In Praise of the Ordinary
The environment I grew up in continually suggested that it was within my power to achieve an extraordinary life. Whatever the hurdles, I was taught that through hard work, discipline, and moral seriousness, I could overcome nearly anything and carve out an exemplary and honorable path.
I could excel in the classroom, become an Eagle Scout, contribute meaningfully to society, find a suitable life partner, and earn the respect of my peers. Most importantly, I was determined not to disappear into the anonymity of an ordinary existence. Through a deep commitment to the Protestant work ethic—discipline, perseverance, self-denial, and moral uprightness—I could somehow avoid disappearing into the blur of ordinary life. I was asked to believe that—whatever obstacles stood before me—I was destined for an exceptional life.
What no one ever told me, however, was that despite our unique ways of moving through the world, most of us are destined to live fairly ordinary lives.
And perhaps there is a quiet dignity in that.
My life, in most respects, is fairly ordinary: modest means, a small circle of friendships, an unremarkable face, and abilities that do not particularly set me apart. I once read that only a tiny fraction of humanity will ever truly distinguish itself in the eyes of the world. The rest of us will live quieter lives—lives marked less by greatness than by small fidelities, ordinary responsibilities, modest joys, private griefs, and fleeting moments of beauty.
Yet we live in a culture that struggles to acknowledge this truth. Instead, we are continually told that relentless effort, ambition, and a nose-to-the-grindstone mentality will eventually check every box. The message is subtle but persistent: if we are not exceptional, perhaps we simply have not tried hard enough.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to suspect that some of the expectations I carried for my life were shaped as much by fantasy as by reality. I say this cautiously because I do not want to discourage hope or aspiration. But there are times when our culture’s insistence that anyone can become extraordinary through enough effort begins to feel less encouraging than quietly unforgiving.
For many years, I struggled against the actual contours of my life. I measured myself against impossible standards and found myself lacking. I compared my life to those who seemed exceptional in obvious ways, all the while overlooking the quieter truths of my own existence—my capacities and limitations, my gifts and blind spots, the small but meaningful ways I had learned to love, endure, create, and remain present.
But perhaps there is freedom in finally laying all of that down.
Perhaps an ordinary life is not something to escape, but something to inhabit fully.
So the next time our paths cross—either in this life or the next—ask me about all the things I’m mediocre at.
It’s actually a pretty impressive list.
