I woke up this morning to a chill in the air. Just an average turn of the season morning. I could feel my toes curled tightly together, desperate to hold that last hint of summer between them, bundling warmth into themselves.
Goosebumps raise the hair on my arms and as such some reticent emotion lingers in my peripheral vision. I can feel it, but I can’t grasp a hold of it. A memory slipping through my fingers, like a long white lace ribbon. Here there is no definite, only vaguely familiar scenes that play out in my mind’s eye.
Hold my hand, warm my fingers.
Winter is coming, on this just average day.
Average. What a dumb idea. It is impossible to know the true average of anything. Besides, there really is no such thing as average. Everyone is different, so why should we have something that says what ‘normal’ really is?
She took the average number of pills on a daily basis. Vitamins. Birth control. probiotics. Pain killers. A sleep aid. The little weekday boxes lined her shelves, getting bigger by the year. She dreaded they day she would open the medicine cabinet to see nothing but boxes staring back at her.
Average minds think alike. My husband likes to change it to this instead of “great minds think alike” when we both come up with an idea. We don’t have the hubris to think that we have great minds. And really, the greatness of the great minds does not lie in their thinking the same as those who have come before them.
It’s the mean of a string of numbers or statistics. Like, the average height or weight of a group of people. It’s also something that defines the normal, something ‘average’. There’s nothing different about it at all. That includes performance.
Just me. I’m completely average. Average build, average hair, average height, average looks… nothing special, nothing to stand out above the crowd with, nothing to turn heads or plant memories with.
The middle. The medium and mean of everything interesting ever combined.
I walked down the small dirt path I walk down every morning, cool crisp fall wind nipping at my face. Today, this particular path was getting decidedly smaller with every step I took. The tress on wither side closed in on me way to fast and suddenly I found myself running at the fastest pace i could to get away from these trees. My chest burning, I finally reached the clearing in the tress, however, I did not find myself on the usual King Street, with the park on one side and the eye doctor on the other. When I looked where i had gotten to, I couldn’t even begin to describe the place. I was just on my way to school, nothing different from any usual Monday, It was all really quite average.
I immersed myself in the first two years of high school with knowledge; I spent time with the most intelligent (albeit just as socially awkward as I) students around. I gained the perception that the average of intelligence is a skyscraper.
I can remember a fact a month from learning it, and so what? What is the meaning of memorization? What is the value of simply doing what I am supposed to do? I am called on in class; I answer.
But could it be that to many others, fathoming an answer is above average?
Average is a perception, yes; but where do I truly stand in others’ eyes?
The average person. Is average mediocre? I read somewhere that beauty is the perfect average. You put all the faces together and equalize them and the result is our concept of beauty. So perhaps average is the most beautiful? But not the most interesting. Bland.
I’m average. I kind of hate being average. Sometimes I feel like maybe I’d prefer to be below average just so I’m not so boringly average. Then I think that’s a lie. Who wants to be below average? But I don’t want to be average either. I want to be special and unique.
We could be everything short of glamorous but never bound to the average. What’s average? Is it the place between great and bad? I thought that was good. Is good average? I wouldn’t believe good could be everything at once. And should we feel confined to extremes that create a mean? I don’t know, but I don’t think average is the way we live.
I tried to find the average of the three numbers, 35, 12, and 39, but i needed help, so i asked Trey if he could do the problem for me, so he did, but he got it wrong. I got mad
I was an average little boy than one day I was hit by a laser. I rampaged through the city destroying people, towns, buildings, just everything in my sight. At the end of the day I was turned back to normal. I was very glad I was a little average boy again.
i took another deep breath. closing my eyes i steped out onto the stage before me. the music started quietly, then the loud bass kicked in behind it. the dancers all scuttled to place, begining as they were instructed. their hearts and souls pouring onto the stage. feet not stoping, arms mostly a blur.
“shes definatly special.” the director commented.
