December 8: Beautifully Different

Prompt: Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

(Author: Karen Walrond — The Beauty of Different — @chookooloonks9

Okay. Just going to roll with it.

I like weird things with numbers. 3/5/6 or 1/1/11. or 12:34 or 11:11 (that’s a popular one). My dad made a joke about $.07 one time, but I just cannot for the life of me remember what it was, but I know we laughed about it for quite some time. So whenever I get or give seven cents (where’s that damned cents symbol?), I think of him. My favorite number is 5, and I *really* have a thing for fives.

I have slightly OCD tendencies like that. I count things. Tiles in bathrooms and kitchens. Patterns. I try to make things work out in evens or odds (if it makes the pattern fit). This is especially true if I’m bored or having to wait somewhere.

I always had bad penmanship as a kid, but now I get compliments on my font all the time. It’s a hybrid of cursive and print and depending on the situation/occasion, it can take on different attributes. Even when I think it’s all scrawly and shitty, I still get compliments on it.

My favorite color is blue. I am *very* dedicated to that. There are so many different shades of it and so many different facets to the color. I’m very taken by it, and I feel drawn to it in almost a supernatural way. You can bet if there’s a blue option to something, I’ll be there. My love for blue is just visceral.

I love to swim. I love to be in water. I was raised in a house on a lake, and we spent all of our summers swimming. These are some of my fondest memories — the times spent in and on our lake, and all of the various things and people we did them with. I am not a natural athlete; I don’t keen to running and jumping and playing sports with rules and balls and scores (at least formal ones — ones made up in our backyards suited me just fine). But there is something about swimming that affords me a freedom that I don’t know any other time except for when I am on a bicycle. The way my body is supported by the water, leaving me to propel myself around leisurely, quickly, or not at all. There’s something fascinating and delightful about a good float. I feel genuine pity for those who cannot or will not swim; for those who have never learned or for those who have no interest in the magic of being in the water. I am much out of shape these days, so a lot of the things that I used to be able to do when I was younger, thinner, stronger and faster aren’t at my disposal, but I still hold fast to the knowledge of the water that I have and that I trust and believe in with all my soul. The water is my friend and yet, it is to be respected and wisely feared. I am not scared of it, but I hold it in high regard. I know when to play with it and push my limits and I know when to back off and let it show me that it’s winning. I know that easy does it works best in the water. I know that the more I relax, the more energy I’ll have, the further I’ll go and the better off I’ll be in a bad situation (at least in the water). I know not to let a drowning person take me down (at least in the water). I know that if I don’t bring my swimsuit to somewhere there even remotely might be a pool, I’ll regret not having it with me. Bringing it often indicates I won’t go near the pool, but safe is always better than sorry in that case.

I have naturally “dirty blonde” or “ash blonde” hair, but I often like to keep it platinum or white.

I love words and wordsmithing and everything with words. Like I learned once that much like the romance languages have masculine and feminine forms of words, there are a few in English that do, too. Like if you write blond for a guy, it’s without the e. Girls, blonde. It makes me mad for some reason, but I still do it now because I read that somewhere. Got to be proper about it all.

I love board and card games. I always think it’s weird when someone doesn’t.

Speaking of which, I am very competitive at board and card games, but I am also eminently fair. Even if it means I’d lose, I always want to be on the right side of the instructions. Speaking of, I’m one of the only people that ever wants to read all of the instructions in a board game and/or the person given the instructions to read. I also would one day like to play the extended/challenge/extra portions of a game one time.

If we play for money, it’s a whole other ball game. I’m still fair and I’m still in it to win it, but things take on a minorly different tone. Money’s money.

Speaking of ball games, I love baseball. I guess it’s because it’s the only sport I really learned anything about from my dad. I didn’t play it (my sister played softball), but I love baseball. It certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s in the summer, has a long history and it just romantic as all get out.

I love to read. I’ll read shit while I’m standing in line or end up reading the whole menu somewhere if forced to wait a long time. That’s always dangerous for you, the owner, because then those grammar/proofreading skills come out and all bets are off. I learned to read when I was 2.5 years old and have been an avid reader since. I don’t read as much these days, and as I was typing this, I realize it’s because I am still reading a LOT, all the time, constantly — just in bits and pieces and heres and theres on the internet. It is good for me when I go to the library and get a book and really lose myself in it on the el or on the couch or whatever. It’s an entirely different experience, and I need to remember to make time for it.

I also love to drive. I didn’t get my license at 16 and I didn’t get it in WI, where I was born and raised. Instead, I got it at 19 in IL and have had one since. I feel sort of like a baby who gets comforted/soothed by a long car ride. When I’m irritable and restless and don’t know what to do with myself, I always wish I had a car to get into and drive away in. It’s even more tangible in the summertime, when I can roll the windows down and crank the music and just get lost in the night air and the warm breeze. I guess it’s really the modern equivalent of riding off in the night on a horse or something. There’s just something about being in motion that just allows my mind to settle. I love road trips and I love zooming around. I would love to try my hand at racing on a track and I would love to get my hands on a really nice car and throw down on the Autobahn. These are bucket list items.

Music. I guess I can carry a tune here or there, but I love to listen to music. Go to see live shows. Be on the radio ( — Fridays, 12-3). Dance. Do karaoke. I have a list a mile long, but I guess for me, it starts and ends with The Beatles. Today is the 30th anniversary of John Lennon getting shot, by the way. Sigh. Music, music, music.

I don’t know if any of these things make me “different.” I don’t know. I have irrational phobias of tumbleweeds, band-aids, sticky things, big signs. Does that make me beautiful? Not sure.

I struggle with every day to try and accept my physical body for what it is so I can move toward getting a better grasp on changing it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in the idea that I can’t really begin to want to be good to myself until I can love myself right where I am. But, that’s not what this post is about.

I’m a night owl.
I like my bacon medium.
I don’t like cooked fruit.
I love the way heels look, but I find them hard to wear anymore.
I have one tattoo and want more.
I have a hard time letting go of things.


One thought on “December 8: Beautifully Different

  1. Is it the joke about the herring costing $.07 and the bread $.07, but the woman claiming it doesn’t add up to $.14, it adds up to $.11?

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