Once, in junior high, in that typical, foolish, heartbreaking way we all seem to have of discovering the truth about our true love’s feelings, my best friend asked the boy of my dreams if he liked me.
“Well, kind of,” he said, “but she’s kind of, you know, different?”
I was crushed. It was, after all, junior high, and I wanted to fit in. Flash forward twenty years, and I’m breaking up with my boyfriend. He’s apparently still in junior high and feels a need to hurt me in as many ways as possibly during our final discussion.
But he’s unsuccessful, in part because he starts out with this: “you’re kind of offbeat, you know? Different?”
Nailed it, possibly for the first time in our relationship. Finally seemed to show some sort of understanding of who I am. A little offbeat, beat of a different drummer, all that.
Except as one wise man once told me, everyone who’s anti-establishment is anti-establishment in the same way, and the same holds true with being offbeat. It’s not as different as all that. It’s just another way of being in this world.
It’s taken me a long time to finally appreciate that with all my quirks, my social faux pas, my awkward moments — and those are bountiful — I’m still at heart someone who offers more than she takes, and that is immensely valuable in today’s world.
My friends like me for all of quirks, qualities and goofy ways. They like me despite my screw ups and because of my kind heart and sense of humor. They are quality people, so I’ve begun to see myself as one, too.
You are known by the company you keep, and you know who your friends are when trouble washes over you. My friends have proven my best qualities, time and again.
So here I stand, and here I stay.
Image Credits: © UBE — Fotolia