We all are ordinary.

Ordinary is our fragility, our pain, our fear, our anger and our continuos search for a fix. Ordinary is the way we feel about others, the impression to have been set up against the whole World, the hurried decision we make about something that lasts. Ordinary is our joy, our excitement, that feeling we can accomplish everything anytime anywhere, followed by the sudden and inevitable realisation that it is not true. Ordinary are our surroundings, our contexts, our scenarios and situations, our homes, offices, gardens, restaurants, cafes and shops. Ordinary is the way we think of that, how we cling to it, the partly inexplicable desire to be measured according to how good that is.

The fact all of that (and much more) is ordinary does not mean we are not important. It means we are not alone. The moment we realise and practice that is the moment we become extraordinary.

It’s when we sit with the discomfort and end up laughing at it. It’s when we lend an helping hand to our neighbour, despite feeling shattered and not liking them. It’s when we are not carried away by easy ups, stay aware of the upcoming downs and focus on the long term. It’s when we treat the stuff we build around us, material or not, as temporary, mutable, ultimately not a reflection of who we really are. It’s when we understand that thoughts and feelings come and go, and what remains is now.

We all are ordinarily capable of achieving extraordinary things.