This is how I choose my friends.
I don’t like normal people. “Normal” people. Whatever that means.
I like people who are beat or two off. Sometimes more, even.
Are you a friend of mine? Do you think you’re “normal?”
You’re probably not.
If you and I spend any time together, if we are confidantes?
Chances are you’re not normal.
Which is ok, actually, because normal? It’s over-rated. Hugely over-rated.
And so boring!
As I wrote this I started doing a mental inventory of the significant people in my life, those who seem normal but aren’t, not really. One is “normal.” Maybe because there has to be some semblance of sanity somewhere in my life.
But the rest? Odd ducks. Which I really like and don’t mean in a bad way.
As a young girl I often longed to be like everyone else, because I knew very young that I wasn’t. It’s not that I understood what that meant–I still don’t–but I knew that the things others liked or did or wanted to be? They didn’t interest me.
Even then, so young, I was on the outside looking in, usually a little puzzled at what I was seeing. Because it wasn’t what others saw.
And that perplexed me, because to me it was as plain as the nose on their faces. Still perplexes me.
Now, I kind of like being a little apart from the world, having an observer’s eye on everything.
Does any of this make sense to you? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Oh, and if you’re one beat off? Weirdmaste to you today!
Weirdmaste: the weirdness in me honors the weirdness in you.