And Now A Word From Your Friendly Vagabond...

 A girl with wild hair and an animal predilection.  Who knew it was the right combination for trouble?

 Have I ever mentioned how Beyond Vagabond got it's name?  If I somehow missed this chapter, My Lovelies, here is the quick rundown....

A vagabond (as you may or may not know) is the word for wanderer, a nomadic person and--I guess you could say--it's is a word that's been used on par with terms like "gypsy." I suppose the whole thing denotes a carefree, happy feeling and of course, it refers to my many jobs and experiences in life, and my love of travel.  But there's another meaning here, too, one I was quite conscious of when I took on the terminology.

See, in some places, the word takes on a negative intention. As with the closely associated word "gypsy," vagabond at best means "misfit" or "outcast," and in some cultures, it is considered a high insult. Heck, in some places, being a gypsy or vagabond might get you killed.

Why am I telling you any of this? Because I am fully aware that in many ways, I am the round peg in a world full of square holes. Now, let me clarify that my life on the Misfit List IS NOT, in any way, to be compared to the long and horrible suffering of the actual Roma people, better known as Gypsies. I am also not telling you any of this for any sort of pity; I've long held my particular brand of unconventional living as a big badge of..well, just being me, for a very long time.....

Baby Zan, ready to take on the world...

However, there are times when I'm made acutely aware that what I'm doing actually bothers someone, or rather, that they've placed me into a certain "box" because of the way I look or act. It occurs to me that some of the stuff that I am talking about here might be seen as charming, or at least entertaining (if goofy). It also occurs to me that others might see me as outright crazy, obnoxious, or weird.

I knew what I wanted early on. Here I am,  trying to cut my first birthday cake by myself,  and apparently trying to send my mother to the first in a long line of coronary fits.
This was in Italy--apparently this traveling bug started early, too!

I'm telling you this flat out in the middle of my horse training stories to be chronologically accurate: on two separate occasions, during this time,  I was made aware of, well, who I am--scratch that--who people think I am.  And the problem with much of life is that there is the truth, and then there is perception. And half the time (at least in my experience) you are always working against perceptions--your own, and other people's.

While I won't go into the particulars of what happened (and to be fair, I think one instance involved someone unknowingly putting their foot in their mouth), it got me to thinking--how many of us do this, and why?

Why do we feel the need to box each other into cute, compartmentalized classifications before we know the whole story about a person? And conversely, why do so many of us allow ourselves to get boxed in? I say this not as a person who is afraid of being boxed in (I mean, have you seen me, lately? We are long past the "fear of being called crazy" stage!), but as someone who once WAS, and who sees this all the time in other people (particularly women, I must add). I've seen people give up on even entertaining the thought doing something they really loved because their parents or their co-workers might not approve, they might get ridiculed by friends, or disappoint people they care about or want to impress. Folks, the people that matter will not care what you do, if you really love doing it.

I am not saying it's easy--both doing what you love, and getting yourself UNboxed (blazes, my parents were pretty "boxy" when I first told them I wanted a career in the Arts!), but one should not spend a lifetime not even trying for a little bit of their dreams.

Sassy from the get-go. I still don't know how my parents didn't realize I wanted a career in performing arts...

Conversely, we need to give each other more credit than the fleeting drive-by judgement scenario. What does it mean when people have tattoos? Weird hair? What about skin color, religion, sex, age?  Ok, I should probably get off my high horse now (see, I can get a horse into this post, as well!) and it occurs to me that I am probably preaching to the choir here...but hopefully this might make a small difference in ideas to someone who never thought about it?
 

 The origins of the "weird hair": created for a performance, as dance troupe director...

In my case, the fastest way to get my goat (and farm animals are in the post, too, by golly!) is to insult my intelligence...I fully understand that I am a city girl with funny hair, but that doesn't mean I can't wrangle with the best of country folk or that I have bad morals. But the same folk that probably think that would have no idea that I'm probably more versed in a ridiculous variety of subjects, and also still searching for answers to many, which is why my curiosity keeps yanking me down these various roads...

 

I like danger...and the environment, apparently. I work with bees in the city--just call me an outlaw!

And I will say, before this sounds like high ego, that I'm no rocket scientist, and I still couldn't tell you when two trains will meet at Grand Junction if one is coming from Alaska at 20 miles an hour and one is coming from Minnesota at 40 miles per hour....uhh, the answer is....green??

My point is, give us "outsiders" a chance--after all, we (and by this I mean, all humans) each and every one of us have a bit of something eccentric about us--and we might just surprise you in a good way. In the meantime, there also shouldn't be a worry about being boxed in, either, because the box is YOURS.
Own The Box.