This poem always comes to mind when I'm feeling like the oddball playing by a different set of rules:
DEAR FRIENDS
Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.
And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own:—the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.
And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores:—
So friends (dear friends), remember, if you will,
The shame I win for singing is all mine,
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.
~ Edwin Arlington Robinson
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And I was introduced to this Richard Feynman speech by Hugo several months back... It makes me think. Who would've thought that you can find poetry in a speech written by a scientist?
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