1 Jul

I was dared

Someone who shall not be named in my family called me quirky.   According to freedictionary.com, quirky means this:

1. A peculiarity of behavior; an idiosyncrasy: “Every man had his own quirks and twists” (Harriet Beecher Stowe).

Okay this one I concede to.  I do have some idiosyncrasies.  Especially in my family.  I don’t eat red meat or pork and in the South this is tantamount to heresy.  I drink unsweetened tea and do not believe everything needs to be deep fried.  I don’t smoke.  I’m a liberal in a conservative state.  Yes, a peculiarity indeed.

2. An unpredictable or unaccountable act or event; a vagary: a quirk of fate.

If there is anything my family and friends will agree on, I’m unpredictable.  It doesn’t always bode well.  Once I make up my mind, I sort of go for things.  Not always successfully.  Yet, it’s what has lead me to this strange and interesting life I’ve lived.  Having so many years before me, there’s no telling what will happen.

I don’t necessarily think being different is a bad thing.  I’ve always marched to my own drum section (and dated a few drummers along the way).  I’m not solely concentrated on my own happiness, but I want to believe there are several moments of it in a day.  I simply want to live authentically.  You know what I mean.  Where I wake in the morning and I laugh when something strikes me funny or cry when something touches me or moan when something pleases me or cringe when something disturbs me.  I want every emotion and intensely.

Today someone reminded me it’s a new chapter.  Yet, as I look through the book I realize there are so many pages before me that are blank, waiting to be filled with my quirky.  It’s daunting and exciting.  I get to be me.  Finally.

But what if I don’t know who I am?

I’ll start with quirky and wear it like a badge of honor.


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