I’ve always had weird friends. I’m weird too, in how I think and how I work.
And I’ve come to believe the world needs more weird people.
Not weird for attention. Weird for the work.
Two kinds of weird
The first kind wants to be seen. The loudest person in the room. The one always clowning around, for a laugh, for instant validation.
I’ve seen where that goes. People laugh for a while. Then they stop taking that person seriously. First in social circles. Then in professional ones. Because there’s a lot of goofing around, and little work done.
The second kind doesn’t care who’s watching.
Weird for the work
It’s the crazy system, the odd hack, the ritual that’s unique to you.
It could be you, drinking ten cans of Red Bull without getting up from your chair, until the song you’re composing is finished.
It could be you, carrying your art supplies out to the lawn, lying down in the grass, and painting your next canvas right there.
You go so deep into your work that other people find it strange.
To you, it’s normal
When you’re lost in your world, none of it feels weird. It’s simply how the work gets done.
It only looks weird to everyone else. Because it isn’t the norm.
Weird is not an excuse
This isn’t about being difficult. Or being the clown.
Weirdness earns its place only when there’s finished work at the end of it.
Which weird is yours?
Ask yourself one question. Is my weirdness for an audience, or for the work?
If it’s for an audience, let it go.
If it’s for the work, stick with it.
The people who don’t fit the norm are the ones who change the art they practise.
