The Beat of My Own Drummer

"You tie your shoes really strangely," my sister stated.

I looked at her nonplussed.

"I never taught you to tie your shoes like that," my Mum chimed in.

"Someone must have," I huffed, suddenly feeling like some young child incapable of tying my own shoes.

"No one else in our family ties them that way," my Mum replied.

After vetoing making some snide remark about possibly being adopted (since CLEARLY I am NOT - if you want to know what I'll be like when I'm 60-something, you just have to meet my Mum) I said; "I dunno, I must have re-taught myself this way, because it works for me." finishing off my right shoelace with a flourish before standing up and heading out the door.

At the time, I was just trying to justify the way I tie my shoes – attempting to prove I am not a freak, but the more I think about that day, the more I realize that it is true – not the fact that I am a freak – the fact that I do things my own way.

I am taught things one way and I generally find another way that works best for me and I go with it. Not that I am ungrateful for the initial guidance, it is just I find an approach that works better for me.

Just this past weekend I bought a new filing cabinet that came – “some assembly required” and C and I set to work assembling it. C began looking at the instructions – I began eyeing the pieces and identifying them based on how they looked: “these are the sides of the drawers, these are the fronts of the drawers, these must be the drawer backs, etc. So as C started reading the instructions and finding parts ‘4’, ‘6’ & ‘7’ I was eying the packet of screws and dowels and determining what I needed for where in order to put it all together.

If I had been left to my own devices I would have assembled it in the order in which it made sense (assembling it properly, mind you, but not following the same steps as outlined on the instructions). C, seeming put-out by my random order of assembly, made me feel I should at least give the appearance of following the instructions.

I would have gotten to the same spot in the end – the proper assembly of the filing cabinet – just not by following the steps as outlined.

If my Mum could have input into this blog post, no doubt she would tell an embarrassing story about how I used to crawl; not on all fours like most babies, but sitting up, with my legs folded in front of me, the bottoms of my feet together and holding onto my toes, I would scoot along the floor on my butt, using my heels to pull me along – no doubt destroying countless diapers in the process – but since she doesn’t have input I’m safe – wait, hang on a sec – someone tell me why I am telling embarrassing stories about myself now?

The point is that way worked for me, and the other point is, I honestly don’t mind outing myself.

Though I sometimes get self-conscious about things, there are certain things that I do the way I do because it works for me and I don’t particularly care if others think it odd.

In the middle of winter I often get asked at work “Aren’t you cold?” as the questioner scrutinizes my sandals (without “stockings”) and my short-sleeved or sleeveless top. To which I outwardly say; “No, I’m comfortable.” While inwardly saying; “I’m inside. The temperature is the same in January as it is in August! I don’t walk to work in bare feet; I change my shoes when I get to work.” I get annoyed because I think it’s a dumb question – not because they think I’m oddly dressed for the weather.

The funny thing is, in a lot of cases I don’t mind being a bit different – not being a sheep and following the rest of the herd.

I like that I dance in my kitchen when there’s no music playing – simply because I’m happy.

I like that I can untie my double-knotted shoelaces by just pulling on a free lace.

I like that I can be humourous and slightly flippant at work sometimes.

I like that I am content to wear what is comfortable, wheter it be fashionable or not.

Do I care if someone sees me being goofy? For the most part; not really. If they care about me, they’ll understand and accept it – if they don’t care about me – then why should I care about their opinion?

Excuse, me – I have to go into the kitchen and jitterbug just a bit before I tie my shoes and head to work in my sleeveless top.