I’m weird. I know this. If someone calls me weird, I do not take offense. Facts are facts. That being said, there are some other places I could live that I wouldn’t be quite as weird. However, in my current locale, I’m weird AF.
Have I always been weird? Yes. Have I tried to fight it or at least minimize its outward appearance? Also, yes. I think I’m just about done with that.
It might be the pandemic or the fact I’m closing in on 50. The truth is, I’m kind of over a lot of stuff and ready to just do me. I still need to work really hard on not worrying about what others think, but I’m making strides in the right direction. To quote the great Alexis Rose, “People aren’t thinking about you the way that you’re thinking about you.”
I was recently knitting with a couple of women. The three of us could not be more different. However, we do share a common interest and enjoy each other’s company. After voicing my opinion on something, one lady said, “You are the crunchiest, tree-hugging hippie I know.” I smiled and thanked her. The other woman said, “Oh, my! She actually took that as a compliment.” She was astonished. Well, to me it was a compliment and I know the person making the statement did not mean it as an insult. It only hit me later a lot of folks would take that as an insult. That made me a little sad.
I have been thinking a lot about a woman I would see at the little, county grocery store growing up. She epitomized the hippie lifestyle right down to not shaving her legs or armpits. My sister and I were mesmerized. We had never seen anyone like her! She always wore flowery, sleeveless dresses (which I have no doubt she made herself) and an old, ragged pair of Birkenstocks. She had lovely blonde hair she wore in two long braids. She was beautiful and did not have two shits to give that her body hair was the talk of the town.
We had a 4-H meeting at her house once. She was married to an equally crunchy (and in retrospect, hot) man and they had four sons. They lived in an old white farmhouse with raised-bed gardens—way before that was a thing. She walked us through them and taught us about all the vegetables and herbs. At about 10 years-old, I was fascinated. She was so genuine and kind.
Since starting to work from home several years ago, I have been gradually embracing what makes me happy. You rarely see me in anything other than flannel, jeans and Chucks. I’ve let my hair go gray and recently added a sassy, purple streak. I rarely wear make-up and there are days where showering is just optional. I also quit shaving a couple of months. I don’t know if I will go back. It’s pretty liberating.
The real change is what is happening on the inside. I am attempting to be comfortable with who I am in a land of people who could not be more different than me. I am learning to speak up for myself, my values and what I believe in. I want to be more like that beautiful hippie I knew growing up—to not give two shits that my weirdness may be the talk of the town.
So, this chick is going to be compassionate, hairy, laugh loudly, knit, read, cuss, drink red wine, quote Schitt’s Creek whenever possible, compost, cry at art, sing along off tune with my favorite music when I run, smell a little funky at times, defend science, shop local, kiss dogs on the mouth, talk to herself, always say I love you and eat more curry than any Kentuckian ever. Fuck it.
I recently googled the woman from my childhood. She died about a year ago. There was a link in her obit where you could plant 30 trees in her name. You damn well better believe I did it.
Angela Traver
What is this blog about? Well, it's a general blog, but it is also a very specific blog. If you get that reference, you get a gold star! I have been a public relations professional and writer of press releases for more than 20 years—primarily in the booze biz. I decided to do some writing for fun and embrace the humor that gets me through most days. Hopefully it will make you chuckle—or at least smile. I’m a certified crazy magnet, and more than a little nutty myself, so buckle up. Also, I have two vices—profanity and red wine/whiskey. You’ve been warned. It should also be noted, that I’m a HUGE Bob & Sheri fan. I’ve been a listener for more than 20 years. This opportunity is a dream come true and it may have made me cry. That being said, I cry at everything. If you are into booze, dogs, food and/or knitting, hit me up on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter (although I’m terrible at Twitter and it scares me) @kyspiritsgal. You can also find all my previous blog posts at www.kyspiritsgal.com.
