Living extraordinary lives
During the past few days I watched (again) The Fabulous Destiny of Amélie Poulain and continued reading One Palestine, Complete, among other things. While doing this I again thought about how interesting and almost magical life was in the movie, or as descripted in the book (not talking about the violence). This led me back to my old thoughts about what interesting - or special - life essentially is. And while it should have been always readily apparent to me, it only now really hit home; life is [almost] never extraordinary; it's either normal or miserable. And I'm talking about judging your own life, here and now, and not someone else's.
Let me explain.
What makes life extraordinary, special or otherwise noteworthy? How someone lives, what he does or who he meets. This means riches, achievements or relations. The problem is, that in the first case we judge someone's living conditions compared to those of someone else; we are always ourselves the standard. Rich people see poor people living extraordinarily, if miserably. And poor people in turn see rich people living...well..extraordinarily happy.
The problem with the second is that while things sound glorious while told as a story or anecdote (for example, living abroad due to father's work), the experience of going through with it is actually quite tedious and mundane. The long flights, living in a country with high language barrier, no friends etc. The extraordinary parts get buried under the pile of daily problems.
And the third? Well, knowing great people does bring some light into your life, but I feel that it also lights the misery of your own life in comparison.
Now, after saying all this I admit that there are people who feel like they live extraordinarily; I expect most of them are people who's living conditions changed dramatically (and suddenly) after childhood, usually due to some singular feat (like winning in Olympics after years of practice) or because someone else did something big (distant relative died and left his considerable fortune to your disposal). But in normal life? There was a person in my classroom few years ago who had used two years to hitch hike around the world. I remember overhearing him talking about dancers in Brazil, about holy places in Jerusalem and the rush hours of Japan. I'm sure he felt he had done something nice and cool, but while telling you have been to all these places (and visualizing to others how you did it) seems grand, in practice I bet the grandiose is lost in his mind under the nights in flea-ridden hostels and days walking in rain.
The only people who in practice ever think that their life isn't normal are those who are chronically depressed and want to get better or find a way out.
And Amélie? She walks in Paris where nuns cross the streets in flocks, a man with glass bones and artistic tendencies lives under the same roof and everyone you meet is a strong personality, worth a book by themselves. And she never realizes it, or wonders about it; I'm sure she thought about it briefly when she moved to that area, but in practice; this was her life, right? And life is normal, no matter how extraordinary it actually is.
