Well, it's 1:30 and I kept tossing and turning which means that I was thinking. So instead of just lying in bed I thought I'd blog my thoughts and feelings, then edit them to make sense in the morning.
Anyway, this is kind of a continuation of a paper I wrote in high school about mediocrity, and why it's not so bad. Lately I've been feeling--you guessed it-- mediocre. Average. Lackluster. Nothing awful, but nothing special. Unabashedly and unapologetically right in the middle. But is that such a bad thing?
I put it to you that it's not. I mean, look at the world around us. For you math people, you study averages like crazy. Ever since third grade we've been finding mean, median, and mode. The unspectacular, average numbers of a series of numbers given to us. As we grow older we are taught to find outliers; these extraordinary numbers that we are supposed to look out for. I couldn't tell you what outliers are because, to be frank, math and I are not on speaking terms. I don't talk about it unless the circumstances dictate, and it does the same courtesy to me. Thus far, the air of professionalism has been appreciated by both sides. But I know that more often than not, we look for averages. We're looking for bunches, groups of things, and the spectacular become suddenly ordinary.
But those are just numbers, right? What about people? I'm the first to admit that I don't like grouping people and numbers together. As I said, I'm not a big math person. I'm a touchy-feely right-side-brained person. I think that assigning numbers to people alienates them and hurts their feelings and makes them worse and blah blah blah. But I think that in this situation, a case can be made that the same rules apply, and here's why.
We live in a society of averages. We look to actors and astronauts and politicians and sports stars and crazy people to feed our curiosity. We live our boring, mediocre lives. We trudge through the mundane, dreading the boring, and seeking excitement in the unfamiliar. So we look to these human outliers-- exceptional people to spice up the boring day-to-day. But for the most part, 99% of us move through our lives never impacting another 99% of the population. We go unnoticed, and just sit in the middle.
Kinda depressing, right? Well, sure, I guess it certainly could be if you're a glass-half-empty kinda person. Me? I'm not too interested in how much is in the cup-- full empty or otherwise. I figure "hey, I've got this cup with stuff in it. Is it delicious? Is it nasty? If I throw it on somebody, could that be funny? If I freeze it and lick it, would it taste better? Is there a way to market that to any audience and make money?" And that's why I don't sleep at night and instead end up blogging.
Anyway, I think that if you want to be depressed because you're not special, go for it. But here's why you shouldn't be. Ordinary people are those number averages. People focus on them the most, because they comprise most of our human population. I mean, when's the last time you met a famous person? Were they awesome? Did they blow your mind with their self-actualization and wealth of life experience? Or did their breath smell because they didn't brush their teeth and had a bit too much coffee?
But average people, we meet them every day. We pass them on the way to work. We sell them clothes, flip their burgers, celebrate their birthdays, mourn their deaths, babysit their kids, enjoy moments, and makes memories with these Average Joes. All without the notice of 99% of the human population. I've never met a truly famous person, so props to whoever has, but when/if I do, I'm sure I'll tell my kids all about it. I'll show them pictures of me making a funny face next to their exceptionally handsome/beautiful faces, or tell them about how funny this one thing they said was. But you know what else I'll tell my kids? I'll tell them all about my grandparents, my parents, my friends. I'll show them pictures from my high school years, my college years. I'll tell them the story of how I met their mother, the stupid things I did with friends, the sad times, the fun times and the just plain weird times. And you know what? In two or three generations, I'll bet their grand kids won't care less what famous person I ever talked to. They probably won't care much about my high school years, or about my parents or grandparents. But the values that were instilled in me by these average people? They transfer generation to generation. They are branded into our DNA, in our upbringing and how we think.
That's the thing about being average. We as the average are just as essential, if not more so, those spectacular people. Think of it as a clock: with hundreds of cogs and screws and wood parts and a winder. Most of us have the calling in life of being a cog, just a little piece of the machine. But some of us, a very few. have the lucky life calling of being the guy that gets to wind the clock. They're extraordinary. They make the clock work, right? Because without one of us cogs, the machine would probably be fine. We are replaceable. But without all of us, the winder has nothing to wind. Without many of us interacting together, helping each other, lifting each other up, bein' all average and junk, the winder is sitting there looking like an idiot putting a piece of metal in a non-functional clock. Suddenly, that spectacular dude is looking pretty dumb, right?
So you. Go follow your dreams. Be all awesome and change lives and fix the world and end hunger and stuff. But if you don't... if suddenly you find your world becoming unbearably average, just remember how special being average is. Remember that without us normal cogs, we've got a bunch of stupid clock winders.
All those special people can have their special lives. They can go out there and be voices, and have people look up to them. They can be idolized by millions, and have people hang on their every word. They shoot for the moon, because even if they miss they land among the stars. They jump from the stratosphere and fall to Earth at ungodly speeds. They fly airplanes and dream of great, lofty things. They invent jet packs and hover boards (still holding out for these, actually) and fly with the birds.
Me? I write a blog that 9 people read. I fear the unexamined life, and instead live the thoroughly-examined life. Both my feet stay on the ground, right where they belong. I smile and wave at people I don't know, and have good days and bad days. I tell stories that people laugh at, and laugh when people tell me stories. And you know what? I'm just fine being a cog. Because I'll sit here and work and go unnoticed than to wind a broken clock any day of the week.
