I’ve always wanted to be the one to stand out, highschool saw me in a mullet with dangling earrings and a leather jacket with chains and a lock, always carrying a knife and working on theater projects.
I moved on to the USAF as a motorcycle guy, questioning his sexuality and budding surrealist poet. I left that life for college, hosting poetry readings, smoking pot, trying to define myself as a suicidal genius.
I decided to step it up a notch in undergrad and live in a trailer. Trying to be weird in a world in weirdos. What I found is I was always trying to be rejected by those around me because I went farther then they dared go.
I entered grad school with a purple mohawk. I found the same strange bedfellows and experienced the same rejection. Maybe I was trying to hard. Maybe my weird, my bizzare was to not be bizzare in their definition, but in my own.
I left the academics and started the career journey. I was always known as the interesting one because I’d drop a nugget here or there in conversation. I gained some friends along the way, and was able to open my true nature to them.
Now I sit here, figuring out my weird again. Making it palatable to others but maintaining the kernel of truth. I’m going to see where my bizzare takes me, it’s a much more interesting journey. And life is not who ends up with the most coin, rather the best stories.