It’s an unremarkable fact that most of us are unremarkable. Plain old normal everyday people. For every Shakespeare there are a million decidedly not-Shakespeares.
And there’s nothing whatsoever wrong with that.
I wonder how many of the narcissistic niggles we’re witnessing everywhere these days arise from the inability of too many people today to accept, and to cope with, their own mediocrity.
We’re told as kids, and I’ve told my own too, that with hard work we can be whatever we want, we can succeed and achieve our dreams.
Unfortunately, it isn’t true.
When I was a kid (age 5 or 6?) I must have expressed some kind of desire to learn to play the piano. A second-hand piano dutifully arrived in the household and piano lessons were arranged. I must have had some latent talent because the hour or so practice I grudgingly did every week was enough to keep me going. Ma and Pa did their best to cajole me and encourage me and sometimes pressure me into actually doing something - after all, they were paying for the lessons!
I’m glad they did. My teacher, the wonderful Mrs Fotheringham, tolerated my indifferent efforts for several years until, one day, I nearly gave her a coronary. I’d heard Scott Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag somewhere and decided I was going to learn it. It was way above my “pay grade” at the time - and Mrs F nearly fell off her chair when I revealed the result of my secret practice to her.
She glared at me - and pointedly asked me why I didn’t approach my grade pieces with the same dedication.
A little while after that I learned how to improvise and caused Mrs F no end of further vexation. That difficult passage in the Beethoven piece? No problem - I’d just substitute my own improvised bit that sounded roughly as complicated instead. I think I was responsible for Mrs F going prematurely grey.
Thank you Mrs F for your patience, you were awesome - I hope I didn’t shorten your lifespan too much.
I entertained youthful fantasies of becoming a great keyboard player in a rock band. My hero was Rick Wakeman. I learned how to play his Merlin the Magician - and could get through it with fierce concentration and copious amounts of perspiration.
My hopes were dashed when I went to see Wakeman live at the Manchester Apollo. I must have been about 15 at the time. The guy played this piece flawlessly, effortlessly, whilst swaying from side to side like a friggin metronome. I realised then that no amount of practice or effort on my part could elevate me to that level of expertise.
Here’s a live performance of it (11m 22s) where Wakeman plays a duet/duel with his son. You’ll probably only enjoy it if you’re a bit of a keyboard freak like me.
It’s a truism, and probably a trite one at that, but we can’t all be Rick Wakeman.
I suppose there’s a little bit of “look at me!” in all of us. There’s a part of us that wants to be noticed, to be a cut above the grey goo of the rest of humanity. We all revel in that feeling of “being better” than our neighbour. It’s why virtue signalling is such a powerful influence. The only thing sticking a rainbow flag on your profile signifies is that you think you’re a better person than those who don’t.
Look at me! I support the current pile of shite.
And even me being disdainful of that is my own way of indicating that I’m “better” than the morons who go in for all the profile virtue painting.
It’s a bit of a Catch-22.
It’s very difficult for human beings to be 100% honest with themselves.
I suppose I’ve been fortunate in that I had some talent, and worked hard, and I was able to make a few (modest) contributions to knowledge. In this sense I am not “normal”. But if you ask me what has given me most meaning in my life - it wouldn’t be any of my supposed ‘talents’. These things wouldn’t make it into the top 100.
Eclipsing everything else by a long, long, way, of course, are my daughters. There is nothing I have done, or ever will do, that is as meaningful or important as that. I imagine most parents feel precisely the same way. In this sense I am run-of-the-mill totally normal - and proud to be so.
Family, friends, shared moments happy and sad, hands, touches, hugs, laughs - the million and one little human things that make up a life.
The “look at me!” bits? Well, that’s just the wilting parsley garnish on the great Wagyu steak of life.
Being normal is a great and wonderful thing. It might also be what saves us, in the end. Recognizing that, although different in detail, most of us share in this celebration of normal humanity - the million and one things that are unremarkable and utterly normal - but imbued with all the meaning there is.
And so we reject the notion that we need to “queer” anything - because being a normal human being is a truly wonderful thing. The modern focus on ‘identity’ is looking for meaning in all of the wrong places - and it’s kind of sad. There is no meaning in “me”, only in “us”.
You’re being uncharacteristically philosophical today Rigger and, dare I say it, a little bit too new agey and wishy-washy. Perhaps I am. I blame Wakeman. He set Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard to music with the poem being read by Robert Powell, and I listened to it again yesterday and realized that it was released 4 decades ago.
And so I plod my weary way as I draw my frailties from their dread abode . . .
I wrote a comment on your previous Semiotuc Engarblemen piece along the lines of "I wish trans people would realise that nobody gives a shit about them", and I think this piece follows a similar theme, only rather more eloquently.
I saw a bunch of weirdos being interviewed at a US pride event a few weeks ago, and a dozen different people explained what their sexual preferences and gender identity were " I'm a lesbian non-binary, trans-masc, pangender....etc etc". They were all very young and very pompous and puffed up, and I wanted to shout at the screen "Nobody Gives a Shit".
They think their sexual preferences and chosen gender matter A Great Deal to other people, but they don't. They're not Shakespeare, or Rick Wakeman, they're ordinary, dull, probably not very bright individuals, and the only thing they seem to have in their lives is this gender nonsense. It obviously excites the shit out of them and makes them feel very important and influential, but for the rest of us, we'll, they're here they're queer, and nobody cares.
If only I knew how to make them stop talking about themselves. 🙄
I think the work hard and be anything you want should be find out what your talents are and work hard to develop them and you can be successful. Not everyone has the same capabilities. Some people’s talent may be being able to do factory work happily for 35 years. Not everyone can do it. I always knew I like creating things with my hands. That’s my talent, but I just started developing it the last few years. I would have been much more successful if I’d done something with that talent.
As long as my grandkids think I’m special, I’m good. They think I’m funny and goofy, so my desire for special is fulfilled.