Or so I’m told pretty regularly. I don’t know that I’m the same kind of weird that you’re thinking of…in fact I’m sure of it. I think it’s more the name I get called because people don’t have another word on the tip of their tongues for someone who’s a little unique and odd and looks at things a little differently some of the time…so they default to “weird”.
You’re probably thinking, “Well how about ‘unique’ or ‘odd’?”. Which is a perfectly reasonable thing to say if you don’t know me; which, more likely you don’t. Not because the vast amount of my readership doesn’t know me, but, more because I don’t have a vast amount of readership. I have nearly none at all. So, more likely than not, you don’t know me because you don’t actually exist.
“Unique” doesn’t really describe me because, at least outwardly, I’m not all that unique. I have a normal job like most, I have the usual interests, I have my natural hair color in the prevailing style, I have clothes that are reasonably cool but not overly so, I have typical views on the important issues in life…actually that last one is only partially true. But, there isn’t all that much to point to that is different (unique) to only me.
Same with “odd” though I think that word describes me somewhat better, if only for it’s close proximity to “weird”. My theory is that “odd” is just not a word that comes readily available to most people…not nearly so as does “weird”.
I don’t say the above to add to my mystique; I say the above because I’ve been called weird all of my life, and at least three times, by three different people, in as many days.
The thing is, it’s not a conclusion that people come to immediately. It takes a few hours/days/weeks and a fair amount of time together before drawing that conclusion, and it bubbles out of the proclaim-er like a Touret’s curse, or an involuntary sneeze. Always at times that, to me, seem just like the times right before it, and very similar to the times before that. So does that mean that I’ve been weird all along during you short relationship with me, or that I had just done something exceptionally odd after the hours/days/weeks interacting; the personal bravery to do so created by our extended time together.
In short, if it’s not you, is it me?
I’ve only recently (re: the last 5 minutes) ever really thought about it, and I don’t have a satisfactory conclusion to the question of why I am called that. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything particularly odd. I don’t hear anything coming out of my mouth that seems different to the norm. Yet somehow, at what seems to me a perfectly normal time, “You’re weird” pops out like a jack in the box and I’m left their to process it.
Am I? “yes”
What makes you say so? “I dunno, you’re just weird”
Is that a bad thing? “not in your case, I like it, actually”
I like weird people..perhaps in keeping with my own altered sensibilities. I don’t know whether I celebrate how weird they are because I respect the actual details of their oddness (that guy’s wearing two different colored shoes. she is talking to herself about Barbie, etc etc); or if I instead celebrate the odd simply because I am so against the vanilla. Not because I demand unique and exciting experiences in my life all of the time, more so because I don’t like the idea of a homogenized society. I don’t much believe in therapy, which I believe does just that.
Who wants a bunch of the same exact person running around with a slight smile and spring in their step? A utopia for sure, but who wants that?
“The only people for me are the mad ones…” (with apologies to Mr. Kerouac)