I was so preoccupied with a pop-culture-created version of coolness that it was often all I worked toward. I'd try to change the way I dressed or the kinds of things that I liked, assuming that eventually the rest of the world would see me as "cool," and then life would be easier.

One of the most relaxing moments in my life came when I realized that I was not and was never going to be cool. If someone had told me, as a 15-year-old, that coolness was not only not an important pursuit but also completely unpursuable, it would have saved me a lot of time, and a whole lot of awkward haircuts.

I wasn't cool not just because I was awkward and sweaty and measured coolness in Fonzies in fucking 2012, but because I was so focused on chasing coolness, a pointless and intangible thing that only goes away when you try to catch it, that I never got a chance to actually get comfortable. But you can't really blame me for chasing coolness. I was raised by movies, where coolness is important, and no one told me that ...

Or this:

Those are just unrealistic beauty expectations created and perpetuated by Hollywood, which is ... fine? It's not fine, it's probably very bad, it's just not what I want to talk about in this particular column. Though, as a sidebar, yes, it's absurd that Hollywood wants us to believe even for a second that this dude:

... is 16 years old.

But where Hollywood really got it wrong for me was in teaching me that winning and succeeding socially in high school meant overcoming whoever or whatever I was. The problem wasn't that awkward nerds weren't represented in movies and TV shows; the problem was that those nerds excelled when they stopped being nerds and suddenly became cool. I would identify with awkward guys in fiction, like The Karate Kid's Daniel-san or Can't Hardly Wait's William (the super-nerd who ends up getting drunk for the first time). By the end of The Karate Kid, Daniel can stand up to and physically beat his bullies, and by the end of Can't Hardly Wait, William isn't the shy, nervous, awkward guy; he's the party animal who bests his bully, wins everyone in his school over with a rocking rendition of "Paradise City" and hooks up with a pile of random, attractive women.

Awkward high school students see those movies and think, "Oh, good, I'll eventually be either the guy who can kick the shit out of my bullies or the guy who surprises everyone because he was secretly cool the whole time. It's only a matter of time before I'm the kind of guy who should be the lead in a movie."

And that just doesn't happen. Navigating high school as an awkward person isn't about eventually not being awkward anymore, like all of the movies say; it's about being OK with being awkward. When things got bad for me in high school, I contented myself with the fact that eventually I'd be super cool or charming or interesting without having to put any work in, because I saw myself as the protagonist in the movie of my life that would eventually resolve in a crowd-pleasing third act that involved me getting the girl and winning State (whatever that means). And that's wrong.

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Guess which one you'll be.

Hollywood trains us to think there's some kind of karmic balance in the universe that is favorable to "good guys," and that does nothing but encourage laziness and delusion. That's a terrible way to go through high school, because it will only lead to disappointment. A) You're not the protagonist and B) no one in high school is going to follow a three-act Hollywood movie structure because this is real life, and your "cast" is a bunch of teenagers experiencing hormones for the first time. Movies that train us to try to "win" high school are wrong; they should be telling us that ...

I was always trying to win high school, like the movies told me to do. I was looking for the moment where I overcame my awkwardness and slight stutter and started becoming, like, 11 Fonzies. Really, what I should have done was just keep my head down and hang out until high school was over. I would stop stressing about high school as if the decisions I made there would impact every social and professional aspect of my being for the rest of my life (spoiler: they did not), and I would relax and have fun and, mostly, bide my time. I'd bide my time because ...

After high school, in either real life or college, whatever nerdy things you did in high school that got you picked on or made you feel embarrassed or alienated, I guarantee you that there are enough people around you who also love doing those exact same things. In high school, I made little figurines out of clay and shot movies alone in my room and kept quiet about it, because I didn't want the rest of my school to make fun of me (I came from a largely non-clay-model-making high school). In college, all of my weird little hobbies came out and I pretty quickly found a bunch of other nerds who did the same kind of stuff, or at the very least, thought what I did was cool (in its own unique, objectively uncool way).

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Growing up and getting comfortable in your own skin isn't about suddenly becoming cool with the outside world; it's about finding enough people who share your interests that you don't even notice the outside world. Every nerdy thing that I did alone in high school found a home with people outside of high school, and it never felt lame or nerdy or shitty (even though it probably should have). Hell, I sang a cappella in college and didn't even realize how lame and nerdy that was until fucking never. I still think our group was dope as shit.

Daniel O'Brien is Cracked.com's senior writer (ladies), and is just now coming out of his awkward high school phase (everyone else). Follow him on Twitter to find out about spontaneous San Diego Cracked meet-ups.

Check out more from Dan in 5 Terrible Situations for the Socially Awkward Man and 5 Situations That Are Secretly Terrifying for Awkward People.