I’ve long known that I have quirky traits. But if I had any doubts, I’d only have to be an observer of my own life to have the proof.
I have a garden that looks like this:
And yet I buy fresh flowers at the market for my spring vignettes. Why? Because I don’t like to pick my own flowers. I’d rather have them alive in my garden instead of dying in my house. The market flowers are already cut. I don’t mind bringing them home. That’s a quirk.
Here’s another one of mine…I dislike dolls. Even as a child I despised them, preferring games, trains, and chemistry sets over any type of doll. Except Barbie dolls. I didn’t mind them so much.
I allow the doll pictured above to reside in my house because she’s vintage, belonged to a family member…and her teeth aren’t showing. If she had a wicked grin on her porcelain face, she would be living with one of my kids!
I thought a lot about quirkiness today. I looked the word quirk up. Its origins are unknown, but the word first came into use early in the 16th century. It’s original meaning was “an unexpected twist or turn”.
I love that. Quirky is when the ordinary goes slightly askew, off center, takes a detour and becomes extraordinary. I hid my quirkiness as best I could for a long time, attempting to blend in and appear normal. And how dull is that? Fortunately, I have had great people in my life who were unafraid to be who they were, quirks and all. From the high school classmate who floated beautifully through life, not caring what anyone thought of her totally out of style (and very cool) clothing choices, to creative friends who create unusual and thought provoking art, to lovely souls within my own family who are equally insulted by the label “normal”, I have been encouraged to be who I am.
So I’m ok with myself, and that I like snakes and spiders, but not slugs. I accept that my sense of smell is unique. I can tell when dinner is ready in the crockpot by the way it smells. My nose can detect the difference between a plant I want to keep in my garden and a weed by sniffing a crushed leaf. And speaking of senses, I have a sixth one, that I call my spider sense. I’m aware of an invisible network of energy around me, sending information to me similar to the way a spider is alerted when something brushes against her silken web. I’m intuitive and empathic and animals and kids are drawn to me. My dreams are lucid and I can change them, rewind them or stop them at will. I am…quirky.
You might be quirky if you love to explore, if curiosity compels you, if you have amazing ideas for crazy inventions or unusual books. Quirky people don’t follow the crowd, create their own trends and fads, don’t mind being alone, and love to try new things. Quirkiness frees the mind and heart to take the road less traveled, allows the body to dance to music only it can hear, lets the imagination soar.
It also draws criticism, snickers and looks like this:
It’s okay if quirks aren’t understood or appreciated by anyone else.
I’m grateful that when I chose to embrace who I am, and live from a whole heart, I also embraced my quirks. I don’t hide any more. Accepting my quirkiness allows me to see and accept and applaud other people’s quirks. It’s a daily celebration, of gifts, talents and quirks, of extraordinary life in all its strange and wondrous diversity. I am partying on.
