I’ve been called crazy my entire life.
Let’s walk through it, shall we?
When I was a kid, I was considered *high-energy* aka, a nice way to say crazy. A red-haired, free-spirited child, with too many brains and too loud a mouth.
When I was a teenager, I was the crazy instigator. The one that had the *first* experiences; the one that pushed the boundaries. I always wanted to do more, be more—to ACT the way I FELT. But— instead—I was just a crazy teenager unsure of herself.
At age 19, I was considered crazy when I dropped everything to backpack Europe alone. Even crazier because I went with no plan—just going wherever the wind takes me.
Only something someone would do if they’re crazy, obviously.
I was crazy in college—but not the good kind of crazy—and even I’m willing to admit. It was the crazy that ensued from an excess of drinking, an abusive relationship, and unhealed wounds.
A boyfriend who called me crazy for years—until I believed it—and acted accordingly.
And most recently, I’ve been labeled as crazy when I quit my corporate job to start my own company.
“But what about your 401k?”
“Are you SURE you want to share online?”
“You could really go far in your career, don’t throw it away.”
But I did it anyway,
Because I’m crazy,
I used to carry shame about this label placed on me.
Why was I different?
Why can’t anyone handle me?
So I tried to pretend—to play it safe.
Cross my legs, clasp my hands,
Tone it down, and smile accordingly.
But that felt like a slow, silent, death to me.
I’ve claimed my crazy.
Call me insane, it won’t affect me.
This craziness has given me an abundance of freedom,
A wealth of knowledge,
And a lifetime of stories.
This craziness has allowed me to travel the world— while writing this caption— on a Costa Rican beach.
This craziness earned me my corporate salary, in just one day last week.
So call me crazy,
Call me insane,
Or whatever it is you’ll label me.
Turns out my passion is only rewarding,
And I’ve finally come to terms with the truth of me.
And the truth is—
I like being crazy.