“What do you want to be?” I asked my date. We were just shy of 20 years young.
“I want to be an ordinary person,” the young man said.
“???” I didn’t get it. When you are a teenage boy or girl, don’t you want to be an outstanding, extraordinary, prominent person even when you don’t know in what. Somebody but an ordinary person.
Several decades have passed since and I had a chance to see the boy again at a class reunion. I told him I now understood what he meant by being ordinary and appreciated him for his wisdom at such a young age.
“Did I say such a deep thing?” the boy, now a man in fifties, said.
I should have chosen this ordinary guy instead of a succession of overgrown permanent teenagers, who were exciting and extraordinary in not necessarily good ways as a partner.
I am not outstanding, extraordinary or prominent, but I think my life was nothing but ordinary. After decades of turmoil, now I find myself living a very ordinary life with absolutely no drama. And I am mostly content with my ordinary life as an ordinary person. Then once in a while, I look back and say to myself, “It was fun.”
It must be just a state of one’s mind.