I’m a weirdo. A misfit.
I’ve always felt at home with creatives, hippies, punks, nerds, outsiders, and all the people who “care too much.” The ones who get misty-eyed over something someone shares, goosebumps at a sunset, and fired up about causes most people gave up on years ago.
But for a long time, I pushed that part of me down.
I repressed it to fit in. To make a living. To play the role I thought life required.
Then came my midlife crisis; the crash that became the catalyst for getting sober.
And in the slow process of sobriety, I became reacquainted with this part of myself. The misfit in me. The part that never stopped caring, never stopped feeling, never stopped wanting to live wide awake.
People say it’s “too much.” Too sensitive. Too intense. Too weird.
But here’s the truth:
That “too much” is my favorite part of me.
That’s the aliveness.
That’s the love.
That’s the magic.
So if you are a misfit, please remember that being this way doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you refuse to pretend.
And in a world obsessed with fitting in, standing out might just be the bravest thing of all.