I’m often told, in one way or another, that I am not normal.
I never take it as an insult, even if it’s intended to be, because what does “normal” even mean?
To me, “normal” is boring, inside the box, scared, bland.
I’ve been called strange, quirky, interesting, loud, “out there” (sometimes to my face!) and I am so happy to report that I love each and every one of these descriptions.
The next time I wish upon a star, I’ll wish everyone can take a step away from normal, to see how freeing and exciting the other side is. I hope you put on an outfit and think “I think this looks rad, even though I know it’s super bizarre,” and then I hope you wear it for the entire day, even in public. I hope when people ask you what you believe, you tell them without worrying what they may think, and when someone asks you your dreams, I hope you don’t edit them in any way, even if it is finding a cure for cancer or raising a family on the moon, or becoming a really great gardener. I hope you don’t hold back with the people you love because you don’t like the mushy stuff or maybe they don’t like the mushy stuff. I hope you hug and kiss and shout “I love you” in their face and make them feel so awkward with all the mushy stuff.
I hope you say what’s on your mind, even if it might surprise someone. I hope you work to change the mold on what society expects of you. I hope you terrify people with how daring your decisions are, and make them wish they were that brave. I hope you sing really loudly even if your voice sounds like shit, and I hope you remain positive, even when you have no money because every dime goes to student loans and dog food. I hope no one calls you normal. Ever.
I seriously like you all a lot.