Ordinary Average Guy

Every morning I wake up, scrub the gunk off my teeth with my Oral-B electric toothbrush, shower the sleep from my fogged mind, put on a nice button up shirt with work-casual pants, get in my mid-size, foreign, fuel efficient sedan and drive to work where I spend my day under soft fluorescent lights working away at a computer. I go to meetings. I have lunch with co-workers. I talk to people who lean casually against my cubicle wall and discuss what was on television the night before.

At the end of the day I return to my split-level at the back end of a cul-de-sac in a bedroom community of a respectable but largely harmless Midwestern town. I walk in the door and greet my wife and two kids, settle into my recliner and watch the local news — mostly for the weather — followed on most nights by Wheel of Fortune where I laugh at the folly of people not so remarkably unlike myself. I fix dinner two or three nights a week, demand that my boy eat his vegetables when he turns his nose up in disgust, complain about those bozos up on Capitol Hill and read Goodnight Moon to my son.

In the immortal words of Joe Walsh, I’m just an ordinary, av-uh-rage guy.

Am I a cliché, an anarchist’s nightmare of conformity, the poster boy for teenage paradise lost? If so, God help me if I’m not pretty much just fine with the whole damn thing.

My life may well be a cookie cutter replacement for 50 million guys pretty much just like me, but even in its achingly simplicity I find it strangely noble and proud. In an age where everyone seems to believe they are destined for greatness, and inevitably go around moping for the middle two decades of their short life when that dream pops like a pineapple-flavored chewing-gum bubble on a teenage girl’s lips, I feel oddly content with being somewhat ordinary.

I know that I am eyeing on-rushing middle-age like an asteroid falling from the sky, but rather than fearing the crushing blow that strikes with galactic force, I am standing in the street arms outstretched ready to be enveloped into the cleansing fire of predictability.

Navel, prepare thyself to be thoroughly gazed, but in just the handful of years since I first entertained the bizarre notion of asking people to give me money for playing and talking about games, most of the rest of my life has settled like the sand on a beach at low tide. Was it not just a couple of years ago that I ran my own highly unsuccessful small business, bucking convention and breaking the mold as an entrepreneur? Yes, and what kind of special torture the uncertainty and heavy burden of launching that small business on the eve of global economic disaster turned out to be.

As I sit here at work, confident of the timely and predictable wages I gratefully gather, I feel a bit like the Indiana Jones of the working world, having slid under the ominously closing stone door, snatching my fedora from the fetid floor the moment before the gateway to gainful employment snapped shut. As I sit and ponder the grand normalcy of it all right now, it feels less to me like a burden and more like a luxury.

Is it so wrong to work just to be content, to succeed, to support a family and be a cardboard cut-out of the Classic American Family™? I feel like I should be wanting more, like there is some sentiment of judgment from too many generations told that they were special, when the reality is that being a unique snowflake is great until you realize that from a distance it all just looks like snow. I realize this is sacrilege to those who hold the unique sacrosanct and that to many it may seem like I’m wandering comatose through a life that could have been much more just clocking time with one foot in the cultural grave, but you know “Comfortably Numb” was always my favorite Floyd song anyway so that probably means something.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I — I took the road less traveled by. These words are propped up as the slogan for individualism, but every time I read that poem it just sounds to me like taking the road less traveled by turned out to be a huge pain in the ass. You take the road that “was grassy and wanted wear”, I’m going to take this one here that’s paved and has a McDonalds on it.

When at the end of days I take stock of this life, I don’t need to have cured cancer or flown to the moon. It will be enough to know that I took care of my family. That I lived honest and true. That I had fun and played games and found joy in the simple quiet of a satisfied life.

Comments

I feel like I should be wanting more, like there is some sentiment of judgment from too many generations told that they were special, when the reality is that being a unique snowflake is great until you realize that from a distance it all just looks like snow.

I love this line. It is just brilliance. It reminds me of my favourite demotivational poster:

"Individuality: Always remember that you are unique, just like everyone else"

Elysium, you are the more eloquent me. Seriously, you have a knack of putting into writing exactly how I feel, and I applaud you for it. Please continue to be awesome. Oh, and ignore all of these other idiots who don't get Wheel of Fortune.

Wheel of Fortune is a favorite in my house, and the wife and I watch it religiously almost every night, right after we put our son to bed. If you're a fan, and enjoy the game, I can totally recommend both the iPhone version and PSN version. They are both fun and worth the money.

Somehow I am reminded of this:
Copy of a copy of a copy.

