On Being Unique
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," mirth for the fungus among us! Pull up a toadstool and set a spell. Pretty sure you'll be lichen what you see.
(I think this greeting would have worked better with yesterday's post.)
There are so many billions of humans on the planet, and each one wants to feel unique. I know, I know, teenagers like to follow the crowd, becoming so many wildebeests on the plain. But deep inside, all of us harbor a need to be different somehow from everyone else.
This yearning for uniqueness is not to be confused with a yearning for fame. In fact, many athletes and entertainers advance their careers by imitating other athletes and entertainers. There's nothing particularly unique about the Jonas Brothers, for example.
I've always believed that uniqueness is something worth cultivating. Every now and then I achieve it. Today I am sitting here feeling quite distinctly unique.
A count taken in 2007 sets the population of Camden County, New Jersey at just under 514,000. (That's just 7,000 less than the whole state of Wyoming.)
It is currently snowing in Camden County, and the temperature is hovering around 25 degrees.
And I have a case of poison ivy.
I wonder how many of the 514,000 citizens of Camden County, or, for that matter, the 522,000 citizens of Wyoming, can claim a case of poison ivy today, March 1, 2009?
Uniqueness. Some are born with it, others have it thrust upon them. In my case, crust upon them.
Please don't dispute my self-diagnosis. I did some yard work on Saturday.
And don't be jealous of my uniqueness. It has its down side. Itchy, festering blisters under an Irish wool sweater are not a recommended way to stand out from the crowd.