Most Unextraordinary of You

Mediocrity: Something we are taught to strive beyond as children yet are forced to accept as age and reality set in. We soon realize that the reason “exceptional” exists is only because most of us are not.

I came from a town of about 3,500 people. You know your town doesn’t make the map when they round your population size to the nearest hundred. Growing up, I wouldn’t say I was just like everyone else. Frankly, I was a little quicker than others my age, both mentally and physically. I had the top grade in every class and was the tri-county track and field star. Socially, I struggled a bit early on, and fortunately that set aside a few ounces of humility for me. It took a few years, but eventually I learned that people rather you keep your ideas and commitment to accuracy inside the classroom. The outside world operated more on momentary truths and vaguely constructed passions. Once I understood that, I was actually quite happy in my hometown. People treated me with the kindness and respect I believed I deserved, and in turn, I helped them solve the little challenges of daily life here and there. Despite my age, I was a key member of the community, and mattering was all I needed back then.

Of course, it helped that I had dreams to make it big, dreams that I could win the admiration of those beyond my little town. But as I’m sure you’ve heard a thousand times before, attending a top university in one of the largest cities in the country unfolded much like a high school drama club’s attempt at a Shakespearean tragedy. After my ego took a dive, my body tried to follow, but fortunately for me, it was one of the few times I miscalculated. Another classic tale of a pseudo-protagonist’s fall from grace. I’m a real individual, aren’t I?

As do all the ones who live to tell the tale, I built my way back up from rock bottom and reached a point somewhere between humility and fragility. In simpler terms, I learned not to try to conquer the ocean’s waves but adapt to them, and at times, ride them to my next destination. All the while, I continued to wonder whether this constant queasiness deep within my belly was a seasickness telling me I didn’t belong out here. It didn’t take long for this feeling to win over and I returned home.

Most stories stop here. Either the big pond fish grows to fit the ocean or finds comfort in swimming back up the river. I’m not sure what part of my twisted mind refused satisfaction on either end. In the city, I was nobody, not even worth a second glance, but I was surrounded by inspiration, greatness, freedom, and potential. Every chance encounter brought with it another way I could grow, but also served as a reminder of everything I wasn’t. In my hometown, I mattered without trying. I was great regardless of how many times I failed. And yet, instead of treasuring the value others designated to me and accepting the grace for shortcomings all humans deserve, I began to grow frustrated that no one asked more of me. Or of each other. There, we were allowed to live out the rest of our lives as just...ordinary.

Out in the side yard of my childhood house was my favorite pear tree which had been planted the same day I was born. At least, it used to be my favorite, back when it was the only flowering fruit tree to look forward to every spring. It was quite plain now—in its twenties and nearing the end of its lifespan. I’m sure I would walk right past it if it were plopped down in the middle of an orchard...

The tedium of unearned excellence eventually outweighed the memories of my crushing inadequacy and I have since returned to the city. As I was ready to expect, all that unclaimed potential that shined so brightly from afar has amounted to nothing more than lonely incompetence.

I should be happy just to be alive, but what that life is worth and how it is treated seems to depend so much on where I place it. The illusion of inherent value shatters with a disjointed context. How pure must a diamond be to outshine the others of its kind? The roughest of diamonds will sparkle in a pile of coal, even though they are made of the same substance, though one perhaps underwent a lot more pressure. Is my mistake that I haven’t learned to settle for less, or that I am not pressing hard enough to achieve more? It is not that I strive for greatness as much as I am compelled to do my greatest. What was the point in all that potential if I leave it unfulfilled?

So I say, and yet I have the creeping feeling that I will never reach the threshold of enough. If we were only supposed to push ourselves to our limits, well, I hit mine long ago. It nearly destroyed me, but since it didn’t, I no longer know where to stop. If you are willing to break as many times as it takes, you can make it almost anywhere. And that’s what every heart-wrenching, inspirational story tries to tell us, right? Right?