The Quiet Rebellion of Being Enough#
From birth, someone handed me a script I never asked for. Be extraordinary or be invisible. There was no middle ground. Average wasn’t just a word - it was a diagnosis of failure. School taught it, social media reinforced it, and somehow it became the default setting in my head.
Life turned into this exhausting climb up an endless cliff. Every achievement? Just another foothold. Every setback? Proof I was slipping toward irrelevance. My self-worth sat somewhere at the top, always out of reach.
And it wasn’t just about achievement. I had to look perfect too. The mirror became a daily interrogation. My body, a never-ending project. The gym wasn’t exercise - it was another job. Another place where I wasn’t good enough. Professional success measured by achievements, personal worth measured by appearance. Both impossible. Both always just out of reach.
This constant chase steals things. Small things. Morning coffee without immediately checking email. Conversations where I’m actually present instead of half-planning my next move. Just existing without treating it like a performance review.
It steals self-acceptance. Convinces you that you’re a problem needing a solution instead of a person worth knowing.
At some point I started wondering: who benefits from me believing I’m not enough?
The word ’enough’ showed up one day. Not as giving up, but as breathing again. What if stepping off that cliff wasn’t failure? What if the ground I’d been terrified of was just… ground? Solid earth where actual life happens?
The cost became obvious once I looked at it. Rejecting my ordinariness meant rejecting my own humanity. My identity had become something to be externally validated, constantly measured. I was afraid of my own reflection. Afraid of being alone with my thoughts.
Truth is: being human means existing on a very ordinary spectrum. There’s always someone smarter, richer, more successful, better looking. That’s not a bug. That’s how it works. That’s balance. That’s being human.
Being average doesn’t isolate me. It connects me to everyone else living ordinary lives. The parent making breakfast. The commuter reading on the train. The friend who listens without trying to fix everything. These people hold the world together. Not through extraordinary achievement, but through showing up.
Letting go is rebellion. Quiet rebellion. Dismantling years of conditioning. Facing the silence that used to be filled with ambitious noise. On the other side? Freedom to exist without constant self-judgment. Looking in the mirror and seeing a person instead of a project.
I’m done fighting myself. The world screams for more - I’m choosing enough.
Being average. Being ordinary. Measuring worth by capacity to be present rather than productive. Loving imperfectly. Showing up for the small, unglamorous work of just being human.
In this world, that’s radical.
When I look in the mirror now:
“You’re enough. Not because of what you’ve done. Because of what you are.”