Recently, I have realized I want to be ordinary. I don’t want to go with the trends. I don’t want to necessarily fit in with the people in my “niche” (IRL or blogahood). I don’t want to keep up with the Joneses, who are desperately seeking the approval of the Smiths, the Millers, and the World Wide Web.
I don’t like goat or feta. And discovered not too long ago, that Gorgonzola is another word for funky cheese (Just a tip: it shares a name with a mythical character who was evil…). I don’t like skinny jeans. They look ridiculous to me, even on the thinnest model. I just now got used to having the breeze blow across the
top of my crack small of my back in my “short zipper” jeans.
I am not cut out to be trendy. Somehow, what I knew when I was 14 (?) got lost in the mists of time.
I am purist. I like my cereal the same way they made it before they added yogurt covered raisins or honey nuggets. I like my candy the way they made it when I was a kid without putting ALL the other candy ideas to it. I like my chocolate in a Hershey bar.
I am a classic. I like navy and white. I like a just-below-the-chin-length page boy (do they even still say pageboy?). In spite of my comments about trends in jeans, I like denim. I bought a Coach leather handbag when I graduated from high school, I still carry it. Because I can.
A couple of months ago, I decided to be content with my wardrobe for as long as I could. Then last month, I came to the end of a long journey. The great victory was fraught with disappointments. The memories will always be marred by ugliness that wasn’t the consequence of my choices.
What do these things have to do with ordinariness?
They are bringing me in touch with what I really want in life.
A good, rich cup of Folger’s in the morning.
To lead a quiet life
and to attend to my own business
and to work with my hands….
so that I may behave properly towards others and not be in any need.