Being Ordinary

It might run counter to intuition in this frenzied media – soaked, narcissistic era of crotch-grabbing,  buttock – featuring, selfie-stick extended life that the truth is somewhat different. In my heart I don’t wish to emulate this behaviour or seek the spotlight in any of those ways.  I don’t want attention, don’t want to be marked as special, or ‘other’, in any way.  I just want to be ordinary.  I’ve had enough of differene, of the situations that marked my life as different and yearn to not be considered,  not thought about, not accommodated for my special differences. I want to fade into obscurity and just live my life in ordinariness.

I’m sure that I’m not alone in wishing this.  A multitude of people would share this desire.  Stories of suffering and stories of pain are narratives that users have not willingly sought to construct, deliver or live.  The unspeakable effects of war, enforced migration, chronic illness, histories of abuse, rape, death, poverty or madness or any of the multiple conditions of suffering that people have endured alongside these would qualify those people as having a fervent wish for ordinariness.

I don’t think that this desire is well enough understood. If your everyday is a battle facing uncertainty,  fear or pain, then meeting the challenges of daily life consume you. But this is no hierarchy of Maslow’s;  self – actualisation can occur even when basic needs are difficult to meet. The point here is that the dislocations of the self that occur when accommodating and coming to terms with trauma make you very zen about simple things. There is beauty in complexity but greater peace and equanimity may be evident in simply confidently rattling around your own place and making that cup of tea yourself.

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