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

This article really struck a chord with me -- I used to worry that I wasn't making some big impact on the world until I realized that 99.9% of everyone that's ever lived haven't either.

Now I just try to be a good person and not screw up the world too much for later generations.

McBrick wrote:

Isn't it a somewhat modern dilemma - luxury, really - to worry so much about which hypothetical productive machine we're a part of? It wasn't so long ago (I'm talking about our own fathers' generation, probably) that people were grateful to be able to be productive enough to take care of their families. I'm not pining for the days where each day you simply survived was an accomplishment, but the idea that I can sit in an air-conditioned office for 9-10 hours a day as opposed to disposing of ordinance, working in a coal mine, paving roads, etc. seems like an accomplishment to me.

I could not respectfully disagree with you more.

I work in an office. With harsh florescent lighting, one manager who has clue, one who likes me but who has no clue, and well, yes, things are OK. But they are just OK. I am the IT guy. Which means that I should technically be living the amerikan [sic] dream. But the truth is I wish I was working out doors and not a slave to the decent paycheck and what not. With a wife + 3 kids (when you have 3 kids and don't believe in birth control, the wife stays home so I am the only money maker).

I long for the dream promised to me in my youth: Work hard, study hard, and you won't have to work so hard when you are older. Well... I suspect that was my dad (he was a carpenter) not understanding that instead of being smart = not working so hard, the contrary was true. If you end up working in whoreporate [sic] amerika [sic] then you can expect to be worked nearly to death.

Leisure is GONE in the whoreporate [sic] world. And this may be just me thinking the grass is greener on the other side, but I would love, love love to be able to work for 1/2 of what I make now in exchange for being able to PUNCH OUT at 5:00 and not have to worry about someone calling me because a prescription can't be filled and thus some patient, somewhere, is going to suffer for a day unless I get the order system fixed.

Needless to say, I take my work seriously (true story there about what can happen -- some of the stuff we sell are just critical for someone to get better and be more comfortable after an injury). But I would trade 94k / year for 40 k / year for working in a plant and being able to clock out. But, at 36, there is no new career. =) Stuck with this.

Hey, maybe I'll get an artist to fix up the game I have been hacking away at for 6 months... hmm.

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.

Poetry.

I hate you.

No, really, I hate you. I hate you because I can't write this well. You and my wife both. Where does the gift come from? WTF, mate?

ME? Jealous? Why, yes, I am. =)

How the hell do you come up with a well choreographed sentence like that? It would take me 30 minutes to come up with that sentence. If it were the only one you had written, I would hesitate to compliment you. But most of your writing is like this. For the love of God, try your hand at some decent fiction or a philosophy book or something.

My work is all rambling and reeks of someone who should have been on Ritalin years ago or who has had the creativity worked out of them.

petitsourice wrote:

How the hell do you come up with a well choreographed sentence like that? It would take me 30 minutes to come up with that sentence. If it were the only one you had written, I would hesitate to compliment you. But most of your writing is like this. For the love of God, try your hand at some decent fiction or a philosophy book or something.

My work is all rambling and reeks of someone who should have been on Ritalin years ago or who has had the creativity worked out of them.

Practice, get lots of honest feedback, and edit until you puke.

petitsourice wrote:
McBrick wrote:

Isn't it a somewhat modern dilemma - luxury, really - to worry so much about which hypothetical productive machine we're a part of? It wasn't so long ago (I'm talking about our own fathers' generation, probably) that people were grateful to be able to be productive enough to take care of their families. I'm not pining for the days where each day you simply survived was an accomplishment, but the idea that I can sit in an air-conditioned office for 9-10 hours a day as opposed to disposing of ordinance, working in a coal mine, paving roads, etc. seems like an accomplishment to me.

I could not respectfully disagree with you more.

I think you're both right ;-D

It *is* a somewhat modern dilemma to worry so much about which hypothetical productive machine we are a part of.

Why?

Because when people were grateful to be productive enough to take care of their families, they didn't worry about where they fit into their culture.

All humans strive to feel like they are a part of their culture: you could say it's a more powerful drive than even that of self-preservation, second only to the drive to protect one's offspring. (I'd even say it's a better explanation for software piracy than greed). That's why I'd say worrying "which hypothetical productive machine we are a part of" isn't a luxury, it's actually the case that living in our modern Western world, it's a burden. The burden of living in a society where you and everyone else is free to choose their own culture. With freedom comes responsibility: if your neighbor thinks your way of life sucks and doesn't want to participate in it with you, you can't force the authorities to make him do so.

Just look at the final paragraph of the article:

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.

Games are the major artistic development of our generation: why is it a surprise to find people happy to live a life where one is lucky enough in not only the time of their birth, but also in their capacity for leisure and their financial position superior to the vast majority of the human population which allows them to participate?

Nothing cures existential doubt like feeling one is participating in a culture engaged in artistic creation.

Also: hierarchy of needs!

Sean, great article. I think you're a little hard on yourself though - you're a writer and podcaster for one of the more popular gaming sites on the Web. Which means that you have a lot more fame and interesting life than the rest of us 9 to 5 peons.

