Being Average?

I have only started noticing that I am just average. Now, I am not saying that there’s anything wrong with being average. I have a pretty good time being average, but I do wonder sometimes why I am so ‘average’.

I have received average grades from primary school and it never used to bothered me, I was happy. But as I get older, I realise how average the world perceives me to be. Looking back, I have never really excelled in anything, I have always just done ‘okay’. I am not saying I feel I’ve failed or others consider me under par: I simply feel vulnerable at this time and want to share how I see things.

I’m sure I’m not the only one to feel like this and I bet there are a few readers categorised as ‘average’ who can relate to this frustration: I’ve always tried my best, I’ve worked hard yet when considered by others, be it an examiner or tutor, I have always got an average mark. And you have to think, if that’s the result of giving it my best shot, am I condemned to come second, forever more? Is average all I will ever be?

But now reviewing how I feel about being as bloody average as I am, I realise how irritated I am about the marks and the comments: there was little challenge, no push, simply assurances that I was doing really well, only grooming me for my ‘average’ position. Are pushy and assertive the traits those that help develop a person look for in recognising potential? I am neither.

What is done is done: categories defined by others is one way of creating boxes for people to inhabit and why should I, or anyone else, determine how average we are based on what others define? If I was to look at it through a different lens, I see that I am actually bloody brilliant! But when times are grey and you see nothing but dark clouds and rain, it is hard to see your strengths; your potential; and the opportunities out there. I sit under dark clouds a lot, I just need to let the sun shine in more.

I don’t think anyone should let the label of ‘average’ chain them: we are all exceptional in our own ways, whether we see it or not. But I know if we abandon such labels and the negative connotations they hold over us, we will all see how bloody brilliant we can be.

Where did my independence go?

I just got back from uni…. end of my last year, so yeah, bye!

 

Uni was the first time I had been away from home, I couldn’t cook (still can’t, but will be forever grateful to Deliveroo), wasn’t great at ironing (still not) and not that keen on cleaning (but needs must). Three years of focusing on studies, lectures and getting pissed. I’ve come back home to two fabulous parents, but after a couple of weeks of pampered bliss, it hit me: Where did my independence go?

At uni, if I had no food in the fridge and it was too late to trek to town (or I simply couldn’t be arsed), deliverance (or deliveryJ) was just one speed dial away. Not cooking meant even when I did shop, my fridge was full of beautiful sliced bread, processed cheese, the cheapest ham and the must-have Frubes (I know it’s for children, but hell – it saved on the washing up). Don’t get me wrong, I do know how to turn on an oven… hence, on occasion, a freezer full of chicken nuggets and chips.  Now at home, the fridge/freezer is always magically full…. of healthy shit. Salad: NO! Veg: WTF!! Artisan breads: what’s wrong with plastic wrapped sliced plastic! So, why, I ask, are my fabulous parents attempting to get me used to the better things in life, when it will simply be harder for me in the long run? I need to keep to what I know in order to face the world, for when I move out and start an internship on next to nothing. I love them dearly, but they need to let me do my own thing on the food front – got to keep real!

When I was at uni I did a lot more: I had the freedom to go anywhere and not be questioned or asked what time I’d be back – I simply did my own thing, in my own time and that was the end of it.. I could be in a bad mood, lock myself away until the darkness lifted and not be questioned. Whereas now I am home, if I leave the room or I don’t talk much, its 21 questions asking why? I love that they care so much, but it is hard coming home – I feel I’ve gone back in time, I’m not a little girl anymore,  I’m 21 and can kinda do my own thing.

I have been trying out new things (this blog for one). I was always focused on getting the right results so I could go on and get some more good results… but I’ve never felt free to experiment. I’m not saying I haven’t had fun, but I’ve conformed from Day 1, never been a rebel and now I’ve done all that I am looking to conform some more: Get a job and be a good daughter. But is it hard, job requirements always seem to include something I haven’t done, or haven’t got.  I’ve tried to achieve academically so I can grow and support myself, but some days, after trawling through job opportunities, I wonder if I will ever be independent.

 

Have I lost my independence or am I just growing up? The more I see, the more I realise that at university I had to grow up fast and live on my own. I wasn’t well prepared, but I I did it. And if I did it once, I can do it again! I still have a lot of growing up to do, but I will get my life sorted and get done what I need to in order to get the independence I so want.

I Thought I made new friends! What happened?

So it goes like this: I was on a night out with a great friend having a good laugh and quite a few Jägerbombs and double Disaronno and cokes. Of course, we had to make compromises due to the long queues at the places we wanted to go (and we are not women who wait – long queues are for bus stops and supermarkets, not a night out). So we landed in a sweet, little bar with no queues and which served drinks – a perfect combo! A table was free so we parked. Happily the table next to us was full of some really chill, nice people. I got chatting to one of them as they kindly showed me where the loo was. Note: I was not that drunk, but I had ‘forgotten’ my glasses (OK, I admit – sometimes vanity gets the best of me).

After I came back I thought you know what? She helped me let’s have a drink together. We were great friends after we came back and so we joined her friends. The conversation flowed, I really connected with these guys –good times. Finally! People who got me and understood where I was coming from. We bonded so well (you can always tell when someone asks if you can go to the loo with them for a chat about a personal problem that they think you might to be able to help with).

At this point I should have had an inkling – why pick me for assistance with clarity and support? Drunk old me? But Ok, I took it. How my world was crushed… as she casually mentioned they were all high on Molly! I don’t make judgements, not something I would do to be honest, its none of my business. BUT the people who finally understood me, who I bonded with, connected with, were all high!  What does that say about me? What is my thought process like, how do I see the world sober(ish)? Do I ramble, do I go off on tangents… So bereft I was I then called my mum when I got home (sorry Mum, I know calls at 3am are not cool, but it was an emergency). ‘Hey Mum, do I talk like I’m out of it?’ I asked… the answer was a simple ‘Yes, Phoebe.’

 

Cool. Great. Good times… Will I ever have a conversation with someone who actually gets me when not under the influence of drugs? Apparently not.