I read the other day a post about crazy people making the best bloggers.
And I thought they so do. And then I thought but I’m not crazy, in my head in one of those tones. I heard myself say it in my head (I did, yes, stop staring at me like that) sort of self-assured. Like the notes you would hear from ladies with silver-blue in their hair, bent over afternoon tea on their front porch on a sunny summer day. The two of them politely dance around one another in barely polite conversation–making hints about each others obvious superiority because neither come right out and admit they hate each other and have no idea why they’ve put up with each other for so long…stop to ponder one of the Jones’ children as he bycycles past. They eye each other without speaking and mmhmmmmmm at one another, bringing their heads even closer over the sugar cubes to viciously gossip about little Timmy Jones’ entire family. Yeah. In that tone.
But I’m not crazy.
And then I got to thinking–and as many of you know, that’s never really a good thing. I got to thinking…what if we’re all nuts? What if we’re all a little bit off our rockers and we’re all looking at one another pointing fingers and going, see? See–that’s nuts. What that person did was crazier than what I’d do so I’m all right…Right?
But what if it’s okay to be a little crazy?
When we’re children we do and say things that as adults we would never dream of saying. We feel things that as adults, we tend to hold in because it isn’t ‘acceptable’ in the work place or ‘feasible’ at home and we can’t ‘break down in front of the children,’ because we’re some cosmic force of perfection that is end all and be all of mundane sanity. We can’t dream in butterflies past the age of 20 and we certainly shouldn’t paint our walls anything but beige. Beige and off white. Or is that eggshell still?
Remember when we were kids and it was okay to be crazy about collecting rocks or putting straws up our noses just to get a laugh out of someone? Do you remember when it was okay to put your blanket around your shoulders, cackling, and telling people you were a super hero? If we did that now–how many people would just outright stare and how many would quietly inch away from you and leave?
Sure, there’s a difference between actual mental illnesses that need medical prevention. I get that. But I’m talking about all of us wandering around trapped in the worlds inside of our heads–constantly worried about what people will think of us if we walk this way, say something like this, move like that, laugh a little too much, smile too wide, dress too brightly, dye our hair unnatural colors, be too tall, slouch too much, wear too much make up, not enough make up, eat this way or don’t eat this way–and none of us are normal. None of us should be. What is normal? Why is normal something to be achieved?
Some people think painting your nails in different, wild and bright colors for hours is crazy. Others believe rolling down your windows on a beautiful and mild day in the car, cranking the tunes and singing at the top of your lungs with the radio as people rubber neck to ogle you oddly down the highway is crazy. There’s the belief that love is crazy and makes you crazy. There are people who think other people are crazy-beautiful, crazy-awesome, crazy-good, crazy-smart and crazy-wonderful. There are couples out there right now crazy in love, artists crazy with creativity.
And I wonder if some small amount of crazy is the right thing to be.
So go on, paint your nails. Dye your hair. Laugh as loud as you want. Wear white after labor day. Smile bright and smile wide. We’re all a little batty here in the blogger world and in the big bad real world, too. You fit right in with the rest of us humans pretending to know what is normal and failing miserably at it.
I say to hell with normal. Bring me my hot pink leopard pants and flamingos for my lawn.