The magic of being ordinary
On appreciating the everyday and finding wonder hidden in plain sight
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As a kid, I was always looking for portals to other worlds. Inspired by the classic fantasy stories that were my preferred reading genre, I believed with all my heart that there might be a secret doorway just about anywhere — in the back of a wardrobe, behind a garden gate, inside a hollow tree, or through the seemingly solid brick wall at the end of a city alleyway.
The ordinary world did not hold much allure for me. It was a place to escape from. In my mind, I was destined for greater things than spending my days in Mrs. Collins’ fourth-grade classroom and my nights doing homework and helping wash up after dinner.
Years of reading chosen-one stories left me wanting to be someone with a mysterious past and an exciting destiny — an exiled princess of faerie land, a witch with secret powers, or a downtrodden waif with the ability to talk to animals.
In short, I wanted to be special and to have an important purpose. I wanted to matter.
Isn’t that what we all want?
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I doubt that many people grow up dreaming of living an ordinary life. We have been taught — by the books we read, the shows we watch, the people we love, and the people who love us back — that we should strive to be extraordinary. If we are lucky, we are told from a very young age how special we are — how unique, how amazing, how full of potential. If we are not so lucky, we are told none of those things, but we still wish they were true.
To be ordinary is to be commonplace, plain, average, unremarkable. Ordinary is boring, expected, almost invisible.
But that’s not the whole story.
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In general, I feel pretty ordinary. I don’t have a fancy house or an impressive job. I don’t have the resources to go on exciting trips, and I can’t lay claim to any particularly stellar achievements or accolades. My social calendar is not overflowing with invites, and I don’t have any extravagant holiday plans. I am the antithesis of a celebrity or an influencer.
Most of my days consist of the same set of tasks and routines. I do yoga, drink tea, walk dogs, clean house, run errands, work on freelance writing assignments, and write this newsletter. I eat and sleep and fold laundry. I FaceTime my daughter while she’s away at college and watch Supernatural with her when she’s home. On Friday nights, I share pizza and 80s music with my beau. On Sunday mornings, we go for breakfast. We walk a lot. In the spring I weed and in the fall I rake leaves. Occasionally I have time to read a book or watch a movie. Sometimes I take a nap.
This isn’t to say there aren’t semi-exciting events in my life because there are: concerts, family celebrations, mini home renovations, dinners out, the occasional weekend away. It also isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy my life because I do.
That’s the thing about ordinary that’s often overlooked — it can be deeply fulfilling and comforting.
On a bad day, I can fall into the trap of feeling like I’m missing out or worrying that I haven’t lived up to my potential. But, for the most part, I like my rituals, routines, and the regular ebb and flow of my days.
Would I like to fine tune the balance of work and play and maybe reimagine how I make my living? Absolutely. And do I thoroughly enjoy going on a small adventure now and again — whether that’s a live music event in the city, a day out with my daughter, or a drive to find a new hiking spot? Again — absolutely. But I’m not sorry that most of my life is ordinary.
Ordinary can be beautiful. It can feel like a reset from the chaos of the big, wide world. It can feel like a safe haven from possible crisis and tragedy. It can allow you to relax into just being yourself — no need to dress to impress or otherwise pretend to be someone you’re not.
The ordinary is also the common thread that helps us relate to each other. Like death and taxes — both very ordinary things come to think of it — the ordinary tasks and pastimes of our lives are like a shared language. You can easily strike up a conversation with a stranger about the weather, your favorite television show, or the unbearable chaos of the holiday season (all very ordinary topics).
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The ordinary can also be quite wondrous. You just have to know how to recognize the magic in the mundane. Almost anything can become amazing if you look closely enough. Close observation is like casting an enchantment that allows you to see a whole different world — like peering through a hagstone to pierce the veil into the Otherworld. Take Michela Griffith’s photographs and lovely narrated ramblings through landscapes that others hardly see. Her words and images transport me to an entirely different way of being.
One of my favorite snippets of poetry speaks to this phenomenon:
To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour ~ William Blake
Many artists throughout history have dedicated their lives to revealing the extraordinary in the ordinary. Some, like Andy Warhol, took a tongue-in-cheek approach that was as much social commentary as it was art. Others, including pivotal figures like Mary Cassatt and Winslow Homer as well as many lesser-known artists, created work that shows reverence for the ordinary lives of ordinary people. Many contemporary artists continue this tradition of immortalizing everyday scenes and objects in beautiful works of art. Dianne Massey Dunbar’s painting of fallen leaves is a gorgeous tribute to a perfectly ordinary sight, as are her stunning pieces depicting parking lots and rain on car windshields. Truly, there is beauty all around us.
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It’s easy to think of the ordinary as less than and not enough. It’s easy to become blind to the magic of the things we take for granted. But the truth is that our lives are mostly made up of the ordinary and the everyday. If we fail to appreciate these experiences, we miss out on so much.
There’s nothing wrong with striving for greatness if you truly feel moved to do so. By all means, go be extraordinary! Just be careful not to accidentally overlook your own magic. You might already be extraordinary by someone else’s standards just by being you.
A lot of the time, being extraordinary is less about what you do and more about how you do what you do.
At the end of interviews on her Unlocking Us podcast, researcher and storyteller Brené Brown asks her guests a series of rapid-fire questions. My favorite is this: “Give us a snapshot of an ordinary moment in your life that brings you great joy.”
What people usually share in response are memories of everyday experiences with loved ones. Brené’s own response was, “In the water, at the lake, with my family, friends, floating and talking. I can never get over how magic it is.”
Each time I hear Brené ask this question, I’m reminded of a day, many years ago, when my daughter was quite young. It’s a nondescript afternoon on a regular weekday, and we’re out for a walk around town. The sun is shining, and the strip of grass along the sidewalk is bursting with bright yellow dandelions. We have nowhere to be and nothing particular to do. We’re just walking hand in hand down the street, looking at the ordinary world around us with eyes full of curiosity and delight. It was an everyday moment in which everything seemed to be right with the world.
In this week’s Monday Moxie post (featuring the song “Cheers” by Jukebox the Ghost), I asked people to share their gut reaction to the word ordinary. The conversation in the comments section was really excellent.
Thank you to everyone who generously shared their thoughts:
, , (aka my mom 💜), , , , , and .Your insights really helped me explore this topic.
Jamie, so glad that I discovered your writing through Jana's interview with you. I really appreciated this article. When I was growing up into my 20s and 30s even, I thought that I had to be something special. Once I hit my 40s though I started recognizing how amazing ordinary is. These days I love my ordinary routine. I get up, make coffee, feed the dog, read a bit, write a bit, do some chores, run some errands, etc...My wife and I have some shows we watch occasionally. Same with the kids. This ordinariness is beautiful and fulfilling. Thanks for writing about it so beautifully.
As someone on a lifelong struggle to be extraordinary only to have a significant tragedy make me long for ordinary, I so appreciate you sharing your own ordinary, and the joy it brings you. To your point about questions, I always find it fascinating how people respond when asked who they recognize as their hero. Almost, although not always, its someone living a wholly ordinary life - their mother, their father, a teacher, a coach. People who leaned in to their ordinary and instead of spending all of their energy on being extraordinary offered extraordinary love, care, attention, presence to those already in their world. It's such an important nugget to take with us, and I love how openly you speak to it here.