And then I respond

What do you like to do? 

They ask. 

They expect an answer like hitting a volleyball over a net too high but instead I prefer to drive at a golf range in complete solitude. 

Sometimes they think I’d like to run up the side of the mountain, but I’d rather run into the arms of a loved one. 

I love to watch a good movie, but I like arriving early for the previews and staying for the credits. It’s like built in time to ponder the art I just witnessed. 

I hate going to hospitals. The strangeness of them is mysterious, haunting, and welcoming. 

What else do I like?

They see me in Utah and expect me to prefer fry sauce, but I love a side of quality ranch with my delicious french fries. (And I always bend the fry in half to get maximum coverage.)

They think I can sing, but my only confident singing is the alphabet, where my different, organizational brain envisions it in four lines. (A-G, H-N, O-T, and U-Z in case you’re wondering..) 

They think I’d buy nice silver earrings, but my signature look is actually a set of cheap, greening hoops. 

People are disgusted by feet, but the differences of toenails is what unsettles me. 

They expect a Californian to surf, but I’d rather read in the sand until the waves soothe me to sleep. 

How else should I respond? 

I like when I stay up late in the night and don’t regret it in the morning. 

I like to learn, to gain knowledge in any way, a book teaches truth, a museum teaches art, a city teaches history, and I love it. 

And then I secretly write as my fingers type furiously and my brain weaves thoughts into stories only I am allowed to know. 

But now I generalize again and again

As I anticipate these expectations that people don’t actually think. 

Do I care what they see?

And do they care what answer I will bring?

What do I really like to do?

And then I respond.