Identity

When I was in high school, white bucks were all the rage (thank you Pat Boone) along with saddle shoes, and I loved the style BUT, and it was a big but, I didn't want to be exactly like everyone else.

Finally, I found a pair that zipped instead of tied: my mother bought them for me. I loved them.

I don't think it was so different that many people noticed. I knew. I could straddle the line between acceptance and having my own identity.

Some societies believes the nail that stick out should be hammered down. To a certain extent the Swiss are like that.

Years later at my first Swiss job, a co-worker wore Christmas decoration earrings. We had a young apprentice working with us and she adored them but confessed she would never have the courage to wear them.

How sad to live in fear of being even slightly different. What opportunities are missed?

My daughter must have caught the spirit from me. She insisted on wearing jeans (good ones) to a concert where she played the bassoon. Every other young musician was in dress pants.

I had two reactions:

1. That's not my kid.
2. That's my kid!!!
Being different for the sake of difference doesn't make much sense, but being different because you love something and it isn't like everyone else, does -- at least to me.

Difference also means to me not being part of the ho hum, boring everyday crowd just because it is the crowd. It often means something more beautiful, something that makes my eyes happier than just staring at the same old, same old. It makes me me not someone's else idea of what me should be.

It means thinking for myself not group think. And if I like what the group does, than wonderful. I won't be different to be different. I chose what is more pleasurable or more important to me.

On my patio I have a plant that shows the concept beautifully. I have no idea why four blooms have decided to be pink instead of red. The pink petals are the same shape as the red. They stand out while blending in.

They have their own identity. Bravo pink petals!