In fact, science suggests people actually prefer to belong to a group that is neither too inclusive nor too exclusive. It can feel good to not fit in quite perfectly, or to be a little weird. This “inverted U” of belonging is known as the “optimal distinctiveness theory,” with the optimal level of fitting in being at the apex of the upside-down “U.” Just like the indie band stops being cool after everyone you know is listening to it, it sometimes feels better to be in an elite group than in a large, amorphous crowd.222

Of course, not everyone feels their weirdness has an upside. I spoke with several people suffering from major mental illnesses, for example, who would love to calm the storms inside their heads, even if it made them less creative or special or journalism-profile-worthy.

But believing that your weirdness is your superpower can also be hugely beneficial. There is evidence that thinking about your circumstances in a different way—a process called cognitive reappraisal—can help you cope with challenges. Perceiving what makes you weird as being what gives you strength can, ultimately, make you happier. If you already possess the lemons of social rejection, you might as well make a really odd lemonade. In this section, we’ll see examples of how weirdness can be a strength.

After my entire life vomited me up in 2009, I was invited by the University of Southern California to come to L.A. to interview for a scholarship slot in its master’s program in journalism. When the email hit my inbox, I saw it as a minor miracle. I had no job prospects in D.C. It was the start of the recession, and everyone I knew was getting laid off. As if to mirror my inner gloom, a freezing winter rain lashed my face as I scurried around town to my fifty-dollar freelance photography assignments.

When he broke up with me, my boyfriend told me it was because I’m too risk-averse. He was looking for someone more adventurous, and I wasn’t that. If I got the USC scholarship, I thought, I would surely prove him wrong. How much more adventurous could you get than a cross-country move to get trained in a dying profession?

I convinced myself that if I went to grad school, I could solve all my problems at once. Say what you will about L.A., but it did not contain my ex or any of the haunts that reminded me of him. I’d be in a new city, which would make it less painful, I hoped, to be separated from my D.C. friends, who were all decamping Washington for their own career moves. Most importantly, I had always wanted to be a journalist, and this was a chance to chase my dream.