The Art Of Being A Weirdo

I was in the bus, traveling to my regular destination with the regular people (I hate routines!). I usually do not pay attention to whatever gibberish they gossip about but one topic certainly caught my attention.

“What do you want to do when you become an adult?”

I felt the usual rush of adrenaline at this. “I know what I want to do!”, I thought , a pit of excitement opening in my stomach at the very words. But I stayed silent (I wanted to hear them out first.).

One of them said after a long pause and looking as if contemplating over a century old philosophical question, “I ‘think’ I want t’ become…….. a doctor.” I thought, “OK, pretty cool.”

The other one said, “Lawyer.”

Then, “I just wanna have a good job.”

Again another doctor.

I cleared my throat and without wanting to, turned their ‘superior’ gazes towards me.

“I want to become a travel journalist”, I muttered meekly.

Yep! You guessed what happened after that. I got questions like, “Aren’t you afraid to fall on your face and die with the bitter of ash of failure in your mouth?” No, I wasn’t. Another one , “But you may never settle down.” Don’t intend to.


I felt like the ultimate weirdo of the group (What’s new? Any guesses? Bingo! Nothing) like usual. But I realized that there was a certain beauty to it. I was like ice water in a desert of warm oasis’. A lone chocolate chip in a bowl of butterscotch ice cream. An electric guitar among cellos and accordions.

I felt different but somehow good. Euphoric even. There was once upon a time when I used to curse my preferences. A constant nag used to haunt me that i wasn’t normal. That there was something wrong with me. An obvious thought when you catch yourself looking at the time around the world in that yet-to-be-discovered ,for many of you, world clock ( Check your phone, and stop goggling dumbly). Daydreaming about being in New York and then Rome and then Moscow and then Tokyo………………….


A little too often.

It turns out that I was absolutely right. For the first time in forever , my mind actually ‘thought’ something that wasn’t false or a rant or your regular supermarket daydream (Wink). I wasn’t normal. But there was nothing wrong with me. I was just born an artist. Destined to master the art of being weird. Who knew it was travel that will take me towards mastery? Who knew that I was a red sunflower? For once, I didn’t.

Many of you may go though this mental torture everyday. “I am so not normal.” “I don’t fit in.” “No one likes me.” and blah….

But do you realize that you were born special? That you had the streak of artistry that manifested itself in the form of external weirdness (I am weird in and out though)?

This world is a big boiling cauldron of mediocrity. But you do not fit in that caldron and you repel the contents of it (Mediocrity).


So next time your overly active mind decides to remind you ‘bout all the ways you don’t fit in, say thank you to it and shout out from the cliff of your self esteem,” I am an artist and my ART INCLUDES BEING WEIRD.”

I call out to all my fellow weirdos.

Lizzie Life


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