First and foremost, let me declare to the world just how much my family loves me. They’ve supported me, doted on me, listened to me, and accepted me — even for all my weirdo traits. But regardless of their love, I’ve always been acutely aware of how different I am from them.

I’ll disclose to you, dear reader, that sometimes I make excuses to my family for living as I do. I make excuses for getting a communications/marketing major, for going into hospitality as a career, for dating the boys that I do, for dressing as I do, and loving Buddhism and church as much as I do.

But today, without even thinking twice about it, I stopped making excuses.

I was on the phone with my dad, whom I haven’t seen in a couple months, and I was explaining to him how happy I was with my life. I was explaining that I don’t live below my means as he does. (He lives in a way that enables him to have vast savings and investments.) I tried explaining that I don’t make very much, but I live blissfully.

My wonderful father, who only wants the best for me, hemmed and hawed, as he does when he disagrees with something.

But for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t get annoyed, I didn’t defend myself, I didn’t press him for more on why he disagreed with me. Instead I told him that I loved him and that I was very glad to hear from him. And then I hung up and went back to my blissful life.

I’m still a little shocked.

But I’m so very happy with where I am and who I am. I’m incredibly imperfect. And who gives a rat’s ass? Honestly.

I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’ve always strived for perfection to make up for the blacksheep pieces of me. The pieces that didn’t fit in with friends, co-workers, boyfriends, loved ones, family. The pieces that I couldn’t explain.

But who cares? I am who I am and I’m so very happy. Even just sitting here alone in my apartment. Just me and my homemade stir fry.

“Any arbitrary turn along the way and I would be different.” But I’m glad it’s turned out the way that it has.