Hear Hear! Now get back to work and get me those TPS reports.

This article and comments have me feeling a little mixed. I'm 25 and I have no family and no stable relationship to bloom into one. Yet, I work my stable job, purchased a home in a nice community with a good school system, and have college and retirement funds.
I know that all these things are good but I really have no need for any of it. Why do I care about being financially secure when I have no dependents or real responsibilities?I tell myself that I will appreciate the foundation I am laying now for the future but sometimes I feel I started too early.

Two years ago I was a musician and I gave up a career in that. I don't regret that decision as that particular situation wasn't for me. Although I do get jealous when I call my old friends and they are touring, jet-setting, and telling their rock-star stories.

I guess I still haven't adjusted to answering "So what's new?" with "Oh, nothing really." It's not that I am not enjoying life but when I get home from the office to a quiet home the PS3 doesn't seem to cut it.

McBrick wrote:
Like I said, I don't mind being a cog. But I want to be a cog in a system I respect.

I don't want to make it sound like I'm just glad to be working, or that anyone else should be. I would not, for example, get much job satisfaction out of telemarketing, repossessing cars, or the like. I do believe it's important to respect the company that you work for.

On the other hand, I've known too many people (and been a victim of this thinking myself) who think that their jobs are somehow not worthy because they're not helping earthquake victims, performing open heart surgery, or redeeming inner-city youth. We can't all be Bill Gates, Mother Teresa, or Bruce Springsteen, although depending on who you are that's what most people seem to aspire to be, and are disappointed when they fail.

Recently on my travels, I met a man who worked in a box factory. Literally: a factory that made cardboard boxes. And I could not have met a man more passionate about his job, or more fulfilled and enriched by it. He clearly believed that he had found his mission in life, that he was doing Great Things through the simple mechanic of creating cardboard boxes -- boxes, he pointed out, that helped bring food to kids in third world countries; boxes that delivered supplies for clean water and medicine; and boxes that contained food that helped struggling families put good food on their table.

You're right: We can't all be Bill Gates or Mother Teresa. And I think sometimes we judge ourselves too harshly, thinking that if we can't be those people, then why even bother? But we can all do our own little share of greatness in this world.

Wherever I am in life, I will always remember that guy who worked in the box factory, and I will hope to be as happy and fulfilled as he was.

I know that all these things are good but I really have no need for any of it. Why do I care about being financially secure when I have no dependents or real responsibilities?I tell myself that I will appreciate the foundation I am laying now for the future but sometimes I feel I started too early.

If 40 year-old you discovers time travel, he will come back in time for the express purpose of giving you a high-five.

Thank you , I really needed this. I've been struggling with feeling out of place by just being content with working a normal average job and not striving for more. Now I just need to work on that whole family thing.

Oddly enough, I used to feel this way. Maybe I'm just having an early midlife crisis, or destined to die young and still handsome, but lately more and more often I've been thinking about my life and how utterly banal it's turned out to be. I work in IT for a satellite television company, and while I get a certain measure of satisfaction in doing my job well, at the end of the day I get paid to enable people to watch television. There's nothing good or noble in that. As an idealistic youth I always naively imagined I'd be doing something that would help people or make the world a better place. Once a I got a bit older and world weary I figured trying to make sure you raised your kids to be better people then you are was enough of a purpose in life, but lately I'm not so sure. It's a tough thing, and I envy those of you who are able to look at the good things in your lives, recognize them as what are truly important and just be happy with them.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I was just musing over this concept today. Do I have daydreams of greatness? Of course. But when I look at my life, my wife, my 13-day-old baby girl, my interests, my hobbies, my friends, my stable job that gives ridiculous amounts of vacation; I can't imagine sacrificing any or all of that for glory.

There's something to be said for being a truly happy jack-of-all-trades.

Although, now that I think about it, it does give me a greater respect for those who sacrifice everything for their goals. I don't imagine that's an easy way to live.

And +1 to this:

Bourbon wrote:

Here's the thing though man...you are making a case for an "ordinary" life but how many people do you know --

1. Have a solid decently paying job there are largely content with;
2. Have a healthy marriage to someone they actually love;
3. Own a home they can afford;
4. Remain enthusiastic about a hobby (or multiple hobbies) that gives their day to day color;
5. And have access to a vibrant and supportive community of like-minded folks?

Being a peon or grunt and living a normal life is one thing, but being genuinely happy and self-aware? Quite another.

From where I stand there ain't 'nothing ordinary about that.

