Ordinary

When I was a little girl I had big dreams.

Often I could be found with a towel wrapped about my head in an effort to recreate a good and “proper” famous woman's hair-do. Then I'd sing into my hairbrush microphone much to the delight of my stuffed animal audience.

They loved me.

But my road to fame was cut short one night while watching the Country Music Awards. Though my mama always thought (as ONLY a mother could ever think) I had the voice of a country angel, this TV show made me realize a mama's love can make her lie.




I heard talent---real talent. And suddenly, my hairbrush tunes sounded much less impressive.

And I mourned the loss of a fame I would never know.

I thought about this as I stood in the grocery store line recently and saw magazine after magazine recounting the best and worst moments of the past few years: the terrorism, the new President, the new in (and out) fashion trends, the newest diet fad, Jon and Kate Plus 8. And of course the shocking death of Michael Jackson was (still) splashed across magazine after magazine.

Fame comes at the highest cost.

In one of the last interviews I ever saw Michael do, tears leaked from his eyes as he admitted to living in a loneliness that most people would never know. The very thing that made him a household name, made him a prisoner within himself. (I am NOT an MJ fan. Call me close-minded, but I can’t seem to see good past the bad and his molestation issues of children. And I’m probably the only human who isn’t in love with his music. I don’t think it is terrible, but it’s just not good either. Moving on.) But I still felt sorry for him because in that interview, he looked genuinely hurt (who knows if he really was, but he sure acted like he was).

Fame is a beast. What makes you famous today, devours the success of now looking for more tomorrow—the next big thing you must deliver. You are only as good as your most recent accomplishment. And that is an exhausting and impossible way to live.

What if my life was forever measured by my class ranking, my salary, my relationship status, the drama on my TV reality show? What if allll my business was spread over the world, constantly being embellished to make for quality/better drama in my life? What if the entire world knew that Sadie Jane will pee when she is scared? Or what if they knew that Sophie's ears never really went down, even when she is sound asleep? Yes her ears really are ALWAYS that big and radar-ish.
Once you've tasted fame you develop an insatiable hunger that's hard to satisfy any other way. But the reality of fickle fans and the hands of time make it impossible to always have a number one hit, to forever be the most beautiful, and to consistently hold the attention of a world gone mad with wanting the next great thing- always the next great thing.

Realizing you were yesterday's great thing messes with a person in ways very few can recover.

Not that I’ve ever experienced fame, but it seems like common sense. If we (as a culture) are still obsessed with Jon and Kate plus 8 or Keeping Up with the Kardashians in 2 years, I’ll be shocked. VERY shocked. The next “big thing” will be in full swing by then.

I think sometimes we look at the seemingly carefree lifestyles of the “rich and famous” of any given moment and sigh and wish and travel back to our child hood dreams asking what if.

But it hit me in the grocery store line what an extraordinary gift an ordinary life really is. Simplicity and humility hold the keys to a freedom this world can't even process.

So, I unloaded the contents of my ordinary grocery cart onto the ordinary grocery belt and assessed my ordinary life full of chicken strips, whole wheat sandwich flats, lunch meats, crock pot meals, Diet Coke and dog treats. I smiled as I thought about the most “exotic” trip I would take again soon: to Target or a stroll through Barnes and Noble.

Then I'll go home to my modest ordinary house and play with my ordinary dogs. I will make those ordinary paninis on my modest panini maker.

I'll lift my face not to flashing bulbs and screaming crowds demanding more than my soul was designed to give—but rather to a full face of puppy licks of love and a family who blesses my life more than they’ll ever know; and they are so NOT ordinary.





And I'll thank God for the gift—the absolute gift of my ordinary.