It’s Friday night and I’m scrolling through LinkedIn (I know — hell of a Friday night). Out of all my socials, and I don’t have many, LinkedIn is the one I use the least. So I start scrolling through and I’m just bombarded with success stories and how-to success stories. Oh look — Tina got a scholarship to do research over the summer, Jessica got a certificate for completing two years in a mentorship role and Jeff — Jeff’s constantly sharing success stories of people who defied the odds and now have libraries named after them. The whole experience just leaves me feeling inadequate, average. Suppose that’s why I don’t go on LinkedIn all that much.
The thing is, I’m 21 years old and already I feel inadequate. I’m living in a world where it’s next to impossible not to compare yourself to the guy next door. And all the while, there’s this voice inside my head telling me not to compare myself to everyone else, to accept where I am and instead, draw inspiration from others’ success. But let’s be real, this is much easier said than done. And whilst I do try, it’s just not as simple as that. Because Sally’s my age and already she has her own business, but she also grew up in a broken home, which was further torn up by war and violence. Yet, she still got her college degree, graduating with a stellar academic record, and did I mention she has her own business? Let me ask you, how can I not feel inadequate when I hear stories like this? How can I not when I grew up in a loving and supportive home, with two parents might I add? How can I not when I attended a top private school? How can I not when my parents offered to get me a tutor when I told them I was struggling in math? How can I not when I was given every opportunity to ensure that I achieve penultimate success? How can I not when my successes just simply don’t measure up to hers? I’m average, and she’s extraordinary.
This is when the dread sets in — the fear that I’m just average, I’m just ordinary. But that’s funny, because I’m 21 years old and I’ve completed high school and now I’ve also just completed an undergraduate degree. I’m 21 and I’ve got a whole entire degree. But Ben helped raise over $200,000 to help children in Sub-Saharan Africa receive education. So no, I’m still just average. I did some volunteering in a children’s hospital once, so I’ve given back to those in need. But Emily was a teaching volunteer in an orphanage in Cambodia for a year. So no, I’m still just ordinary.
When did being just ordinary become such an undesirable trait? It seems more and more common these days that mundaneness is what we fear above all else. We’re literally afraid of quotidian human life. The mere state of being human just doesn’t do it anymore. Instead, we admire lifestyles filled with death-defying hobbies and we marvel over the extraordinary measures sought to attain success. Sometimes it can seem like success that is easily attained just simply isn’t as formidable. The idea leaves me thinking I should add to the qualifications section of my resume: “great suffering and challenges were endured to obtain these”, just to make my success story that little bit more appetising.
Until we redefine what being extraordinary looks like — we will likely always feel just ordinary. The problem arises when we strive for society’s standards of extraordinary instead of our own. This is a lesson that I’ve had to learn, and I say had to learn, because if I didn’t I would be crushed by the standards of the society in which I live. If I didn’t define what my extraordinary is, I’d constantly be feeling inadequate and this feeling would always keep me in the shallow waters, too afraid to dive into the deep.
I’m fortunate to be in the process of recovering from the extraordinary pandemic. Whilst I still get feelings of inadequacy, my sense of extraordinary helps to keep me grounded. I’m okay with being labelled as just ordinary because I know that my idea of being ordinary is very different to someone else’s. Just like my concept of extraordinary is too. When I do something that scares the absolute crap out of me, I feel extraordinary. If I’m able to bring meaning to something ordinary and mundane, then to me, that’s extraordinary too. And really, in many ways that’s just being ordinary because isn’t life about making lemonade? Sometimes the ordinary is the beginning of extraordinary, just as lemons are to lemonade. I’m definitely not extraordinary, but I am ordinary. And I’m sure, that if you look hard enough, you would see that you are just as ordinary too and within that, you have endless potential and a mountain of possibilities.
