I am so comfortable choosing the odd and have always been for as long as I can remember. When I was six-years-old, during a visit to my grandparent's house in Gallup, NM just before Thanksgiving, my family and I ventured to a city park. I was a fan of playing on the bars. Remember those days? Hopping up on the bars, spinning and flipping around? Well, back then, that was my thing. I played on the bars. At this playground, I ran over to the parallel bars. For those of you who spent your childhood prior to the 90's, you'll remember that our playgrounds consisted of mostly metal equipment sometimes paired with wooden posts. Nothing like the playground equipment of today and certainly not padded with wood chips or the like. We played on dirt (with rocks in it) on metal equipment. These parallel bars were long metal 10 foot poles anchored by wooden posts on each side. Not unusual. One of the parallel bars was bent the other was perfectly straight. I distinctly remember thinking to myself as I approached the bars, "I'm not at all bothered by that bent one, I'll hop up on that one." (Or something like that.) So I did. I grabbed the bar and hopped up lifting myself up so that my waist would have met my hands. But I did not. Instead, the wooden posts broke and the bar came down right on top of me across my stomach sending me flat on my back to the ground. Here I was, this scrawny six-year-old, flat on my back with this long metal pole on top of me. Like those stories you hear about women lifting cars off of their children or something crazy, my stick-like arms mustered the strength of a 12 year-old and pushed that bar off of me. Long story short (and after a trip to the emergency room where we was told I was fine), this attraction and acceptance of the odd left me vomiting blood on the way home to Albuquerque later that day, Dad receiving a police escort to the hospital after being pulled over for speeding, a tube down my nose which was the conduit for ice-cold water to the stomach to induce vomiting, internal bleeding from no one knew where, a not fun hospital stay in Gallup, a lawsuit from a very angry Nana to the city, a long trip back home to find out I was about a pint of blood short and finally a nifty little blood transfusion.
Still, I find myself drawn to what's different. And honestly, I know I'd still choose the bent bar over the straight one today. I can't help it.
Typically, we are drawn to symmetry and things "colored within the lines" in most every aspect. This is not wrong of course. There is no right or wrong here. I'm talking preference. Preference and contentment. I prefer the odd and am perfectly content with the imperfect. I have been told that I need to stop trying to be perfect. I find it funny that some see me as that because I'm so drawn to the "imperfect". I strive to do the best at what I am doing when I am given a task. I like to be "put together". I like a clean house. These things do not have to do with me being perfect. They have to do with what I am a steward over. Different altogether and for another discussion.
So, please forgive me if you find me staring at something that you may find odd. I am simply appreciating beauty. Odd is beautiful.