It’s interesting how affected I am by other people’s ideas of who I am. Even when they are completely wrong.
Going back home, to the SF Bay Area, to stay with my folks is always a challenge. The house they live in is the same one I grew up in.
The memories I have associated with my home town aren’t necessarily fond ones. I have changed a tremendous amount since I left Palo Alto, but sometimes it’s hard for people to see this.
I love my parents deeply, and I respect them, too. But, surprise, surprise, they still see me as their little girl. Even though I am 50 now. I don’t believe this will ever change.
I suppose the only thing I can do, is continually remind myself that I’m not the same individual that I was in high school. Or college. Or when I was in my 40’s. It’s easy, though to fall into old patterns of relating to parents and friends, and forget about the progress I’ve made.
My uniqueness, and my artistic temperament have tended to be seen as odd at the least, but more often read as craziness. I truly believe that all of us are a little bit crazy. That normal does not exist. That being a creative person means that I think in ways that are unusual, and often not respected by people who don’t understand this.
I’ve learned that not everyone is gifted with the same amount of intuition, that those who don’t possess it, dismiss it’s existence completely. It’s kind of like a sixth sense.
Much of my most effective thinking occurs in moments of non-linear thought. When I strain and strain in an analytical manner attempting to answer questions that have plagued me forever, I get nowhere. But, when I let my mind rest, and relax, sometimes I get the most revelatory of answers.
To those of you who have also been viewed as strange, and atypical, my heart goes out to you. It’s not easy feeling like you can’t fit in anywhere. My life has been quite lonely, and I haven’t felt seen on so many different levels. I don’t think I’m alone in these feelings of aloneness.
I might never change other people’s minds about my essential nature. I can, however, see myself with my own sense of knowing. Value who I have been, who I am, and who I’m becoming. And enjoy the gifts I’ve been blessed with, even if I’m the only person who sees them. Being a weirdo can be a curse. But it doesn’t have to be.