But the thing is, I continue to believe about myself that my weirdness is really more quirky than anything… and I continue to believe that the people in this world who I most want to be around — be they friends or more — are those people who appreciate my quirkiness, who love my passion for the oddities of the world, and who want to do weird things with me.
Last December, my therapist gave me a particularly helpful homework assignment; she had me ask the people who are closest to me to tell me what makes me unique — what do they like best about me. I greatly appreciated everything that everyone wrote in response to my request, but germane here is this observation:
“I’m sure lots of people will tell you about how smart and caring and considerate you are. Let me try to highlight a couple things that might be a little less obvious. 1. The degree to which you enjoy things. Whether it’s hounds, or Paris, or the French Horn, you approach your interests with a remarkable passion. I don’t think many people get such enjoyment out of life.”
Yes! Gary was so right — I do approach everything with a zest that is rare, and I’ve come to appreciate those people who will, at the very least, indulge my random passions. Even better are those who will come along for the ride. Join me at a musical. Soak up the atmosphere on the patio at Bongo Java. Go for a stroll at the park in Smyrna, even if it’s almost dark and not quite the safest thing ever. I could go on. And on. And on.
I’ve had a couple of experiences in the last month or two where I’ve wanted to share these things that captivate my interest, make my face light up with enthusiasm, and just make me smile — wanted to share them with people who’ve come into my life and who I’ve been trying to get to know. Sometimes, they say yes … they’ll go along with my quirks and have fun, if for no other reason than I can be so darned entertaining when I get so worked up over something. Other times, they just flat-out refuse… and while I’m not here to turn my circle of people into perfect Liz clones — I certainly get that not everyone’s into the same things I am — well. It just kinda crushes my groove.
Case in point. A month ago, I was SO FREAKING JAZZED that Guy Forsyth was coming to town. I rave about Guy to anyone who will listen (and some people who will not) constantly, and I invited everyone I know to come see him. Many of my good friends had perfectly valid excuses, and I don’t fault them for that … but some just didn’t really care to tag along, and others weren’t willing to inconvenience themselves in the slightest. In the end, the only people who showed up were two people I barely know from Vanderbilt and a guy I went out with a few times without any real chemistry, but who was willing to drop everything with only about 6 hours’ notice and meet me to watch. And he loved Guy… loved Guy so much, in fact, that he bought a CD at the show and stayed afterwards to get Guy to autograph it. Had he not done that, I wouldn’t have gotten to talk to Guy and the band that night. In other words, because some random date guy was willing to take a chance on something *I* love, he had a fantastic time AND I did something I never would have done otherwise. That’s what I’m talking about.
My enthusiasm for the oddities of the world needs an audience… otherwise, it’s way less fun. I forced my mom to stop at Dinosaur World en route to the family reunion, and it was fantastic, but if I’d been driving by alone, I never would have stopped. I can amuse myself, yes, but it’s SO much more fun to amuse someone else and myself at the same time.
I never used to be the sort of person who believed my friends (or dates) needed to share my interests, and I’m still not. In fact, I really like it when I meet people who enjoy different things than I do, because that represents areas for potential growth and learning something new and fun. I like challenging my assumptions and broadening my horizons — it may not always feel super comfortable to do so at the time, but I’m almost always happy I did so afterwards. I want people to share their passions with me … and I want them to at least try to share my passions, too. Otherwise, this part of me that aches to be silly and dorky and quirky just feels … well … sad.