Recently, my wife was looking at an old photo of me and one of the kids and made this comment: “She’s gotten prettier and you’ve gotten weirder.”

I corrected her on part of that, though.

“I’m not weirder. I’ve just become more comfortable in my weirdness.”

It’s often been said that “normal” is what you’re used to. That can definitely be good or bad.

Way back in college, I met a young lady and we started talking. We wound up talking for hours at the weekend event we were each attending, and I asked for her phone number before we each left to drive in opposite directions. Instead, she gave me her mailing address.

“Write a letter to me. If it’s weird enough, I’ll write you back, and include my phone number,” she said.

So … that’s what I did. I wrote her a letter. As I sat at my dorm room desk, I wondered what she meant by “weird enough.” I decided I’d just be myself. I didn’t know if I could fit her definition of weird, and wasn’t sure I wanted to try. I just wrote like me and included a couple of doodled images on the margins of the letter.

I put it in an envelope, addressed and stamped it, and trusted it to the U.S. Postal Service for safe delivery.

About a week later, I got an envelope in the mail addressed to me, from her. Well, at least she decided to write back. I was either “weird enough” in my letter, or so awfully banal that she felt it necessary to let me know.

“Hi, Brett,” the letter began. “That’s was the weirdest letter I’ve ever read.”

I laughed out loud. I was both proud of myself for presenting her the acme of weirdness in her experience, and also a bit worried, maybe even mildly offended. But she included her phone number and thus began our approximately 9-month-long long-distance relationship.

As I think back over portions of my life thus far, I can recall times I made friends because of my weirdness and times I pushed people away because of the same. Some people have been drawn to me because of the weird, and others have stuck with me in spite of it.

Chances are, however, whatever you see in me that you think is weird is because it’s not normal in your experience. Same applies for whatever I think is weird in you.

I don’t want to intentionally offend anyone, worry people, or act in an ungodly manner. But I can’t be afraid to be me because it might push some people away. You can’t be afraid to be you, either.

I am grateful for the people in my life — both those who had no choice in the matter (like my children and my granddaughter) and those who willingly jumped into this wild ride (like my close friends and my wife).

For that woman, my wife, I am especially grateful when she hugs me, smiles, and says, “You’re my kind of weird.”

News editor Brett Campbell can be reached at brett.campbell@dailyleader.com.