We Have a Right to Our Quirks
I set my alarm for 6:22 am.
I have three scoops of honey before bed. I like to keep the skin on my hands well moisturized. I text in complete sentences with semi-colons, em dashes, the whole kit and caboodle.
Peel off the outer packaging of any life and you’ll find a carnival of quirks.
The pitcher who chewed four pieces of black licorice while on the mound. The writer who only wrote in a hotel room with a bottle of sherry, a deck of cards, a dictionary, and a Bible on hand.
We have a right to our quirks. They are part of how we steady ourselves in the unsteadiness of any given day.
But a caveat. We have a right to our quirks; our quirks do not have a right to us.
If I curtail or contort my evenings to accommodate a 6:22am wakeup. If I labor over my texts or impose my style on those I text with. If my quirks start atrophying other parts of my life, they have ballooned into habits that limit me.
So eat food in order of lightest to darkest. Only drink coffee from one specific mug. Sleep with socks on year-round. But let’s choose to do this. Rather than force of habit choosing for us because…well, that’s just what we do and what we know.
And when we choose, let’s choose because this quirk, as any good quirk should, steadies us, eases us. Better yet, delights us.
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