Good stuff.

Nice write up.

I think I'm in the final transition stage, where only occasionally I feel the slightest hint of guilt in the back of my head for not feeling ashamed about not pursuing greatness anymore.

A 9-to-5 that usually ends around 9.00pm, climbing the corporate ladder. It's not as bleak as it sounds.

Elysium wrote:
I know that all these things are good but I really have no need for any of it. Why do I care about being financially secure when I have no dependents or real responsibilities?I tell myself that I will appreciate the foundation I am laying now for the future but sometimes I feel I started too early.

If 40 year-old you discovers time travel, he will come back in time for the express purpose of giving you a high-five.

That's what I'm hoping for. Hopefully he comes back with a winning lottery number and 15 years or stock exchange data also

When at the end of days I take stock of this life, I don’t need to have cured cancer or flown to the moon. It will be enough to know that I took care of my family.

Beautiful. It really does all boil down to that. Thanks for a great article.

Too right fella.

I love normalcy, and I'll tell you why.

Exceptionalism is hard work, and I'm lazy.

Simply playing the numbers, the odds are heavily stacked against me that I'll be an exceptional person. It's conceivable (but not necessarily likely) that I could achieve something exceptional. But would my quality of life be any better? Maybe / probably. Would it be better by enough of a margin to justify the amount of effort I had put into it? Probably not.

Cost/benefit analysis FTW!

In the immortal words of Joe Walsh, I’m just an ordinary, av-uh-rage guy.

But at night he becomes Elysium-man!

How come every front page article you post I read in "Elysium-voice". Doesn't happen with the other front pagers...

Great read and really helps put perspective on things. I'm pretty much on the same track as Certis right now, and I can see myself being perfectly content in similar loafers to your own when the time comes.

Stylez wrote:

How come every front page article you post I read in "Elysium-voice". Doesn't happen with the other front pagers...

QFT. That mix of baritone and occasional snark leaves a lasting impression with ya.

How come every front page article you post I read in "Elysium-voice". Doesn't happen with the other front pagers...

Honest to God, this is one of the best compliments I've ever gotten. I think every writer absolutely lusts after the idea of having a "voice" that resonates as unique with anyone.

I read your articles in the voice of snaggle puss.

Great article Sean. I too feel the same way... although I'm not completely there as you seem to be. Having kids was definitely the turning point for me as well.

Your bit about the snowflake reminds me of a great de-motivational quote: "Just remember you are unique. Just like everyone else."

Now get back on the podcast!

Whenever I talk to my hippy sister, I often wonder how she views me and my life. She's very much an idealist (although not so head-in-the-clouds as some people she hangs out with) looking for her meaning and a way to make an impact. Me, I'm very much the young, middle class work-eat-play-sleep-repeat type. Just ask my wife, the most variance my routine ever really sees is what type of deli meat I get for my lunch this week. In the past, like others here, I asked myself similar questions, "Can I be happy just being this ordinary guy?" I did some "unique" things when I was younger, lived in another country, traveled, did things way outside my comfort zone, and then I... grew up? Settled down? Now I still travel and try new things, but it's less about finding out about me and more about finding out about something new.

My boss once said a very interesting thing that I've gone back to over time, "Too often we define ourselves by what we do and not who we are." I'm happy now, finally, with who I am. I'm content, satisfied. I don't feel the need to search externally for the meaning of my life because I have it already - do good work, be good to my family, have fun and learn new things. Change the world? Be one of the exceptional few? Can't be done without sacrificing the things that make me, me. Instead I'll be happy just to do what I can to have a small impact on those around me.

Thank you Elysium, your articles always hit home.

It's a pretty good life, being normal. You feel like you are missing something, seeing your facebook friends posting updates from the Himalayas and whatnot, though.

Why did the chicken cross the road? The grass was greener on the other side.

I am also an ordinary guy living the ordinary life of marriage, kids (2), and the 9-5 that takes place inside the three walls of a cubicle. It took a long while for contentment to fill my heart. The thing I'm most proud of is starting a family at a young age, I was 23 & wife 19, eventhough it wasn't a planned event, and actually being a good father and husband. Regrets abound in the back of my mind about missed opportunities and exotic passions. I wonder if I made a mistake by allowing my youth to vanish without venturing into the unknown. Then I come home from a day at work, hug my beautiful wife, talk to my daughter about her day at school, and play basketball on a 3 ft hoop with my 2 yr old son. I do love my life. Did I really miss anything. Can you miss what you never experienced.

