
In my quest for “success,” I swat away the possibility of average like it’s an insult.
Since when did being average carry such a sting, an unspoken stigma, an unshakeable weight?
I long for the freedom of not caring whether I’m good enough. Trying so damn hard all the time is exhausting, and for what - the chance of being better than average?
Why can’t I accept average?
I initially wrote, “Why can’t I settle for average?” That in itself is telling, as if being average is something we settle for but not something we aspire to.
By the law of averages, most of us are average. There is nothing wrong with average, yet I expect more from myself.
Most of my friends are average people who live in average houses and do average jobs. But you know what isn’t average about them? Their hearts and souls are off-the-charts exceptional. They sprinkle and sparkle in ways the top percentile of humankind could only dream of.
Is it about relevance?
If we’re not relevant, ar…