Corner-hugging, coat-clutching, and most comfortable with the breeze by the exit.
You know the type. The ones who shuffle into any social event like they’re sneaking into a crime scene. The corner huggers. The people who hold onto their coats because putting them down would mean committing to staying. The emotionally neglected elite with all the availability of a damp sponge. Hi, it’s me. I’ve been in the corner since ’89 and I’m not coming out now.
I don’t know how it starts, this whole “outsider on arrival” thing. Maybe it’s being four years old in the playground, sitting alone among fallen crab apples while the other kids formed tribes by the climbing frame. Maybe it’s when you realise, even as an adult, that no matter what version of yourself you put forward, no one ever seems keen to return the serve. It’s like someone’s been handing out a secret memo that says “Approach with caution. Might be difficult. Definitely awkward. Likely to overthink your eye contact.”
Even when there’s a seat going, I’ll pick the one by the door — not because I want to be near the exit (although, also yes), but because there’s a nice breeze. You know, that glorious little gust every time the door opens, chilling my shins to a comfortable numbness while reminding me I’m alive. It’s these subtle perks of the corner life that go unnoticed by the crowd.
And then there’s the school run. Christ. No longer a ‘run’ but more of a precision military operation. Car pulls up, child hops out, and I’m gone quicker than a dad in a delivery suite. But still, even now, decades on from those early playground days, I feel it. The unspoken divide. The gym kit mums who found each other at the first drop-off and never looked back. The groups that somehow materialise from thin air, already full. You’re there, but never in it. Like you’ve arrived at a party that’s been going on for years and everyone already knows who’s who — and you’re just the plus one nobody asked for.
It’s not self-pity. It’s a lifetime of quiet observing. And for anyone feeling the same, stuck on the side-lines wondering if you missed some magical “how to belong” starter pack, know this: you’re not alone, you’re just not them. And thank god for that.
Because some of us were never made for the middle of the room. We thrive on the edges. Quietly fierce. Slightly jaded. And 100% not handing our coats to anyone.
— Lottie James
Running on caffeine, emotional damage, and a refusal to wave at the school gate.
Thirty Something Plus VAT 