I'm actually struggling with being an ordinary average dad and wage slave in my mid-30s. Not that I hate my life, but I had some extraordinary experiences in my 20s. I served in the military, traveled to Europe and Asia, then became a crime/breaking news reporter for a few years. Not to mention all the binge drinking sessions and the freedom of being able to chase hot tail on the dance floor (not that I was a total stud but I did ok for a former fat kid nerd). I just sometimes feel that my life is totally stagnating.

CheezePavilion wrote:

I think you're both right ;-D

Just look at the final paragraph of the article:

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.

Games are the major artistic development of our generation: why is it a surprise to find people happy to live a life where one is lucky enough in not only the time of their birth, but also in their capacity for leisure and their financial position superior to the vast majority of the human population which allows them to participate?

Nothing cures existential doubt like feeling one is participating in a culture engaged in artistic creation.

Wow! Intelligent discourse! No, really, WOW!

With the death of the Usenet and with the 15 second attention span that is encouraged on the net, I never thought I would see an intelligent rebuttal to anything. Much less to something I wrote. It has literally been 5 years since I have seen someone say something intelligent on the net until I stumbled here. Its all 'My parents hate me because of X'.

Anyway, well said, great post. Post of the decade so far. =)

And, I completely agree. I suppose you are right -- there is nothing wrong with being happy to be productive enough to feed the family. I find myself daily grateful that I do not have my current boss' job and that he has not quit yet. Why? Because I will likely get his job and I am dumb enough to take it.

This thread has hung on my mind for 24 hours now. I really am grateful that I am not doing what my boss does. And honestly -- this is the part that has hung over my mind -- I would be grateful if i did NOT get his job if he should decide to quit.

Now, on to the on-topic portion of this thread: "That I had fun and played games and found joy in the simple quiet of a satisfied life." Amen. I play games because of the escape from the ordinary that they provide. I look for suspension of disbelief in my games and I sadly have only found it in a few cases (Dwarf Fortress, Homeworld, Thief, DragonRealms, Infocom titles, Independant IF titles, etc.).

I look for the same thing in film and literature and again, I have only found it a few times (Tom Baker as Doctor Who, ?? there are others).

Again, well said and I think that the point about being happy of having the simple quiet of a satisfied life is good. I am thankfully not going to have a huge mid life crisis thinking I did nothing. I have done some wonderful things career wise and enjoyed them.

jdzappa wrote:

I just sometimes feel that my life is totally stagnating.

Its like being turned into a newt.

You get better.

Life DOES stagnate as you get older. But sometimes its worth embracing. I am in my late mid thirties and let me point out a secret that you may not know.

Most people in their 20s don't know anything. =)

Wow! Intelligent discourse! No, really, WOW!

You must be new here. Welcome.

petitsourice wrote:
jdzappa wrote:

I just sometimes feel that my life is totally stagnating.

Its like being turned into a newt.

You get better.

Life DOES stagnate as you get older. But sometimes its worth embracing. I am in my late mid thirties and let me point out a secret that you may not know.

Most people in their 20s don't know anything. =)

This is true. But on the other hand they seem to get a lot more sex than dads with toddlers.

I thought of this post this morning when I woke up. I turn 40 today (exactly at 4:05 p.m. CDT, according to mom). I wondered whether I felt old. Then my five-year-old daughter remembered it was my birthday and ran and got me the card she made me. She handed it over, smiled, hugged me, kissed me gently on the cheek, and whispered in my ear, "I love you daddy. Happy Birthday!" Since then I've relaxed, petted the cats, bought myself the present for my birthday that I've been holding off on for a long time (a brand spanking-new Martin OMC-16OGTE acoustic guitar), and now I'm going to sit on my deck, play my new guitar, and have me one of my favorite beers in the world (Thiriez La Blonde dEsquelbecq) on a beautiful, sunny, Minnesota spring day. I'm having a good "Ordinary Average Guy" kind of day.

MilkmanDanimal wrote:

I thought of this post this morning when I woke up. I turn 40 today (exactly at 4:05 p.m. CDT, according to mom). I wondered whether I felt old. Then my five-year-old daughter remembered it was my birthday and ran and got me the card she made me. She handed it over, smiled, hugged me, kissed me gently on the cheek, and whispered in my ear, "I love you daddy. Happy Birthday!" Since then I've relaxed, petted the cats, bought myself the present for my birthday that I've been holding off on for a long time (a brand spanking-new Martin OMC-16OGTE acoustic guitar), and now I'm going to sit on my deck, play my new guitar, and have me one of my favorite beers in the world (Thiriez La Blonde dEsquelbecq) on a beautiful, sunny, Minnesota spring day. I'm having a good "Ordinary Average Guy" kind of day.

Happy birthday, buddy:)

It was the quality of the articles, and intelligence of the community, that first brought me to GWJ and to lurk anonymously for the last few months. But it was this article that finally inspired me to join the community.

I just had to say: Great job, Sean! Your article really touched me (in a totally manly way, of course). It's good to hear there are others out there who enjoy their lives, even if they aren't changing the world in dramatic, ego-inflating ways.

OAGs Unite!

MrChomps wrote:

Great job, Sean! Your article really touched me...

Show us on the doll where Sean touched you with his article.

Spoiler:

Welcome!

*****Show us on the doll where Sean touched you with his article.*****

I will have to get back to you on that, since I am currently in my happy place...

And thank you!