That was oddly moving. To one degree I envy you, being able to read to your son at night, the joy of returning home to your family. I, myself, am divorced and have only partial custody so the time I spend away from my daughter, not being able to live with her, is sorely missed.

For all the talk of being all you can be and the pressure to be an overachiever, I find that most people are content to just be able to cover their - and their family's - basic needs. As much praise as is showered upon the luminaries of science, politics and all banal entertainment celebrities, it is the people in the middle, us average ones, that make the world function. And perhaps we are simply happier for leading simpler lives. Life is, after all is said and done, about enjoying it. Everything else is simply accessory.

I loved your piece and will likely come back to it, to find some solace in it as the inner child in me, the one that dreams all my schemes, continues to flail against the current and more often than not fails to reach the lofty goals it sets for itself. I do enjoy the struggle, though.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I — I took the road less traveled by. These words are propped up as the slogan for individualism, but every time I read that poem it just sounds to me like taking the road less traveled by turned out to be a huge pain in the ass. You take the road that “was grassy and wanted wear”, I’m going to take this one here that’s paved and has a McDonalds on it.

Funny that you should reference that particular Robert Frost poem, considering that it is constantly and widely misinterpreted. Let's take a look at the whole thing, shall we?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

(Boldface mine.)

The point of the poem is not that the speaker actually took the path less traveled. The point is that both paths were EQUALLY traveled, but when he looks back on this years later, he will TELL people that he took the one less traveled. It's not a poem about individualism per se, but one poking gentle fun at people's need to seem individualistic.

So perhaps it supports the point of this article better than you even knew. (-:

Hey, everybody, look! I used my English major for something in real life!

Approaching 30, running my own unsuccessful business, I long to get onto your road, dammit.

The humble existence you've described is a kind of greatness that I someday hope to achieve. Suffering the aftermath of an economic catastrophe allows one to appreciate the reliability of consistent work. Thanks for posting this.

You're wise to be so self-aware Mr. Sands. For what it's worth, I am unique and supposedly successful and supposedly making a difference. It kinda sucks.

I'm not normal. Half the time, people don't even understand what I'm saying, and the other half of the time, my lack of social understanding undermines what I have to say. Worst of all, I can't tell which is which.

It really, really sucks to be Cassandra.

I married my wife because she was the only one who understood my sense of humor, and because she was reasonably smart so I didn't have to repeat myself so often. Even so, it's tough. I can't talk to her about anything involving math because she doesn't like math, consequently, she isn't very good at it.

I can't talk to her much about games because she plays a whole different set of games. I can't talk to her about literature because she hasn't read half of what I allude to. I can't talk to her about playing music and composition because she doesn't play anything beyond a kazoo.

At the same time, most guys can't talk to me about football or really, most any spectator sport because I don't watch sports. I can't talk about pop music because I don't spend enough time listening to it to be worth conversation.

When co-workers talk about the latest celebrity scandal, I look at them blankly because I can't find enough interest in other people's misfortunes to even remember the names.

Being different is lonely and frustrating, Mr. Sands. You are wise to take the road more traveled.

I'd say the chance for a happy family life is anything but ordinary. A whole lot of people "go around moping for the middle two decades of their short life when that dream pops like a pineapple-flavored chewing-gum bubble on a teenage girl’s lips" too.

In any case, your mention of being "an anarchist’s nightmare of conformity" and parenthood reminds me of this:

We swore we'd carry on like this forever,
'til the free spirits bled.
But now can you believe who's a mother,
and that so-and-so's cut of their dreads.

...

As the nomads are dropping their anchors,
falling into the sea.
and I've stopped throwing rocks at the river,
now you'll find me a swimmin' up stream.
There is power in unions of ramblers that got nothing to own,
but there's more in one fist swing in mothers swearin',
"my children shall never be sold!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8G97K...

edit:

This article says:

"Is it so wrong to work just to be content, to succeed, to support a family and be a cardboard cut-out of the Classic American Family™?"

yet the GWJ User Guide says:

"The Co-Founder of GWJ, Sean has penned hundreds of articles dissecting the gaming industry..."

Are you sure you're not more 'unique' than you realize? ;-D

Bullion Cube wrote:
Stylez wrote:

How come every front page article you post I read in "Elysium-voice". Doesn't happen with the other front pagers...

QFT. That mix of baritone and occasional snark leaves a lasting impression with ya.

PaladinTom wrote:

Great article Sean. {snip} Now get back on the podcast!

+1 to all of those