…to me, anyway.

I’ve always been strange. I hated it when I was growing up. I hated that I didn’t find joy in everything going on around me. I hated that I had to retreat to solitude to recharge. I hated that I had all these characters and storylines and plots going through my head instead of what everyone else was doing, was thinking. I hated that I was more comfortable observing than I was in taking part.

I wasn’t normal.

It hasn’t been until just recently that I even thought about embracing my weird. Okay, for a few blessed years I did, but then my need for what I thought was security took over. I did what I was told. I kept my hair natural or neutral. I didn’t do or say anything out of the norm.

Then I woke the hell up.

Because guess what.

I am WEIRD.

I am odd, I am quirky, I am a storyteller who has lived a million lives all in my head and only some of them have made it to the printed world. Some never will. I have my own tribe who love me and embrace me in all my weirdness. I have people who GET my sense of humor, who actually like ME and not some version of me that I was putting up a front to be. I dye my hair funky colors because I like to. I wear whatever clothing makes me feel good. I listen to an odd eclectic mix of music. I have my routine that I stick with AND my bursts of spontaneity that have me jetting off to my next place to visit. I love to go out and raise hell AND I love to stay at home and binge watch a great show. I love dive bars. I love art galleries. I love the theatre. But you know what I love about myself most of all?

I. Am. WEIRD.

And that, loves, is my superpower.