Ode to the ordinary
Sep 23rd, 2007 by Accidental Thinker
I got a letter today from my alma mater university, and I’m sure it had quite the opposite effect on me from what was intended. The 5-page letter sings the praises of the current freshman class, the class of 2011. There’s a lot to be proud of in this class, and I’m glad to see that my school is attracting brilliant and forward-thinking minds. Makes me feel smart by association. But the descriptions of the accomplishments and collective background of this body of students also left me feeling just the slightest bit unsettled. The class of 2011, at least at my alma mater, is full of brains and diversity and offbeat characters and lofty goals and important causes and confidence bordering on cockiness. But there’s not much at all of just being a nice, honest, humble, hardworking person. The letter left me wondering: What’s wrong with just being ordinary?
Today, I don’t think I’d stand a snowball’s chance of getting accepted into this school. I don’t have a plan to change the world, and I don’t have a plan to spurn it. I’m not the smartest or the funniest or the most politically savvy. I’m not a world or national or state champion in anything. Not field hockey or tennis or female wrestling or spelling or chess or the Irish tin whistle. I’ve never lived in a solar greenhouse in the Rockies or on a sheep ranch in Turkey or at a missionary in Kenya. I don’t speak four languages and I don’t hold any patents and my idols are not female oceanographers. My parents are not Nobel Laureates or famous chefs or CEOs of Fortune 100 companies or foreign ambassadors or in prison. I’ve never turned a piece of classic literature into a rap song or built a catapult to hurl pumpkins 700 feet. I’ve never ridden my bike 22 miles to reduce my carbon footprint. I was never a class president or a valedictorian or a captain of a varsity sports team or an editor-in-chief of my school newspaper. I’ve never been a llama handler or a beekeeper. My favorite book is not the Communist Manifesto. I do not think that the color of my nail polish is a metaphor for the impossibility of perfection. I’m not a left-leaning Buddhist from a conservative Catholic family. I’ve never wanted to be a god in the eyes of my followers. I’m not in search of self-identity. I mostly just want to give an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage, and to be there for my family and friends. Judging by the class of 2011, this makes me far too ordinary to pass muster with the admissions committee these days.
Don’t get me wrong—I LOVE the eclectic diversity of this class, and some of the stories are truly impressive and inspiring. Some of these students have overcome incredible obstacles to get where they are and they are absolutely worthy of praise. It’s just that, amidst all this standing out and specialness, where are the ordinary people like me? The ones who play the piano and belong to the Spanish club and get voted “Most Shy”? Where are the late bloomers who haven’t known since birth what they wanted to do with their lives? And reading about accomplishment after accomplishment and how everyone is so busy being different and unique, I couldn’t help but notice that what seemed missing was heart and soul. These kids purport to care about the world, but I wonder if they’ll be so engrossed in getting ahead and pursuing global altruism and being “individual” that they’ll forget to care about each other. I just can’t help but wonder.
I don’t really know why this analysis of the class of 2011 struck me the way it did. I suppose it’s partly because I have a hard time recognizing my own 17-year-old self in it. And partly because some of the essay snippets that were shared in the letter seemed so self-aware that it almost defies credibility. And partly because I think accomplishments are sometimes overrated at the expense of happiness and personal contentment as a measure of success.
Some of the happiest people I know might consider themselves ordinary. And that makes them extraordinary. Whether my alma mater agrees or not.
Okay! Here’s what you do: copy and paste this outstanding essay into Word, print it, stuff it into an envelope and mail it to you Alma Mater. Your school is the place that needs to see this.
This is really great! Good job!
Oh, and it’s nice to see you’re back again.
I think your last line is a good summary. It is extraordinary in this day and age to just be happy with yourself.
You know some of those ideas would have been great for my “1,000 Things To Do When You Are Grounded” essay. Although I don’t think Mommy and Daddy would have let me take off to Africa to volunteer my summer vacation aiding under priviledged children riddled by AIDS, when they would hardly let me out of the house. Instead I had to resort to making a village out of Spaghetti, relentlessly studying for the SAT, and begging for forgiveness.
Monique ~ Mostly just wanting “to give an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage, and to be there for my family and friends”… while this may SOUND “Ordinary” to you, I actually consider this “EXTRODINARY”! I wish that there were more people in the world who lived their lives in this manner. People who, would raise their children with these ideals instead of those wanting to “CHANGE the world†to be more to their liking. In other words… “There is NOTHING ordinary about being ORDINARY!” It’s a trait that I ADMIRE! I hope you do as well with your kids as your folks did with you! ~ jb///
P.S.* As a footnote here… my alma mater university usually just sends me requests for donations… so maybe I should have gone to your university.
Take those alumni letters with a grain of salt. They’re usually produced by marketing people whose objective is to squeeze as much money as possible out of proud alumni.
College alumni offices will print anything to make their schools sound better, whether it’s puffing up the current students’ credentials or pointing to a couple of shiny alums who have made it big. Either way, the facts are rarely checked and truth is not nearly as great a concern as is generating revenue.
As a case on point, according to my college alumni office, I’m now the award-winning Director of Distilling at the Aberlour Glenlivet Scotch Whiskey Distilling Company in Speyside, Scotland, but the only loose association between that story and the truth is the fact that I had a snootful of the stuff when I filled out the alumni form and mailed it back to the school.
I agree, ordinary can be extraordinary. Just because you aren’t personally saving the world doesn’t mean your any less than someone who claims to be. I completely relate to what your saying.
Monique, knowing your alma mater, and knowing you, I would absolutely believe you to be one of the extraordinary. I never would have been accepted at your alma mater, back then or now. I’m lucky to have shared a city with you, years after our meeting on the other side of the same state. But ordinary or no, your first commenter is absolutely right. As an alumna of said university, don’t you have some say in who or what will be representing your school of choice in the not too distant future? Send this essay to that school. Heck, I’ll print it out and hand deliver it for you! But to read such eloquence from one of their esteemed graduates should be an honor for them, and perhaps open their eyes…if even for a moment.
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