“yes,” said my mother, “its just too bad she thinks shes AVRAGE.”
Most people long to be average. It takes courage to be above or even less than average. In this world of cookie cutter people only the strong stand out from the crowd. Average is being of weak mind.
You are average. But that isn’t something that is meant to sadden you. You read the excerpts here, and some of them may take away your hope (I know the ones I’ve written previously haven’t helped this).
I’m average, you may think. What hope is there for me?
But you are beautiful. Average is beautiful. Average is ordinary. And with ordinary, there is always the possibility of being extraordinary.
He got average grades. He had average looks. His parents thought average things about him. His friends made average jokes with him. He ate average meals every day. His performance in sports was perfectly average.
The way he killed himself was as average as he was. Just put the pills in his mouth and swallowed.
Maybe it was because of her awkward sense of humor, or the way she didn’t think before she said things, or how fucking annoying she was whenever she spoke.
She was average in her appearance, but not in her personality.
Maybe that’s why her personality was so extraordinary: To make up for what she lacked when it came to looks.
i would say this is the word that most of the world is entirely unequivocally entitled to, but the majority of people don’t even rise to the lofty standards of mediocrity.
there are, naturally, a few rare exceptions. those people are why i get up in the morning
I am average. Not a lot of other people seem to be that way. It’s hard to define average. I mean, what I think is average you don’t. So I don’t know, average is a lot of different things. Average is actually really stupid. Never mind, nothing is average. Who are we to say anything is average.
I’m more than average.
I’m more than average because I’ll admit I’m more than average.
The sum of my parts usually equals more than the sum of others.
Is this boastful behaviour? Probably.
Is this something to be ashamed of? Nope.
Know who you are. And be true to yourself.
I’m above average because I simply believe that I am.
I am an average person I guess. Fairly good grades. Nothing special if you look at me. But I have a special heart. Not average. No one has a heart like mine. I am unique in so many ways, yet average.
Once upon a time there was an average family. They did not know the love of Christ and were destined to just be average forever. Until. Until they found Christ, found love and actually found each other. They were propelled from average to amazing through Christ alone!
Small, middling, a rock in the middle of the road straight on the dotted line leading somewhere into the mountains where nothing is small, and trees grow large and smell like perfume but not the cloying kind. the rock turns over in the wind.
It’s the place that supposed to be in the middle, but not by counting straight from either end of the numbers series. It’s what separates one from the unemployment line and the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. And it’s about how I feel regarding my writing at the moment. Not stellar, just average.
I’m a pretty average person. Not too quiet, not too loud. I wish I was more outgoing though. I don’t like being average. None of my friends are average. I wish I was more like them.
The average person doesn’t plan on hurting some they love. The girl walked up the cold stone steps, stopped by a metal door. It was dark and cold and the knife in her hand pointed it’s shiny tip up to the sky. She had a job to do. And now was the time to do it. She opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the man that sat in the dark corner. He lifted his head up from his hands and looked at the girl. First, a look of relief was on his face, like his hero was coming to save him. The knife glistened in what little light there was sneaking into the room. The girl smiled. The man then noticed what was going on. He took in the knife and the sinister look on her face. He fell to his knees and begged.
“Please,” he muttered, shaking with fear.
“I wasn’t good enough, was I?” She asked, stepping closer slowly. The man continued to shake. “Was she better then me?!” She screamed at him. He shook his head, staring down at the cold stone floor. “Well it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
“Please!” The man screamed. The women laughed.
“Don’t worry. You can cheat on me all you want when you’re gone…” She swung the knife down and watched as the man fell to the floor. The dull floor became red. Her job was done.
She wasn’t just an average tight-rope walker. She was the best, gosh darnet! She could loop-de-loop and twist and shout and bend her foot so lithely that it pliied on the rope. Beat that, Shelbey Jones (her arch nemesis). She thought she was so great with her colorful costumes…Hardly.
