Why I Would Rather Be Crazy Than Boring

Recently I was on a plane, reading a book, and I started crying.

I’m not much of a crier most of the time. I have my moments, of course, like anyone; usually in private. But I’m typically not the girl who cries in movie theaters or over hallmark commercials or even (in public) over well-written books. So of course it came as a huge surprise on the plane when the tears began to come and I realized, no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be able to will them away.

Oh no, not this now, I thought to myself.

But even as the thought entered my brain, I felt the first hot drop of salty water make a break for it and come streaming down my face. I put my head down, blinked a few times, hoping that would be it and I could move on — but no such luck.

In fact, the harder I tried to blink them back, the more persistently they pushed their way out of my eyelids and spilled down my cheeks.

You can imagine the awkward throat-clearing that followed from the man to my right, in 38C.

I hung my head in shame. He must think I’m crazy, I thought to myself. I pictured myself turning toward him, holding up the cover of the book and saying, between stilted breaths, and with my squeaky, crying voice:

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just a really good book!”

But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I just leaned my head back against the seat and let the tears flow. And you know what I decided while I was crying? I decided it’s okay. It’s okay if he thinks I’m crazy; and it’s okay if you think I’m crazy.

I’d rather be crazy.

*Photo by Joe St. Pierre, creative commons

I’d rather be crazy and vulnerable than to be the kind of person who can’t cry when the situation calls for it, or who won’t let herself feel anything at all.

I’ve been that girl. And I don’t miss her.

I’d rather be crazy enough to quit my job and go on a 50 state road trip than to spend years of my life doing work that is less than satisfying, than to grow up wondering “what if” I would have taken the leap. I was that girl for many years. The obedient girl. The rebellious girl. The angry girl.

They were all the same girl in different ways.

And to that girl I say: Good riddance.

• • •

I’d rather be crazy enough to move twice in one year — first from Florida to Minneapolis; then from Minneapolis to Nashville — when the pull is so strong in a certain direction, and when I’m sure it’s right, than to be the girl who sits on her hands, waiting for “perfect timing” that never seems to come.

I’ve spent so much time waiting, wasted so many years wishing for life to happen to me, instead of taking responsibility to make it happen myself.

I don’t want to be that girl anymore — that bored girl, that sad girl.

I’d rather be this girl, the girl who is committed to forgive, and love, and move, and act, and let go, push forward and believe even when it doesn’t make sense to believe; even if it means being disappointed, even if it means being hurt, again and again.

I’d rather set audacious goals, than to set mediocre ones I know I can meet, or not set goals at all, to maintain my fragile ego. I know that girl too well, and I don’t want to be her anymore.

I’d rather swing for the fences.

I’d rather be crazy.

I’d rather risk my whole life for something that matters than to get to the end and realized I played it safe so I could drive a nice car and own a leather couch. I’d rather hold to things loosely, feeling grateful for gifts as they come, and giving them away as they are needed by others.

I’d rather give to much than too little —

Too much love, too much money, too much of my time.

I’d rather be crazy.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to make sure people didn’t think I was crazy. But recently everything is changing. Recently I think to myself, while crying over a book on an airplane, who cares what the guy in 38C thinks anyway?

After all, crazy might not be so bad after all.

Why I Would Rather Be Crazy Than Boring is a post from: Storyline Blog