The Averagest Unsuperpower

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1772

Abstract

look like “everyman.” That’s me, Everyman Whatsisname. I’ve also been told I look like several different B-C list celebrities, none of whom really look like me. I’m adequate at being one of the people in the room.I learned to play guitar when I was pretty young. I was fairly good at it. Not good enough to make a living or anything, but I could strum a tune or two. In my group of friends, I’m in the middle of the three in whatever we do, be it drinking, sports, games, you name it, I’ll be not the best and not the worst. As kids, if all three of us wrecked our bikes on the same day, my injury would be somewhere between my one friend in a coma and the other with a hangnail. I’ll occupy my spot in the middle and keep my sprained little frail ankle, thank you. I’m not the funny or witty one of the group, but I make up for it with my dryness and shoulder-slumping, sigh-inducing sarcasm.My love life was slightly above unfavorable throughout my life. I had just enough confidence to be slightly attractive to the opposite sex, and just enough humility to never feel like I knew what the hell I was doing. But my particular degree of middle-of-the-roadness must have lent itself to making me seem like a solid long-term moderately capable partner, because somehow I convinced my wife that she could settle on me and still be reasonably happy sometimes.The role of ordinary husband comes somewhat naturally to me. I can be a moderately romantic once in a while, and certainly kinda weird. I’m not the best in bed, but I can hold my own once in a while. Just ask my wife, who is far out of my league. She’ll tell you, “Yeah, he has his moments. Sometimes he’s pretty good. He tries pretty hard. I’ll give him that much

Options

.”Oh yeah, that’s right. ‘Sometimes I’m pretty good’. Tell that to my middle school English teacher who says I’d never get better than a C-minus at anything.My abilities as a father likely won’t do any permanent damage, and the kids will grow up fine despite my okayest efforts.In the Army, I wasn’t the guy you followed into battle, but I did really alright at being some guy that was a little funny at times but would likely get killed and the other guys would say, “It was sort of sad to lose Whatsisname. He was a really decent guy from what I remember.”At work I can really get a couple things done without raising too many expectations that I’ll ever be able to do more than that. I spend a percentage of my working day putting together forgettable pieces like this. Besides that, they pay me to know a few things, and I get to be the guy who knows how to put out a fire or two without making too much of a splash. If you ask my boss, he’ll answer, “That guy still works for us? I mean, yeah, he’s sufficient. He mostly gets the job done.”Where I really shine is after many other options have been chosen and I’m one of the few left. If life was a game of dodge ball, I would almost certainly be chosen between the kid with a bad knee that can actually throw and the kid with Irritable Bowel Syndrome that ate Taco Bell for lunch.What’s important here is to learn some self-awareness. Turns out I have some of it.Like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Costanza">George Costanza</a> once said, “You know, if you take everything I’ve accomplished in my entire life and condense it down into one day, it looks decent.”</article></body>

How to be regular-ish

Let me tell you just how average I am.

I am Median Man.

My superpower is commonality. I possess qualities that not everyone wants, but some do. Maybe. I possess a less-than-excessive amount of mediocrity. And that’s just okay, I guess.

I’m not the best at anything, and not the worst. I don’t have great ups and downs, I just survive. I’m in the middle. In my graduating class of two-hundred-eight, I was number one-hundred-four. That’s right. Complete mediocrity. I used to describe myself as the most average, but that’s not average. I’m the averagest average. Everything I’ve done for my entire life sorta feels like, “Hey, that wasn’t terrible”, or, “That guy is pretty okay.” I hedge my bets and stay in my lane, which is incidentally on both sides of the road.

For example, I’m not a great writer, but I can write some words that make a bit of sense once in a while. You may even remember a few of them, but not many, because this will probably fade into something you read that one time by some guy.

I even look like people you may have known one time. I used to get into bars before I was of legal drinking age because the bartenders would say, “Sure, he’s been in here before,” even though I hadn’t. Someone told me once that I look like “everyman.” That’s me, Everyman Whatsisname. I’ve also been told I look like several different B-C list celebrities, none of whom really look like me. I’m adequate at being one of the people in the room.

I learned to play guitar when I was pretty young. I was fairly good at it. Not good enough to make a living or anything, but I could strum a tune or two. In my group of friends, I’m in the middle of the three in whatever we do, be it drinking, sports, games, you name it, I’ll be not the best and not the worst. As kids, if all three of us wrecked our bikes on the same day, my injury would be somewhere between my one friend in a coma and the other with a hangnail. I’ll occupy my spot in the middle and keep my sprained little frail ankle, thank you. I’m not the funny or witty one of the group, but I make up for it with my dryness and shoulder-slumping, sigh-inducing sarcasm.

My love life was slightly above unfavorable throughout my life. I had just enough confidence to be slightly attractive to the opposite sex, and just enough humility to never feel like I knew what the hell I was doing. But my particular degree of middle-of-the-roadness must have lent itself to making me seem like a solid long-term moderately capable partner, because somehow I convinced my wife that she could settle on me and still be reasonably happy sometimes.

The role of ordinary husband comes somewhat naturally to me. I can be a moderately romantic once in a while, and certainly kinda weird. I’m not the best in bed, but I can hold my own once in a while. Just ask my wife, who is far out of my league. She’ll tell you, “Yeah, he has his moments. Sometimes he’s pretty good. He tries pretty hard. I’ll give him that much.”

Oh yeah, that’s right. ‘Sometimes I’m pretty good’. Tell that to my middle school English teacher who says I’d never get better than a C-minus at anything.

My abilities as a father likely won’t do any permanent damage, and the kids will grow up fine despite my okayest efforts.

In the Army, I wasn’t the guy you followed into battle, but I did really alright at being some guy that was a little funny at times but would likely get killed and the other guys would say, “It was sort of sad to lose Whatsisname. He was a really decent guy from what I remember.”

At work I can really get a couple things done without raising too many expectations that I’ll ever be able to do more than that. I spend a percentage of my working day putting together forgettable pieces like this. Besides that, they pay me to know a few things, and I get to be the guy who knows how to put out a fire or two without making too much of a splash. If you ask my boss, he’ll answer, “That guy still works for us? I mean, yeah, he’s sufficient. He mostly gets the job done.”

Where I really shine is after many other options have been chosen and I’m one of the few left. If life was a game of dodge ball, I would almost certainly be chosen between the kid with a bad knee that can actually throw and the kid with Irritable Bowel Syndrome that ate Taco Bell for lunch.

What’s important here is to learn some self-awareness. Turns out I have some of it.

Like George Costanza once said, “You know, if you take everything I’ve accomplished in my entire life and condense it down into one day, it looks decent.”