Malagasy kids who touched my skin because I was different to them; that experience was as powerful for me as it was for them. Varied experiences and people taught me to approach situations and others with openness. That lesson is available to each of us – cultivate openness, embrace diversity, and wield the power of not conforming.