Anyway, this is kind of a continuation of a paper I wrote in high school about mediocrity, and why it's not so bad. Lately I've been feeling--you guessed it-- mediocre. Average. Lackluster. Nothing awful, but nothing special. Unabashedly and unapologetically right in the middle. But is that such a bad thing?
I put it to you that it's not. I mean, look at the world around us. For you math people, you study averages like crazy. Ever since third grade we've been finding mean, median, and mode. The unspectacular, average numbers of a series of numbers given to us. As we grow older we are taught to find outliers; these extraordinary numbers that we are supposed to look out for. I couldn't tell you what outliers are because, to be frank, math and I are not on speaking terms. I don't talk about it unless the circumstances dictate, and it does the same courtesy to me. Thus far, the air of professionalism has been appreciated by both sides. But I know that more often than not, we look for averages. We're looking for bunches, groups of things, and the spectacular become suddenly ordinary.
But those are just numbers, right? What about people? I'm the first to admit that I don't like grouping people and numbers together. As I said, I'm not a big math person. I'm a touchy-feely right-side-brained person. I think that assigning numbers to people alienates them and hurts their feelings and makes them worse and blah blah blah. But I think that in this situation, a case can be made that the same rules apply, and here's why.
We live in a society of averages. We look to actors and astronauts and politicians and sports stars and crazy people to feed our curiosity. We live our boring, mediocre lives. We trudge through the mundane, dreading the boring, and seeking excitement in the unfamiliar. So we look to these human outliers-- exceptional people to spice up the boring day-to-day. But for the most part, 99% of us move through our lives never impacting another 99% of the population. We go unnoticed, and just sit in the middle.
Kinda depressing, right? Well, sure, I guess it certainly could be if you're a glass-half-empty kinda person. Me? I'm not too interested in how much is in the cup-- full empty or otherwise. I figure "hey, I've got this cup with stuff in it. Is it delicious? Is it nasty? If I throw it on somebody, could that be funny? If I freeze it and lick it, would it taste better? Is there a way to market that to any audience and make money?" And that's why I don't sleep at night and instead end up blogging.
Anyway, I think that if you want to be depressed because you're not special, go for it. But here's why you shouldn't be. Ordinary people are those number averages. People focus on them the most, because they comprise most of our human population. I mean, when's the last time you met a famous person? Were they awesome? Did they blow your mind with their self-actualization and wealth of life experience? Or did their breath smell because they didn't brush their teeth and had a bit too much coffee?
But average people, we meet them every day. We pass them on the way to work. We sell them clothes, flip their burgers, celebrate their birthdays, mourn their deaths, babysit their kids, enjoy moments, and makes memories with these Average Joes. All without the notice of 99% of the human population. I've never met a truly famous person, so props to whoever has, but when/if I do, I'm sure I'll tell my kids all about it. I'll show them pictures of me making a funny face next to their exceptionally handsome/beautiful faces, or tell them about how funny this one thing they said was. But you know what else I'll tell my kids? I'll tell them all about my grandparents, my parents, my friends. I'll show them pictures from my high school years, my college years. I'll tell them the story of how I met their mother, the stupid things I did with friends, the sad times, the fun times and the just plain weird times. And you know what? In two or three generations, I'll bet their grand kids won't care less what famous person I ever talked to. They probably won't care much about my high school years, or about my parents or grandparents. But the values that were instilled in me by these average people? They transfer generation to generation. They are branded into our DNA, in our upbringing and how we think.
That's the thing about being average. We as the average are just as essential, if not more so, those spectacular people. Think of it as a clock: with hundreds of cogs and screws and wood parts and a winder. Most of us have the calling in life of being a cog, just a little piece of the machine. But some of us, a very few. have the lucky life calling of being the guy that gets to wind the clock. They're extraordinary. They make the clock work, right? Because without one of us cogs, the machine would probably be fine. We are replaceable. But without all of us, the winder has nothing to wind. Without many of us interacting together, helping each other, lifting each other up, bein' all average and junk, the winder is sitting there looking like an idiot putting a piece of metal in a non-functional clock. Suddenly, that spectacular dude is looking pretty dumb, right?
So you. Go follow your dreams. Be all awesome and change lives and fix the world and end hunger and stuff. But if you don't... if suddenly you find your world becoming unbearably average, just remember how special being average is. Remember that without us normal cogs, we've got a bunch of stupid clock winders.
All those special people can have their special lives. They can go out there and be voices, and have people look up to them. They can be idolized by millions, and have people hang on their every word. They shoot for the moon, because even if they miss they land among the stars. They jump from the stratosphere and fall to Earth at ungodly speeds. They fly airplanes and dream of great, lofty things. They invent jet packs and hover boards (still holding out for these, actually) and fly with the birds.
Me? I write a blog that 9 people read. I fear the unexamined life, and instead live the thoroughly-examined life. Both my feet stay on the ground, right where they belong. I smile and wave at people I don't know, and have good days and bad days. I tell stories that people laugh at, and laugh when people tell me stories. And you know what? I'm just fine being a cog. Because I'll sit here and work and go unnoticed than to wind a broken clock any day of the week.
