i am tired
of inspirational texts, blogs, comics, and quotes telling me how to live:
to try harder than my hardest.
to be the best, of the best.
i am fed up of famous people, infamous people, people with their own unique experience telling me i’m not doing enough.
how does one define “enough”. in the number of friends? in the digits in a bank account? in the ever so immeasurable indicator for happiness? (plus, from those who ‘have it all’ i’ve heard, nothing is ‘enough’)
but here’s the thing: sometimes, getting out of my bed is the most productive thing i’ll have done all day.
don’t tell me it’s not enough.
sometimes, it takes me hours to muster up the will to shower and of course i feel better when i’m clean and fresh.
but, don’t tell me it’s not enough.
don’t tell me i have to fight fire and hail, fight society and family, fight lovers and haters, and fight every single damn person who doesn’t “believe” in me…to get “there”. to have gained “success”.
don’t even tread on “you’ve got to believe in yourself.”
because i have a question to ask. say we all took that advice. say we all climbed to the top of mount everest. say we all were, indeed, the best of the best….who then, is left, to be, average?
i’d like to be the poster child for average please. that would be my dream come true. to say, “you don’t have to be the best at anything, it’s enough that you try, it’s cool if you are able do”. who’s here to tell me, “it’s fine you don’t have goals–they don’t measure to success”, because i’m no math genius but i’m pretty sure there is no equation that states: no goals = no happiness.
i don’t think so.
i don’t think that my life has meaning because of things i “accomplish”, i think the biggest lie we’re told is to aim for “achievement”. if anything, my moments of pride lie in laughter, lie in jokes, lie in moments i won’t forget. they come packaged in smiles, hidden in kisses. they come with stories of fun, they come in sorrows that are shared. my moments happen by accident, they happen by chance–they could happen and i might be foolish enough not to even notice them. my moments exist in the in-betweens. my moment can’t be framed and hung on a wall (photos hardly do justice), my moment’s won’t show up on resumes or on certificates, heck there’s simply no way you could quantify them. they’re not a target you can set.
all that to say, what i do, what you do, it’s enough. it’s plenty enough. whatever you’ve got, it’s not a war to be won, it’s just a battle of knowing that you need to step back, let things be, and enjoy them.
if you can do that, if you can find the treasure of being average, if you can find your joys in things people forget to count, well i think you might find those sneaky little indicators of happiness. of success.
average isn’t a bad place to be, average is something hard to attain.
ask me, i’ll tell you all about it: average, it’s pretty fucking fantastic.