I realize that I’m not in the majority here, but there it is.
Being different is not a character flaw, although I used to think it was. It’s hard when you don’t fit into the norm (or whatever they’re calling the norm these days).
I realized a long time ago that there was a possibility that I didn’t think like other people. My way of looking at things is not always the same. Even when it pertains to the physical aspects of things.
Take color for example.
Have you ever wondered about color? I mean, how could you not have wondered? Does the green that I see when I see green look the same as the green that you see when you see green?
That kind of thing.
I mean, HOW DO WE KNOW?
I can’t see out of your eyes, and you can’t see out of mine.
I believe that a great deal of life centers around our own perceptions of it, and that we are limited by our own realities.
I also believe that to a point, we create our own realities or live in realities that we allow others to create for us.
When we’re children, we haven’t been talked out of all our abilities yet. There are things we can see and do that are unexplained but still true. The following illustration is an excerpt out of a kid’s book I’m writing, but also a true story from my childhood:
That’s just one example of seeing something that no one else can see. If it’s possible as a child, surely it’s possible once you’re an adult!
We all have gifts and abilities that we’re born with. Whether we keep them to adulthood largely depends on whether we have the opportunity and the guts to use them.
To me, it seems as if the world is put together in bits of color.
If I could be a true artist, I’d grab those bits of color with my paint brush and put them to canvas. I do the best I can with the abilities that I have.
I wish everyone could see the way I see.
I’m also different than most in how I show my feelings.
I cry over sappy things and serious ones. I cry the hardest over happy endings because I know in my heart that those rarely happen.
For a long while, I let myself become hardened and wouldn’t show anyone who I really was. It shamed me to have real emotion. Catastrophe has turned my world upside down though. Instead of hiding my tears from others, I cry with them through their own pain. Not usually on purpose—it just happens.
People with heartbreak seem to gravitate to me. It’s like they know they’re safe to cry with me. I find that one of the biggest blessings of my life, and one of the hardest burdens to carry. Grief was never a ministry I wanted.
I’ve found that the most imperfect things on this planet are often the most beautiful. That goes for people too. What a man (or woman) is on the outside doesn’t always correspond with who they are on the inside. A pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.
It’s okay to be you. I’m good with being me.
It’s taken me a lot of years to become who I am. I’m not saying that I’ve arrived at the place I need to be. It’s still a journey. I’m good with the path I’m on though.
And I have my own style—the way I talk and dress—those things are all me!
There’s nothing wrong with fashions and trends, I’m just not a crowd follower. I like what I like and I don’t like what I don’t like.