A Personal Letter

Today’s post is very personal.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine died unexpectedly. His name was Dean and he was 45 years old.

I’ve been reflecting a lot about our memories together and the role Dean played in our lives (he was especially close with my husband.)

What I want to share with you today is that my friend was, well, kinda weird. Especially when he was younger.

He had a relentlessly off-beat, sharp, often outlandish humour.

He had an intense gaze and a lazy eye, which he loved to play up with ridiculous facial expressions.

Many of my memories of him are tied to his antics, goofiness, and the unconventional fun we had.

He and my husband bonded over experimental electronic music and often played together in bands or as a duo. (I have some funny stories I could tell you about some of their shows, including the time they played a rave featuring the world famous DJ Tiesto.)

Despite his weirdness (or maybe because of it) he thrived within his career, worked hard at it, and started his own company which recently celebrated its 10 year anniversary.

As I reflect, I feel very appreciative of the fact that Dean was unapologetically weird.

In my twenties, I found him inspiring to be around. He helped ME embrace my own weirdness and the somewhat unconventional lifestyle I wanted for myself, with art, music, adventure, and diverse experiences. In that sense, he played a role in helping me chart my own path in my life.

(When I was fresh out of school, he also got me an interview at the company where he worked. I didn’t get the job, but Dean saw my potential even when other people did not, and I was grateful for that.)

As the years went on, he settled down a bit. Worked hard. But he was always still him. He never dumbed himself down for the world or lost that quirky, out-of-left-field sense of humour.

It both comforts and saddens me to reflect on the fact that the world needed him, needed his uniqueness. He was loved: by his wife, his daughter, his friends, his employees, his community. We loved and needed him, just the way he was. The world was better for having him in it.

I also feel proud and grateful that he left his creative pursuits behind as a legacy, including his music, his business, his witticisms, and the role he played in our lives. And I am heartened knowing that he went through life being himself, and found his own way.

I guess if there’s a message I want to impart for my readers, it’s that the world needs your weird.

If you don’t quite fit the mold, if you want to do something differently, if you want to experiment and play and create and express yourself, then please do it.

Because your weirdness, your uniqueness, benefits us all. You don’t know who you will inspire or encourage or make life a little bit better for.

And that fact is, none of us knows how much time we have. So don’t waste it being anything less than 100% you.

Thanks for listening. Go on and tell your stories, in the way that only you can.