The island of misfit chairs is the place where broken, mismatched, and quirky chairs sit. For whatever reason, those chairs are no longer a part of the house’s everyday furniture. While some need simple fixes to be useful again, others are just waiting to be taken home and added to someone else’s everyday furniture. Some are tall. Some are squat. Some are very old while others are just slightly on a slant. They sit on the island of misfit chairs because they don’t fit the house theme or need a little TLC.

Clearance plants are the potted green creatures that sprawl across the side store aisle, waiting to be chosen and carried home. Maybe they’re slightly too yellow; maybe one has a leaf darker than the others. Some are a bit scraggly. Others have lost their flowers. But they’re no longer marked full price because they have lost that healthful and youthful glow.

Monday Muse: Never Stop Misfitting

We all know them: the misfits.

We’ve probably all have felt like one: a person who just doesn’t quite fit — whether or not, it’s an actuality or our own perception. In fact, if I had to venture a guess, I think most of us walk around believing that we are the one-and-true misfit. That, while we have groups of people, that we don’t REALLY fit in.

I grew up homeschooled. I’ve always felt a little lopsided in social settings because all these other kids my age shared the common experience of the school system. Don’t hear me wrong here: I liked being homeschooled. But I became used to kids always pointing out my homeschooled-ness first. Even to this day, my “homeschool” shows up in quirky ways — missed social cues and cultural references.

At a young age, I accepted the word “weird” as my own because people called me weird all the time.

At a middling age, I accepted that I speak more slowly than others. And got teased for it. (Oh ooooh, that’s so awful, I know)

At a teenage age, I accepted that I had a lot of feelings, and while the extremeness has dulled a bit as I’ve moved away from puberty, I still feel intensely.

At an adult age, I accepted that I’d probably always feel about age 12 while simultaneously feeling age 80.

And somewhere else along the way, I realized that my life often looked different from others. While that felt off-balanced, I realized I liked it.

And yet, really, I’m not all that of a misfit. I fit into society fairly well, and most people would forget me as soon as they saw me on the sidewalk. (I’m not being dramatic here) I’m white. I’m average. My fashion choices may make me stick out, but that’s about it.

And yet, sometimes, I feel like a misfit chair — slanting a little sideways — or a clearanced potted plant — yellowing around the edges. But, I like me better for my crookedness, for my missteps, for every time I lived something unexpected.

 

A Benediction for the Misfits

You are wanted.

You are needed.

You are whole.

Your sideways qualities, discolorings, life experiences, wounds — make you, YOU.

 

You are wanted, needed, and whole — just the way you are.

Your sideways perspective lends new solutions to a cookie-cutter society.

Your discolorings offer a thermometer for change and growth.

Your life experiences and wounds invite healing that welcomes others to explore health.

 

Just the way you are, you are wanted, needed, and whole.

Wanted – for the way you channel your own muses and heart song.

Needed – for how you champion the causes of the downtrodden

Whole – for how you accept yourself, others, and seek more wholeness.

 

My beloved misfits, you are the whole ones we need and want. Do not stop misfitting; do not stop being different; do not stop celebrating your weird; do not stop inviting the lonely into the community of misfits. May you always see the odd ones as new friends, saving them from the ordinary.