On being a weirdo

I don’t think like other people do. I know this because those other people have told me so.

As a child, I certainly did not consider this a virtue. Shy, socially awkward, and not at all self assured, I was only too cognizant of my square pegged-ness.

The remarkable thing is, I grew into myself. Just like my outsized feet–which provided a hint of the height I would eventually attain–I am now more than comfortable in my own skin.

In fact, I like being me. A lot.

I believe this is because I own it–this me-ness. Or, as I said to my daughter yesterday, ‘Love the one you’re with. Yourself.’

There is no question that I am still weird, if quietly so. But I am also extraordinarily self confident, which I define as understanding both one’s strengths but also weaknesses.

I am also really good at passing–I fly that freak flag low. And one of my super powers is I really don’t give a fuck as to whether or not someone likes me.

Now if I were antisocial, that might be an issue. However, as I love people, most of them love me back. The perfect antidote to no fucks given. But I also don’t waste time trying to figure out how to fit into someone else’s agenda. This is both freeing but also means that I come across as genuine–not a bad thing.

This life of mine is imperfect and in the best of times, a bit of a mess. However, like some well worn and beloved sweater, it just feels right. Holes and all.

xo