A lot of people our age tend to be on an endless quest to find themselves, establish a solid worldview, and figure out who the heck they are in general. I do not fall far from this description of the typical 20-something, but I can say that over the past several years I have discovered some things to be true about this stage of life. One of the most significant is that you, and I, and Rihanna, and cousin Joe are just weird. So were our parents, and grandparents, and so on. We spend a great deal of our time trying to mask this fact when in reality, most people reach an age or point in life where they stop caring—these are the people we typically view as lunatics and psychos. The truth, however, is that these people have come to terms with the cliché that we are all different, individual, and oftentimes do not share the same viewpoints, nor do we have to. In actuality, it’s just too much work to keep up with who’s doing what, going where, voting for who to seem like we aren’t the oddball out—it just takes a number of us awhile to realize this. Individuality is such a trend, but so many people still venture to judge, point fingers, and deem individual variations as “strange.”
For me, I stopped caring what other people thought a long time ago when nearly every weird thing I did seemed to become a major defense trial—“you spend too much money on stupid stuff,” “You are closed-minded,” “You can’t claim to be a Christian while holding a class of wine,” “you treat your dogs better than you would children,” bla bla bla. I have often questioned my sanity and normalcy, and as of late I have adapted to my own weirdness and even come to find it endearing. Mature people can handle others’ peculiarity. One of my dearest friends and I couldn’t be more opposite in major issues related to life—she’s Democrat; I’m Republican, she is on a mission to reduce carbon emissions and stop the endangerment of whales; I have to ask at her house every time if it’s plastic bags that are recyclable—but we share a mutual and deep respect for one another’s worldview, and never once have we argued over our differences. The same goes for myself and V (boyfriend). While he (along with most people who know me) believes that my conservative views are often a wee bit over the top and one-sided, he respects what I believe, and we discuss the world as one would a piece of art—as an item that is open to interpretation which may look completely different to you than it does to me.
Aside from individuality being what makes the world go ‘round, who can possibly manage to control all of their idiosyncrasies anyway? More than that, who cares? Maybe I’m alone in this, but I have given up trying to “normalize” myself to any degree—it just doesn’t stick. For instance, recently I paid way more than I should have for an overly flowy and very coral Rachel Roy shirt. What would be to the majority of people a clothing item more hideous than most muumuus I find a treasure that I have been grabbing to wear several days a week. I’m having a love affair with this shirt. Strange? I suppose. At one time, it may have crossed my mind that someone might see me in the same damn shirt twice in one week. Fortunately, it's not my issue if someone is offended by this; I’ll wear it as much as I please even if I do look hideous in it. As of late, I have also been preoccupied with putting in a backyard after nearly two years of living in my house. My obsessions are not typical of that of most people; mine absolutely consume all thoughts, actions, words, and facial expressions (yes, you can see concrete versus slate versus sand versus brick versus sod versus seed versus deck versus pergola written all over the worry lines in my face). I think about it day and night until I have a solution, have explored all options, and I won’t rest until it’s done and I’m sitting on a freshly manicured lawn with a mojito in my hand. Since I can’t yet afford the backyard of my dreams, I had to curb my enthusiasm by buying an oversized umbrella, lawn chairs, and a misting system to appease me while I wait—I will call this my desert paradise (did I mention that patience is not my strong suit?).
Yes, I seem fanatical. But this is my normal, and other than driving my man crazy at times, it’s not hurting anyone. I have a friend who spends 30 minutes each morning making sure that each eyelash is perfectly separated from the others using tweezers and other tools, another who obsesses at work over whether or not they took out the garbage on the right day, and still more who check the door 17 times before leaving the house. Some people can’t have sex with the light on, and some people can’t eat tomatoes because of the texture but will dig into guacamole with no problem. I know someone who likes to walk around the house with only one shoe on after work and another who will wait ten minutes at a gas station for one particular pump even if other slots are empty. These quirks aren’t “normal,” but they don’t require therapy or finger-pointing either.
While I have confessed myself to be harebrained, everyone has things that make them “weird,” and there are probably more shows on television that depict oddities which we can relate to than any one of us cares to admit. You can’t have a trillion people on one planet and expect to not have some variations that may seem unusual. Individualism as a movement is great in theory, but a lot of the original concept floated away somewhere in the wind. Let’s really think about what that means. I may be too conservative, too compulsive, and too obsessed with my flowy coral shirt, but that’s me, and that’s ok.
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