When we are young we want nothing more than to fit in. But in where? I wished to fit in, to be normal. I was painfully shy and socially awkward. I felt restrained by a barrier laced with fear of vulnerability and judgement separating myself from sincerely interacting with the world. The more comfortable I became with myself and the less I felt obliged to “fit in” I recognized a new word used casually in my affiliation, “weird”. Initially I was hurt, why am I not normal, what about my being is so distinctly different? I considered why these “normal” people were labeling me as weird, what exactly was weird being defined as? Weird as in I am different than them? They don’t fully understand me and my actions so they call me weird instead of different? When I began to embrace my interpretation of this lovely weirdness I reveled in my new distinction. Why in this vastly, beautifully diverse world would I want to be normal? Average? So what if I danced in the hallways, or laughed like a hyena, or spoke my honest thoughts. Let them point and stare and talk behind your back. The ones that classified my antics as weird haven’t discovered the brilliant freedom of embracing the rejection of uniformity. I’m happier for it, all of the wonderful weirdness.