“It’s all messed up now, nothing can ever be the same and you know you that don’t you.”
The little boy sat in a crumpled mess in the corner of the room, weeping for the child he once was. He older brother stood as masked figure across from the bed, his tattered fingers working on the bag. Pulling levers and tightening ropes, checking safeties and learning aim. He’d look up between every word to ensure he was still there, and whenever he still saw young face his heart would drop a little. This was no place for the weary kind, but he could not let his brother fail.
“Everything is not what it was. Including us. So pick up weary heart and gives this one last try.” The world was full of deranged chanting and burning cities, of people with no reasons and madness with no leash. This was not safe. The average had mutated into the terrible madness of the deepest of blacks.
The older took the younger in his arms and shook, but shook with a love. “It’s you and me, against all there is now. Okay? We can’t turn back, for there is no one.”
sometimes i feel average. not special. not insignificant. just average. i wish i could be someone who was confident, outgoing, someone who everyone notices. the girl that everyone envies. but i know that’s impossible. so i’m still average.
Average is what most people strive for. They think they are pushing for excellence, but they are afraid to excel, so they strive for average. Average is a sad state of living. We should all push for amazing. We should never settle for average, but fear holds us down. DON’T EVER SETTLE FOR AVERAGE! You will regret it forever! That is why we should always push to stay out of our comfort zone… don’t settle… push, strive, struggle, grow, and become excellent.
I woke up this morning to a chill in the air. Just an average turn of the season morning. I could feel my toes curled tightly together, desperate to hold that last hint of summer between them, bundling warmth into themselves.
Goosebumps raise the hair on my arms and as such some reticent emotion lingers in my peripheral vision. I can feel it, but I can’t grasp a hold of it. A memory slipping through my fingers, like a long white lace ribbon. Here there is no definite, only vaguely familiar scenes that play out in my mind’s eye.
Hold my hand, warm my fingers.
Winter is coming, on this just average day.
Average. What a dumb idea. It is impossible to know the true average of anything. Besides, there really is no such thing as average. Everyone is different, so why should we have something that says what ‘normal’ really is?
She took the average number of pills on a daily basis. Vitamins. Birth control. probiotics. Pain killers. A sleep aid. The little weekday boxes lined her shelves, getting bigger by the year. She dreaded they day she would open the medicine cabinet to see nothing but boxes staring back at her.
Average minds think alike. My husband likes to change it to this instead of “great minds think alike” when we both come up with an idea. We don’t have the hubris to think that we have great minds. And really, the greatness of the great minds does not lie in their thinking the same as those who have come before them.
It’s the mean of a string of numbers or statistics. Like, the average height or weight of a group of people. It’s also something that defines the normal, something ‘average’. There’s nothing different about it at all. That includes performance.
Just me. I’m completely average. Average build, average hair, average height, average looks… nothing special, nothing to stand out above the crowd with, nothing to turn heads or plant memories with.
The middle. The medium and mean of everything interesting ever combined.
i am just an average girl. my life is very average but i am more than happy with the average life i have. i wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I walked down the small dirt path I walk down every morning, cool crisp fall wind nipping at my face. Today, this particular path was getting decidedly smaller with every step I took. The tress on wither side closed in on me way to fast and suddenly I found myself running at the fastest pace i could to get away from these trees. My chest burning, I finally reached the clearing in the tress, however, I did not find myself on the usual King Street, with the park on one side and the eye doctor on the other. When I looked where i had gotten to, I couldn’t even begin to describe the place. I was just on my way to school, nothing different from any usual Monday, It was all really quite average.
He was just an average Joe….. But one day something happened…
Average is a perception.
I immersed myself in the first two years of high school with knowledge; I spent time with the most intelligent (albeit just as socially awkward as I) students around. I gained the perception that the average of intelligence is a skyscraper.
I can remember a fact a month from learning it, and so what? What is the meaning of memorization? What is the value of simply doing what I am supposed to do? I am called on in class; I answer.
