About six years ago, I had a huge falling out with one of my closest college friends, and it was one of the few fights I’ve had in which the other person really went off and told me what they were thinking. I only remember one thing he said — that despite all my “potential” to be “interesting,” I was “doomed to a life of mediocrity.”
That bit — because it felt true, it didn’t feel good.
And this came from the kind of friend who really knew me back then, the kind of friend who understood what was beneath the surface. For example, he once pointed out to me that the eccentricities that I adore in my friends (and that I so eagerly and affectionately point out in public), are oftentimes points of deep insecurity for those people. That was some feedback I needed to hear because I hadn't the least bit of self-awareness at the time, and it turned out that my friend was 100 percent correct. He could see me, I guess, with a little more clarity than I could see myself. So I trusted his insights.
And this time, his insight stung. I DID want to be “interesting” and have a life that wasn’t just a repeat of my parents’ lives. Dreams of an extraordinary life, however, seemed ever more unrealistic as college came to a close. My friend’s words cut me deeply at the time because I was afraid they were true.
Fast forward six years.
I teach high school, just like both my parents did. My boyfriend and I have two dogs and our grand adventures are usually to the park down the street. We cook dinner together and watch Netflix and lesson plan. And I have a social life and interests and do some fun shit, but I also have a bedtime. And these days, I’m pretty serious about it.
And so this friend comes to town, randomly, and wants to come visit my life of mediocrity.
Pretty soon, we’re talking over a bottle of wine about our lives and finding meaning and figuring out how to exist in the world in a way that feels right and good, and it hits me:
I might BE doomed to what looks like a life of mediocrity, or at least of “ordinary,” without all the excitement and drama I once craved. And while I would never advocate for mediocrity, I have started to believe that we were both too quick to dismiss simplicity and stability as “mediocrity.”
Because within this life — which looks ordinary on the surface — I have started to find something that feels extraordinary, even with that simplicity and stability:
A job that constantly challenges AND affirms me both intellectually and emotionally. A drama-free relationship in which we each keep growing as individuals while also growing as partners. A lifestyle that is stable enough to give me the mental capacity to be spontaneous or impulsive (or sustain a minor crisis) without my entire life turning into a shitstorm.
We crave stability, to an extent, because oftentimes it feels good. It doesn’t have to mean we live a rote existence. It can mean that we actually have the time and energy to be our best selves, and savor the good in life.
So while I may not be out ’til 5 a.m. these days at a badass show, my early bedtime also made it possible for me to wake up at 7 a.m. yesterday feeling refreshed and craving some decadent pastries from a neighborhood café. After a couple iced coffees, we took the dogs for a walk at Crescent City Park, walking along the river in the sunshine, and ya know, I never felt this at peace the day after those 5 a.m. shows. All in all, it feels damn good to be alive on this very ordinary morning.
As I ramble all of this to my friend, he says, “Thank you. I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels this way.”
It turns out that we're both starting to discover the benefits of stability.
