Whimsy Over Normal

I can't think of a time in my life when I was ever considered normal. There’s always been something a little offbeat, a little magical, in the way I see the world.

Some people wear rose-colored glasses and call it optimism. I’ve always preferred to view life with a whimsical heart.

While others work tirelessly to fit into molds shaped by expectations, I’ve wandered down cobblestone paths no one else noticed, talked to shadows like old friends, and collected stories in raindrops. I never felt the urge to be what society labeled “ordinary.” In fact, the very idea of normal has always felt limiting — like trying to cage a firefly in a jar and pretending it doesn’t long for the wild.

There’s a quiet bravery in embracing what makes us different. Whimsy requires courage. It means letting your imagination speak louder than logic, following intuition even when it defies explanation, and choosing softness in a world that often praises hardness.

People sometimes ask, “Why don’t you try to be more practical?” But practicality doesn’t stir the soul. They don’t see that there is power in being unpredictable — in finding beauty where others see brokenness, in dancing through life to a rhythm only you can hear.

So no, I don’t think I was ever meant to be normal. And I’m grateful for that.

Normal doesn’t light up the sky. It doesn’t start revolutions, rewrite stories, or scribble poetry in the margins of your soul.

But whimsy — whimsy does. It sings when the world goes quiet. It turns the mundane into magic.

Being different isn’t a weakness. It’s a wonder.

And I’d rather be a little odd and deeply alive than perfectly normal and quietly fading.