You Are Not Special
Life doesn’t hand out gold stars — so why do we expect them?
What’s that saying? — “You’re unique; just like everybody else.”
I never thought that applied to me.
My childhood report cards are littered with G-rated sweet nothings. “Hannah is a Great Worker!” (Year 2.) “Hannah shows Promise!” (Year 3.) “Hannah is so quiet and unassuming in class but is surprisingly insightful.” (Year 9 English — it’s called being an introvert and it’s not a crime, asshole.) Receiving praise was like a crack to my tiny addict brain; a warm and reassuring rush that lasted hours, sometimes days, until I needed the next hit. I was special and god-damn, it felt good.
Receiving praise was like a crack to my tiny addict brain; a warm and reassuring rush that lasted hours, sometimes days, until I needed the next hit.
That feeling never left me after finishing school. All through university, grad jobs, and my first serious ‘career’ roles I’ve felt driven by a need to be the best. That being anything less than an over-achiever was a failure of my Special-ness, and if I wasn’t getting Employee of the Month while simultaneously publishing my novel and selling hand-painted ceramic Smurfs to my thousands of adoring followers, I wasn’t doing it right.
Being special is exhausting. And it’s a well that’s never full. No matter what I achieved or how much I was praised for it, it wasn’t enough — I was already craving the next high.
‘Average’ is a dirty word
One night, after dramatically lamenting to my boyfriend for the hundredth time about feeling talented but unsure of what to do about it, he said something that took me by surprise.
“You know, it’s ok to be average.”
In my entire life, no one has ever told me I’m average. Naturally, I was extremely put out.
“But I’m not average, I’m special!” I wailed.
“I’m average. You’re average. What’s wrong with being average?” he said (and those were the last words he ever spoke).
I thought about it all evening. Was it possible he was right? I imagined a life where I didn’t put any pressure on myself to be special. I’d probably be a lot more content. I might even do some of the things I really enjoy, instead of feeling paralyzed about the things I’m a) not doing, b) not enjoying, and c) not doing, enjoying, and being wildly successful at.
I did what I always do when I have a dilemma or strange spot on my skin that I’ve convinced myself over three wines is cancer. I Googled it.
“Is it ok to be average?”
An article came up diagnosing me with narcissism.
According to the article, a strong desire for uniqueness (or to be famous or special) is a common symptom of narcissism. That narcissism has in fact been on the rise in the past century, as evidenced by a study of college students describing themselves as “important” (only 12% of students in the 1950s, vs 80% by the 1980s).
Millennials and Gen Z: a generation of narcissists?
Did growing up in the age of social media give me unrealistic expectations of what adulthood would bring? We definitely spend more time now cultivating our identities in the eyes of others. But then, I was craving praise in the classroom long before color-coding your Instagram feed was a thing.
Deciding I was safe from the narcissist diagnosis, for the time being, I kept reading. The article went on to say that being average can actually be a good thing. Statistically, you’re more likely to avoid illness (definite win). And you may even benefit from having average amounts of certain characteristics. Positive traits such as ambition or confidence can be a bad thing when present in the extreme (at this point, I was reminded of every girl I’ve ever hated in high school and who, in my imaginings, are now haggard and unfulfilled).
The further I went down the internet rabbit hole, the less certain I was. What was ‘average’ anyway?
If I’m honest — for me, it’s the realization that life doesn’t award gold stars. The smartest kid in the room and the strange, smelly kid in the corner are rendered equal under life’s blanket ‘No Fucks Given’ policy. We all have to find our own thing we love and do it — whether or not anyone else notices or cares.
I couldn’t help thinking that if only I’d been given different report cards in childhood, my expectations would be a little more realistic.
“Hannah is doing ok!” “Hannah shows promise at naps!” “Hannah went to the toilet all by herself today!”
That may be, being average is ok after all.
Further reading
- “In defense of being average,” Mark Manson, MarkManson.net, 18 Jun 2015.
- “The upsides of being average,” Tomas Chamorro-Premuzic Ph.D., Psychology Today, 2 Jun 2017.
