Ordinary: adj. 1. Commonly encountered; usual. 2a. Of no exceptional ability, degree, or quality; average. 2b. Of inferior quality; second rate.
It’s a word that often characterizes my life. Common, usual, without exceptionalism. Ordinary.
If my life had directions, a la shampoo bottles, the directions would read: “Wake up. Go to work. Work. Come home. Putz about. Go to sleep. Repeat.”
It’s not a bad life, when all is said and done. I enjoy my work, I love to putz. Sleep is good. As much as I long for the extraordinary, the unusual, the exceptional, the prime–I find myself quite content with the ordinary, the usual, the average.
I completed Nancy Moser’s Just Jane, a novel about Jane Austen, over the weekend. It was an enjoyable book–comfortably Austenish without trying too hard to mimic Austen’s voice. I could identify with Jane’s moods of peace and peevishness as she rode out the unexpected life of a spinster. Moser’s Jane was swept along by so many waves–decisions were made for her that were far less than her expectations or desires. And she let herself wallow in discontent for a while. But at some point, she has to find her home–she has to learn to be content to be “Just Jane.”
I feel that I am coming to that point–or at least that this ebb of the tide brings me to that place. I am content to just be me. I am content that my life be as usual. I am content to be unexceptional. To be ordinary.
Except that I know that ordinary I shall never truly be. For inside that “ordinary” capsule of day to day routine, I am one of the “peculiar people”.
“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of Him who hath called you out of darkness into His marvellous light.” I Peter 2:9
Peculiar: adj. 1. Unusual or eccentric; odd. 2. Distinct from all others. 3. Belonging distinctively or primarily to one person, group, or kind; special or unique.
Yep. That would be me. Ordinary, but peculiar.