It's difficult to remember exactly when, but I think I was about five years old when I first experienced one of the more delightful benefits of joining the human race. That is to say, I discovered there was clearly something wrong with me. I wasn't as tall as the tallest kid, I wasn't as short as the shortest one either. I wasn't the fastest runner, nor the slowest. I knew some things, but some things were new to me. I was (gasp) average.
Horrors! How was I to live with this awful curse?
Oh sure, being average sounds benign enough, but in human society, average is a problem. It seems that average is perceived as the borderline between exceptional and delinquent. The landscape of which is sharply tilted towards the latter. Which means at any given time we are at risk of sliding uncontrollably towards the depths of delinquency, and perhaps whatever dark evil lies beyond (cue the lightning flashes and organ music).
Once thing is apparent, borders are no place to live. So we either glide down the slippery slope, or we push ourselves upward, but under no circumstance should we remain in place.
The good news is, there's no energy shortage when it comes to voices reminding us where we should be going. It all starts in school with the little note in the report card: "Satisfactory, but needs improvement." Parents chime in with "you could do better if you just apply yourself." Then of course there those among our grade school peers who seem particularly adept at pointing out every possible perceived weakness: "your ears are too big," "your nose is too big," "you're fat," "you're skinny," "you're a geek" et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseum.
As a parent I discovered that this invisible measuring tape surfaces even before we are born. First the charts to measure fetal development. Then, should you manage to pass this test, arriving cold, wet and naked into the world, you are greeted with the expectation of obtaining the highest Apgar score. After that it's "Is the child breast feeding yet?""Is he/she breast feeding enough?" "What color is his/her bowel movement?" Quick, fire up the spreadsheets!
The prize for somehow managing to muddle our way to adulthood is discovering that the intensity and number of voices increase exponentially. We are bombarded with suggestions that we're not working for the right company, we're not putting our kids in the right schools, we're not saving enough for retirement, we're eating all the wrong foods. Television, radio, newspapers, all reminding us of the vast abundance of things we ought to be doing, the issues we are ignoring, the unhealthy lifestyles we lead. Should we have the audacity of getting frustrated, and perhaps even angry, we are then reminded that our suffering barely competes with the suffering of others much less fortunate than us. Somehow, we can't even get angry right.
Deep in the television archives there is an interview with Leonard Cohen in which the interviewer (who clearly thought Mr. Cohen was a socialist-hippy-freak) asked the singer what was his first thought when he woke up in the morning. Cohen thought for a moment, then replied "I ask myself if I am in a state of grace." The reporter was flustered, not knowing how to respond, and fumbled to find some way to express what was wrong with this answer.
I often think of Cohen's answer, which was in fact a question. Perhaps not every morning, but many times I ask myself if I am thankful for what I have. Do I live that thankfulness every day? To me, this is a fundamental question that outweighs all others. Sometimes the answer is yes, sometimes no. But here's the thing, you can't measure this because it's all in asking the question.
Today I went toboganing with my son. It was a perfect winter day, filled with smiles, laughs and squeals of delight. Me, an average guy, with average faults, with my child, who like both my kids, I flatly refuse to describe as average. And the worst of it was...psst come closer to the screen...I was content.
Yes, there's clearly something wrong with me.
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