wizard of oz, no place like home, dorothy, ordinary, normal

A life more ordinary

Goals. We’re meant to have them, right? We’re meant to have, if not a roadmap, then wishes. Hopes. Rather than plans. People with ten year plans are not my people. But we can dream and we can keep the faith and we can aspire towards… what?

In our 20s and 30s we wanted to be extraordinary. We wanted astonishing lives. We needed to be special. And then, as it dawned that extraordinary might not be a recipe for happy, well… we wondered. We let go of special and we re-joined the human race. And suddenly, ordinary became a goal in itself. Normal. The irresistible pull of normality. The allure of balance, really. Not ‘My body is my temple’ balance. Not ‘My shaman will divine my journey’ balance. But just the ebb and flow of life until a storm comes – and it surely will – and then a clawing, crawling, gasping battle back to normal.

We travel full circle with regards to normal. As kids, generally, we don’t want to be weird but then we begin to look for ways to set ourselves apart slightly. It’s not conscious – it’s just part of the severing of ties, the throwing off of expectations that late adolescence brings. We show off, we act out, we experiment with astonishing and odd and astounding; could be a haircut, a romance, a geographic move. We hunt for our tribe wanting to both belong and to shine, shine, shine. But shimmer, we learn, is brittle, breakable and easily dulled. And people don’t buy it in the end. It reads as hologrammatic. It alienates.

So there’s a shift. If special can be hurtful, isolating and tiring, then normal suddenly looks lustrous. As in, “I want a piece of that.” Give us the gift of ordinary as all hell breaks loose across the planet. Give us ordinary and perhaps, centred, we will just gently… glow. And grow.

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