Recently, a woman flipped out at me for being a Witch. Told me I was going to hell and everything! I was kind of dumbfounded by it, truth be told, and wound up getting the giggles by the time I got safely back in my car.
Sometimes, I forget that there are still people who don’t like that I’m a Witch (or a lesbian or tattooed, etc). I mean, there are people who don’t like that I’m vegetarian, and I forget that all the time.
It’s one of the pros and one of the cons about living my freak life in a freak city in a freak bubble. I forget that the rest of the world isn’t always a freak-safe zone. Then, when Pace and I hold hands, or I go off on a tangent about what my pendant means, or when I ask for no meat, and someone flips out at me, I go all wide-eyed and facepalm and am suddenly and wildly reminded that most of the world thinks I’m a freak – and they mean it in a bad way!
Seriously? Still? We haven’t gotten past that yet?
I mean, Naomi‘s been a freak for ages. Bob’s a freak, Seth‘s a freak. Even Johnny‘s a freak now! All the cool kids are doing it. Why do I still have to have this conversation? Why do I still get these reactions?
Why do other people care about what I do with my own life?
Because it’s threatening. It’s terrifying. I’m a bold, clear example that you can’t control everyone. Not everyone will follow all the rules. I’m loud about it. I’m out about it. I’m occasionally even in-your-face about it, though I’m super nice and loving and compassionate even then.
Being different is a bright bold terrifying reminder that we’re not all controllable, that we’re not all the same. In a world of cookie-cutter wannabes, that’s the scariest wake-up call around.