This Mediocre Life
Taking stock of your life is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Like those year end reviews, looking back on the montage of your life can be a little, shall we say, revealing? Most of us will not have a slick, well-lit, Hollywood-produced type reel that showcases our glorious achievements. Many of us will not have won awards, represented by gleaming paperweights on trophy shelves. The overwhelming majority of us will have lived what we call an ordinary life, commonplace — marked by snippets of joy and scarred by fermented failures.
We do love to compare our lives though. The grass is always greener over the privacy fence, isn’t it? It’s hard for us to appreciate the moderate lawn we’ve grown. And for us city slickers, the lawn metaphor reminds us we do not have a coveted backyard to be envious about, so there is that.
When I was learning to drive, my understanding was that the rear-view mirror was meant to be used sparingly…when changing lanes…not for the entire car ride. If I spent the whole time on the road of life looking back, a crash of conscious would be inevitable. Perhaps we need some Life Airbags to soften the blow.
Many moons ago, an actor friend of mine was enjoying some professional success alongside some personal struggles. During such time, he railed against a bunch of us, with superiority and anger. “Go ahead and live your mediocre life” he yelled at me during a phone conversation that had clearly gone off the rails. I tried not to take it personally, of course, but when someone you have known and supported as a friend say’s such things, you can’t help but feel the sting. And question. Everything.
Am I living a mediocre life?
“Don’t get down on yourself sweety” is what my inner life coach whispers. “You’ve done a lot for others. Your life is valuable.” Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know it is…on paper. But it does make me pause and think “What the hell have I done with my life??”
We all have this nagging feeling that our lives may not add up to much by the time Mr. Reaper pays us a visit. We reflect and look back over our shoulder to see if we’ve left anything behind other than some stale breadcrumbs to find our way home. We wonder — what have I accomplished?
Some of us may have stumbled upon a medical breakthrough, or created an app, or built a well in Ethiopia or taught thousands of school children how to read and write. I have done none of those things. As far as work goes, my paycheck was always my driving force. I certainly wasn’t showing up, day after day, because it was a barrel of laughs, an endless game of charades. The weekly deposit into my bank account kept me in line. My current career is not lofty or based in service — it’s a Job. That thing I learned as a kid that you procure as an adult.
My point is this — when I think of all the people who do something of what I consider “value” (I do understand that this is subjective but go with me here) — I realize I haven’t done squat. Squat being defined here as “not much.” And that worries me. I want to have proven my circles around the sun worthwhile. I certainly don’t want to get to the Pearly Gates (and yes, I’m assuming that’s where I’m going) and find my name is not on “the list” and denied entry. It would be mega embarrassing if St. Peter looked me up and down and said, “What have you got to show for yourself Liz?” At that point, I assume I will have to stumble around attempting to plead my case, desperately trying to recall my achievements toward humanity, and I’m not one for holding up the line. I hate when I’m at the grocery store and the person in front of me needs a price check…so I’m polite enough to know that my fellow humans waiting behind me in line to get into Eternal Heaven will not be pleased if I become one of “those” customers. (Is there a coupon I can scan to bypass the main gates? I’m certainly fine with a raincheck. I should check the circular.)
I want to have done something of true merit — of lasting service. We all want to leave some sort of legacy behind, don’t we? We don’t want to simply become a cold rock sticking out of the ground, visited rarely, on holidays, out of obligation, do we? I’m going to speak for you and say “No, you don’t”.
I can hear the lot of you thinking why don’t you go and volunteer then Liz? Why don’t you change careers? Why don’t you say the Pledge of Allegiance upon waking every day? That may make you feel better. And yes, you may be right. I’ve pondered volunteering, and then I get lazy. I already see my workdays as a sort-of volunteer project when I sit at my company desk, exchanging priceless time for precious dollars. And I’m not feeling the career change idea. The thought of re-learning every computer system and corporate policy of a new company is less than compelling. I suppose I can help fight hunger or battle illiteracy or any number of things I believe to be worthy of my time…but I don’t.
So maybe that’s the way things are meant to be. I’m meant to revere those that give of themselves on a much larger scale than I ever could. Perhaps their service is meant to keep that flickering fire burning in my belly, the nudge of my subconscious to keep searching for that thing that I can offer. To be clear, I’ve racked up a good deed or two in my life (I’m not a total loser). I’ve raised stepdaughters as my own, offered advice and encouragement to friends, thrown a modicum of positive energy into the world during my time here so far. I still have good to do. But there are days I feel the pressure to be digging deeper, working faster, chiseling my accomplishments in stone somewhere — as a sort of eternal insurance policy.
In some ways, we’ve all been sold a proverbial bill of goods. We’ve been taught that if we’re not extraordinary (which by the way, is really just “extra” ordinary folks) then we haven’t lived a complete and fulfilled life (whatever that is.) What does it mean anyway to have lived large, to have risen through the ranks to a life well-lived? And does it really matter?
I suspect what truly matters is the trial and error of life. What matters is that we are remembered, with a smile, for a time, by those that were closest to us…those within our DNA and geographical circles.
Because when all is said and done — we all end up under that beautifully manicured lawn either way. With or without the blue ribbons.
