If you’ve ever done something that you’ve walked away completely red in the face from, then you’re my person. You’re me. Better than that, we’re in this together.

During my freshman year I was walking out of English 101. A perfectly normal day for a perfectly normal person, right? Except, as I was passing by the hallway the elevators are housed in, I saw the elevator doors open. My perfect chance! Why should I get sweaty going up the stairs and then have to walk across campus to another building, only to get even more sweaty? That would just be gross. So I took a chance—I fast-walked to the elevator and stepped in.

And then the elevator doors began to close.

Now, I thought that there was supposed to be some sort of sensor. You know, to keep it from closing. Except, nope. For any other normal person, the doors might’ve beeped, stopped, then receded back into the open, step-through-me position. Yeah, nothing is ever that easy. Especially when you’re awkward as all get out.

The doors ate me. Gulp, chew, swallow. I let out a yelp as they froze, confused by the foreign object: me. The tens—OK, exaggeration—of people in the elevator glanced up at me from their phones to smirk or look sympathetic. I’m sure that moment made it onto someone’s Facebook status.

After a while, the doors got the memo and opened back up. Of course, what should I do but mumble a quick apology to the doors? I followed that up by promptly chastising myself under my breath like I always do when I’ve embarrassed myself.

I avoided those elevators for the remainder of the semester like they were spaceships waiting to take me up to space for the sequel of "Independence Day." It felt like if I got inside one of them, the people on board would know that I got eaten by the ferocious metal teeth of those doors. Strobe lights might begin flashing as a guy on an intercom announces that yes, this is Elizabeth—the antagonist to all elevators.

OK, so maybe I avoided those elevators longer than that. Maybe I still do. But the fact is, last year I saw another poor, unfortunate soul fall into the clutches of the silver beast. He nearly had the same exact reaction as I did. As that happened, a thought occurred to me.

You see, I’ve always had this thought that I’m the only awkward person in the universe. That my life’s curse is to be awkward and embarrassed while everyone else acts like they are, but really aren’t. Then I saw this guy and that thought vanished because he was awkward too. He was a friend in the storm of awkward life situations that will stick around long after the good memories fade—the situations that will visit you every time you pass by the spot where said awkward situation happened or when you’re lying in bed at night, replaying over everything that happened that day and wondering just how it’s going to destroy your reputation.

The truth is, we’re all awkward. I’m sure that the person who always dresses like they walked off of a New York runway probably stood inside their closet for an hour that morning feeling imperfect, complicated and like they’re missing the mark. Maybe the person who managed a perfect score on that pop quiz only got it because they didn’t read the material until five minutes before class started, but now they’ll have wrinkles before they can legally drink because of last-minute-study-stress. And that person who always has a joke to say only can do so because they’ve said a million other ones that have been followed by cold, dead silence that even a cricket refused to fill.

If you’re not awkward, you’re not human. The world isn’t about being perfect or striving to be; it’s about figuring out that being awkward isn’t even awkward. It makes you quirky and unique and fun. It makes you, you. And let me tell you, your red face is absolutely adorable. I’d like to see it more and I’d take it any day over a perfect complexion.