But could it be that to many others, fathoming an answer is above average?
Average is a perception, yes; but where do I truly stand in others’ eyes?
The average person. Is average mediocre? I read somewhere that beauty is the perfect average. You put all the faces together and equalize them and the result is our concept of beauty. So perhaps average is the most beautiful? But not the most interesting. Bland.
I’m average. I kind of hate being average. Sometimes I feel like maybe I’d prefer to be below average just so I’m not so boringly average. Then I think that’s a lie. Who wants to be below average? But I don’t want to be average either. I want to be special and unique.
We could be everything short of glamorous but never bound to the average. What’s average? Is it the place between great and bad? I thought that was good. Is good average? I wouldn’t believe good could be everything at once. And should we feel confined to extremes that create a mean? I don’t know, but I don’t think average is the way we live.
I tried to find the average of the three numbers, 35, 12, and 39, but i needed help, so i asked Trey if he could do the problem for me, so he did, but he got it wrong. I got mad
I was an average little boy than one day I was hit by a laser. I rampaged through the city destroying people, towns, buildings, just everything in my sight. At the end of the day I was turned back to normal. I was very glad I was a little average boy again.
i took another deep breath. closing my eyes i steped out onto the stage before me. the music started quietly, then the loud bass kicked in behind it. the dancers all scuttled to place, begining as they were instructed. their hearts and souls pouring onto the stage. feet not stoping, arms mostly a blur.
“shes definatly special.” the director commented.
“yes,” said my mother, “its just too bad she thinks shes AVRAGE.”
Most people long to be average. It takes courage to be above or even less than average. In this world of cookie cutter people only the strong stand out from the crowd. Average is being of weak mind.
I am average; Mediocre; Humbled by myself, my life, my experiences.
To which; I feel inadequate, improper and indisposed.
Such is the way of things.
I am anything but average. From the words that come out of my mouth to the brilliant thoughts buzzing about my brain. I am special.
To whoever is reading this:
You are average. But that isn’t something that is meant to sadden you. You read the excerpts here, and some of them may take away your hope (I know the ones I’ve written previously haven’t helped this).
I’m average, you may think. What hope is there for me?
But you are beautiful. Average is beautiful. Average is ordinary. And with ordinary, there is always the possibility of being extraordinary.
Nothing is wrong with being average, he thought.
He got average grades. He had average looks. His parents thought average things about him. His friends made average jokes with him. He ate average meals every day. His performance in sports was perfectly average.
The way he killed himself was as average as he was. Just put the pills in his mouth and swallowed.
He was as average in death as he was in life.
He didn’t know why he liked her.
Maybe it was because of her awkward sense of humor, or the way she didn’t think before she said things, or how fucking annoying she was whenever she spoke.
She was average in her appearance, but not in her personality.
Maybe that’s why her personality was so extraordinary: To make up for what she lacked when it came to looks.
She was beautiful.
To be average was to be normal. To be normal was to be ordinary. To be ordinary was to be boring.
So, by some property involved in mathematics, to be average was to be boring.
She never, ever wanted to be boring. People stopped paying attention when you were boring. God killed you if you got a little too average.
i would say this is the word that most of the world is entirely unequivocally entitled to, but the majority of people don’t even rise to the lofty standards of mediocrity.
there are, naturally, a few rare exceptions. those people are why i get up in the morning
I am average. Not a lot of other people seem to be that way. It’s hard to define average. I mean, what I think is average you don’t. So I don’t know, average is a lot of different things. Average is actually really stupid. Never mind, nothing is average. Who are we to say anything is average.
I’m more than average.
I’m more than average because I’ll admit I’m more than average.
The sum of my parts usually equals more than the sum of others.
Is this boastful behaviour? Probably.
Is this something to be ashamed of? Nope.
Know who you are. And be true to yourself.
I’m above average because I simply believe that I am.
so many people are average. The norm. to not be average you condemn yourself to crazy. Right?
