When did “normal” run out of favor? Everywhere I look are special people. Or are there? On closer examination, it’s people trying to be special, searching for that one niche where they excel everybody else. The natural “specialness” that we all have is not enough anymore, there has to be something else.
We’re all barristas.
One of the many examples in the modern world. Regular coffee? Boring. Icky. Mundane. Is your palate really that numb that you can’t feel the difference between the fruity acidity of a golden roast arabica from 1650m over sea level growing under orange trees prepared in a V60 at 86°C from the slightly more earthy acidity of a golden roast arabica from 1625m over sea level growing under tangerine trees prepared in a V60 at 86.5°C? And if your palate is that numb, then maybe you are that numb? What do you mean, milk and sugar?
(Flabbergasted silence, turns around on the heel, walks out pale, shaking, with tears running over their cheeks, speed dialing their therapist)
The new normal?
Everything is an experience now, everything is, no has to be special. Sharing a moment with friends and family is not enough, it’s something normal, something everyone can do, so it has to be enhanced by showing it, through pictures or scriptures or voice – and then get that feedback from the world of strangers. Only then it becomes special. Normal experiences, a hug, a kiss, a laughter – they can never have the same worth than taking a selfie on Mt. Everest. Except for when they’re shared through Ego-Media.
The irony is that it has become a lot less normal than one might think. Having a true conversation, a deep conversation. Having friends. Having Family. Especially friends are becoming more and more self-serving, we desire social contact as innate to us, but can’t help it – we have to stand out in the group. We have to be the one that is special. We have to be the one that can do something the rest can’t, we have to feel better.
And so, we fragment ourselves from the rest yet again, wondering why we can’t feel connected in any way while sipping on that incredibly horrid craft beer, made by a half-naked (he’s wearing a bra) eremite in the Appalachian forests from Prunus serotina leaves and bark of the Larix laricina. Of course, we had looked up those weird Latin names and had Grok give us a summary that, though factually at least questionable, had impressed our uneducated friends. Wait… that must be it! They’re not worthy of us, that’s why we can’t create a meaningful connection! That was a close one, we almost questioned ourselves, congrats on saving our ego.
Humor aside.
(Though humor, too, makes us special, but normal special.) In the total freedom of “you can be everything you want” it’s implied that we have to be special, or we’re failures, unworthy of the freedom we’re given. And with that, “normal” has become something undesirable to us. We’re being taught to seek more, as that makes us consume more. So we not only pretend to find enlightenment whenever we can, but also get a kick out of using highly expensive gear to squeeze a tiny extra of flavor out of life.
Because life has become flavorless. By stepping away from traditions (because they’re normal), we’ve taken out the salt. New is always better. By retracting from meaningful connections and all the disagreements and discussions and problems they bring with them, we’ve taken out the spices. Our friends and families are not safe havens for honest feedback and self-reflection anymore, but points of comparison on how far we have climbed the latter of pretentious success. They’re not a place to breath and be ourselves anymore, but a background for pictures to show of our allegedly rich social life.
There are truly special people. And they usually don't declare themselves like that. They don't try to be, they don't exhibit it. On the contrary. They try to blend in, somehow. At least the three I know. They catch themselves wishing to be normal, for similar reasons as those who want to be special. I just told one of those friends:
“The bane of being special is that it’s very hard to find a group where you belong.”
They're special on different levels. Two are intellectually special, incredibly intelligent people. And one is more of a saint-type-special, a person that has endured so much and still is capable to love with all her heart and infect those around her with it.
Normal is the new special.
I like being normal. I don’t have any staggering talents that make everyone around me awe. Yet, I’m special, in the normal way. My sense of humor, my work ethics, my social work, my craziness and such, they're unique combination differentiate me. But so do things that I wished to be perceived as normal in society, but have become special: Being self-critical, working hard on myself, trying to be coherent, taking and admitting responsibility, and so on.
It limits me in my relationships, too, as I don't accept friends as such if they don't share those values. As acquaintance, sure, bring it in. But not as real friend. And so, I have the same problem as the self-declared special people, which leads me to the ever-present question that re-appears on every level of consciousness again when looking up to where I started digging:
Am I what I criticize?
