Ever get that feeling that you’re not normal, that your rhythm is
just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world? All my life I’ve
been different, a round peg in a square hole as it were. Some days it’s easy to revel in; a feeling of individuality and uniqueness that
can’t be dimmed; and at other times it feels decidedly outsider-ish,
like you can’t fit in because you simply see the
other side of the argument.
Every so often I take a breather and look back on the crazy, wonderful world of blogging that I seem enmeshed in. It is brilliant. An excuse to see the world, drink coffee over laughter, indulge in all kinds of random whims (over the years they have numbered amongst door knockers, toast, herding sheep, luxury hotel stays, setting fire to food – aka Teppenyaki, go Nursery Rhyme Church hunting, indulge in whimsy and wander way too often.
But then I read one of those really beautifully drafted articles recommending that bloggers have a niche. So, what is my niche? Is it travel? Is it mischief? It is the mind-boggle chaos of a neverending quest for fascination satisfaction? Can it not just be me & a sprinkling of adventure? Why do we have to assign labels?
Us Kiwi lot seem to have a world view that is fairly British, quite American, a wide streak of easy going Antipodean, a heart of coffee and an iron core of uniquely Kiwi attributes all our own. We’re creative, wilful, LOVE a laugh, easy-going, independent, stubborn, usually modest to a point of crazy (we even have a name for it ‘tall poppy syndrome’) and think outside the box.
Apologies for a generic musing turning into a psychological profiling and slightly overblown population dissection, but there you go, it happened again. #downwiththeniche