I am an average person I guess. Fairly good grades. Nothing special if you look at me. But I have a special heart. Not average. No one has a heart like mine. I am unique in so many ways, yet average.
Once upon a time there was an average family. They did not know the love of Christ and were destined to just be average forever. Until. Until they found Christ, found love and actually found each other. They were propelled from average to amazing through Christ alone!
The average people like eating ice-cream. It helps to boost a good mood and energy. Wonderful
mean. the normal, the usual, the ungenerous….average. Ok, alright, good but not brilliant….some and some….a mix, a rough estimate, …..me
I don’t want to be average. I don’t want to be part of the masses who go through life being like everyone else. If I only knew how not to be one …
Small, middling, a rock in the middle of the road straight on the dotted line leading somewhere into the mountains where nothing is small, and trees grow large and smell like perfume but not the cloying kind. the rock turns over in the wind.
It’s the place that supposed to be in the middle, but not by counting straight from either end of the numbers series. It’s what separates one from the unemployment line and the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. And it’s about how I feel regarding my writing at the moment. Not stellar, just average.
I’m a pretty average person. Not too quiet, not too loud. I wish I was more outgoing though. I don’t like being average. None of my friends are average. I wish I was more like them.
The average person doesn’t plan on hurting some they love. The girl walked up the cold stone steps, stopped by a metal door. It was dark and cold and the knife in her hand pointed it’s shiny tip up to the sky. She had a job to do. And now was the time to do it. She opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the man that sat in the dark corner. He lifted his head up from his hands and looked at the girl. First, a look of relief was on his face, like his hero was coming to save him. The knife glistened in what little light there was sneaking into the room. The girl smiled. The man then noticed what was going on. He took in the knife and the sinister look on her face. He fell to his knees and begged.
“Please,” he muttered, shaking with fear.
“I wasn’t good enough, was I?” She asked, stepping closer slowly. The man continued to shake. “Was she better then me?!” She screamed at him. He shook his head, staring down at the cold stone floor. “Well it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
“Please!” The man screamed. The women laughed.
“Don’t worry. You can cheat on me all you want when you’re gone…” She swung the knife down and watched as the man fell to the floor. The dull floor became red. Her job was done.
She wasn’t just an average tight-rope walker. She was the best, gosh darnet! She could loop-de-loop and twist and shout and bend her foot so lithely that it pliied on the rope. Beat that, Shelbey Jones (her arch nemesis). She thought she was so great with her colorful costumes…Hardly.
“It’s all messed up now, nothing can ever be the same and you know you that don’t you.”
The little boy sat in a crumpled mess in the corner of the room, weeping for the child he once was. He older brother stood as masked figure across from the bed, his tattered fingers working on the bag. Pulling levers and tightening ropes, checking safeties and learning aim. He’d look up between every word to ensure he was still there, and whenever he still saw young face his heart would drop a little. This was no place for the weary kind, but he could not let his brother fail.
“Everything is not what it was. Including us. So pick up weary heart and gives this one last try.” The world was full of deranged chanting and burning cities, of people with no reasons and madness with no leash. This was not safe. The average had mutated into the terrible madness of the deepest of blacks.
The older took the younger in his arms and shook, but shook with a love. “It’s you and me, against all there is now. Okay? We can’t turn back, for there is no one.”
sometimes i feel average. not special. not insignificant. just average. i wish i could be someone who was confident, outgoing, someone who everyone notices. the girl that everyone envies. but i know that’s impossible. so i’m still average.
Average is what most people strive for. They think they are pushing for excellence, but they are afraid to excel, so they strive for average. Average is a sad state of living. We should all push for amazing. We should never settle for average, but fear holds us down. DON’T EVER SETTLE FOR AVERAGE! You will regret it forever! That is why we should always push to stay out of our comfort zone… don’t settle… push, strive, struggle, grow, and become excellent.