Not too long ago, I was chatting with a friend about people’s idiosyncrasies and peccadilloes. As she described some of hers, she suggested that I would think she was a weirdo. After hearing about her utter strangeness, I didn’t think that her things were any weirder than anyone else’s. I told her that if she was a weirdo, she was just a run-of-the-mill weirdo.

She argued that, surely, if anything, she was an exceptional weirdo. And being a nice fellow, I agreed that she was exceptional. But afterwards, I realized that, no, really, her things are no weirder than anyone else’s.

As exceptional as individual people are, we’re still just run-of-the-mill weirdos.