Meeting Me Where I Live

For most of my life, I’ve felt like an oddball. An outsider. A square peg in a round hole.

Perhaps that’s because I was uprooted from New England at age 10, and plopped smack dab in the middle of the rural south. In a tent. Or maybe it was because I was liberal in a red state for 40 years. I was also a girl who never wore make up, and preferred tonka trucks to dolls. Like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I just didn’t fit in.

Because of this, on the rare occasion when I encounter someone who gets me, I’m so relieved that I feel like weeping. It is only in moments like those that I realize what a heavy burden it is to be different. It’s exhausting, always having to explain oneself or justify one’s actions. And then there’s the constant second guessing. “Nobody else has this opinion. Does that mean I’m wrong?”

When someone meets me where I live, deep in the heart of me, I know I’m home. And it’s so nice to have someone right there, in my home. It makes me realize how lonely I am the rest of the time.

If you find someone who truly understands you, dear reader, cherish that person. It’s a miraculous thing when two unicorns meet. Rainbows have been known to happen.

purple-unicorns

Like the way my weird mind works? Then you’ll enjoy my book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5

 

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