It is a curse disguised as a cure for your soul-sickness, wrapped in a perfect package like a dainty chocolate truffle dusted with gold leaf and neatly cradled inside a ruffled liner. It is hard to resist the temptation to slide that little morsel between your lips and feel the immediate satisfaction of giving in to what is expected of you.
It promises everything: safety, community, release from the burden of carving out your own path. Just one taste and you can have the illusion of being just like the others. Just one taste and you can strip away your accountability and sense of self, your teeth and your bite for the simple comfort of not having to question anything, least of all your place in this world.
That's the problem with poison: it always seems like such a good idea at the time. And it always looks so lovely: an apothecary's cure-all dram poured and stoppered in a vial just for you. A quick fix for something that will only heal by prying loose the stitches used to hold colorless clothes together (all the better to blend in). Or better yet, to wear your bright colors like a second skin, as loud and untamed as your unruly hair. Still better, your remedy is in reveling in the dusty hue of your skin (there is no need to hide from the light, no need to keep yourself interminably pale like those parasitic grub worms). But that takes work. And so much heart. You simply want to taste that rush of sugar and feel-good tingles up and down your spine...that quickly fade, leaving you with a gnawing hunger stronger than ever before.
Let that emptiness be your wake-up call. Let the gnawing hunger in your belly be the reminder that you were never normal and so normal will never be for you. There is no cure for being who you are. There is no cure for your whispers that sound likes shouts to people not used to listening or the way you seem to live in a technicolor dream. There is no need to be less.
So forget about normal. That dirty, filthy excuse for a word. Forget about condemning yourself to a life of cheerful oblivion. And don't you dare demean yourself for being other. (It is a gift, not a punishment.) Be the weed that grows--thrives--from a crack in the earth no matter how hard other might try to uproot it. Be the sliver of moonlight peeking through bedroom curtains illuminating a dreamer's heart. Be the wind's wild and restless song, without end, implacable with its message.
Simply let yourself be.
Enchantment Learning & Living is an inspirational collection of musings touching on life’s simple pleasures, everyday enchantments, and delectable recipes that will guarantee to stir the kitchen witch in you. If you enjoyed what you just read and believe that true magic is in the everyday, subscribe here.