A Call to the Weird Ones
“Where's your will to be weird?” - Jim Morrison
It's taken me 32 years to learn the basic lesson every parent teaches their toddler...how to share (I'd wonder if I should be embarrassed to admit this, but I've already resolved the truth that I'm on my own path to understanding and growth, which may or may not be the same level as a 2 year old. It is what it is).
While I've never considered myself to be a selfish or greedy woman, but rather a very generous and considerate person, I recently realized I've continuously kept some of the most impacting pieces of myself away from nearly everyone around me. I've remained an exceptionally private person who rarely shares any significant personal bits, including the wisdom that's come from tough, personal lessons, very rarely shared my journey and even more rarely shared my emotions or deepest thoughts...with anyone (save a couple great friends who get me).
Growing up in an only-child environment with divorced parents for the bulk of my childhood, I spent much of my time alone, learning how to be content with myself and rarely having to rely on others to keep me entertained. In the majority of my hardest times, I learned how to self-sooth early on, cope with the traumas of everyday life and the fears that come along with some of the most common aspects of living under unique circumstances that most others around me couldn't relate to (such as being the only mixed little girl in my Salt Lake City, Utah elementary school, being scrutinized for having a white mom [which apparently meant I was adopted] and the racism that comes along with growing up in a city that has around 2.7% blacks.
I was also a very weird child, which I learned after sharing my seemingly normal paranormal experiences and realizing that most other people don't see, feel and hear the things I always have. I was also a very intelligent child, which meant I wasn't foolish enough to continue sharing these depths of oddities, so instead I learned how to adjust and fit in like a "normal" person. It only took me sharing with friends twice (and receiving the, "you're weeeiiird" response) before I determined I didn't want to be the weird one, so I kept these things to myself.
However, even while eliminating the opportunities to showcase my weirdness, I was still the odd one out, simply due to the racial facts I mentioned above. When you're the only black or mixed person in your school (besides Erika, who was in my 2nd grade class but transferred schools soon after), you have no choice but to stick out. Even if I wasn't actually weird, I was still weird, by default. Oh, I also wasn't Mormon. And my parents didn't "match" me (skin color) and that was weird. Oh, and my hair was curly, which apparently was really weird. Okay, you get it...the list goes on and I'm no victim of circumstance, so I'm moving on now.
Needless to say, I learned how to keep things to myself, for a number of reasons, and became a Master Keeper-to-Myselfer. Even in relationships, most of my partners didn't really know who I was. The complaint has consistently been, "You're closed off and private. I never know what you're really thinking and I feel like there's something you're not telling me." -- Well yeah, I'm not telling you how I'm actually sitting here looking at spirits and communicating with angels while you watch this movie. I'm just pretending to watch the movie, too. Duh.
There's a whole category of people who miss out by not allowing themselves to be weird enough. - Alain de Botton
I have a new resolution, though...I'm going to start sharing. This seems very simple for most of you, I'm sure, but for me it comes after years of painful experiences where sharing even small percentages of my truths has created isolation and at some points complete disconnection and torment from those I've been closest to. From those experiences, I've had to determine what matters most to me: fitting in with our society, being part of the pack and riding the waves of normality or accepting the fact that I'm exceptionally unusual, have never actually related to nearly anyone I've known and may spend the rest of my life in societal exile as that one weirdo who kept talking about weird things that made others feel weird. I can tell even my dog wonders what the hell I'm doing when I wake up at 3AM and proceed to do the weird things weird people who wake up at 3AM do.
So I'm warning you now: sharing my journey of supernatural knowledge and unconventional beliefs (that stem from said supernatural knowledge) may not be for you. However, maybe so. Either way, that's none of my concern; besides, all the Greats were considered weirdos first (well, except Beyonce, she doesn't count). Then again, all the crazies were first considered weirdos too, so I guess we'll see which category I actually fall under years down the line when I'm either living in a mansion next to Blue Ivy or I'm in a bunker in the desert hiding from aliens. It really could go either way, I'm sure.