Extraordinary

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Location: The Manitoba Legislature – Winnipeg, Manitoba

Yesterday, I stumbled upon a quote from author William Martin that struck – not a chord, but a nerve in me. Mr. Martin recommends that parents not ask their children to strive for extraordinary lives; instead, he feels, they should teach them to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life.

The quote was, undoubtedly, taken out of context and comes from a larger piece of work in which, I hope, the author defines the difference between ordinary and extraordinary so that readers can understand what he really means. I don’t, you see. Or, I suppose, I disagree with it on such an elemental level that I can’t wrap my mind around where he could possibly be coming from. As a rule, I try not to talk about parenting at all. I don’t have my own children, so I can’t truly say I know what I’d do if I did. But I wholeheartedly believe that parents should be open to encouraging their children to strive for whatever kind of life feels right to them. The fact is, for some of us, nothing less than extraordinary feels right.

I still distinctly remember the conversation I had with my mom on this subject, although I couldn’t have been much more than four or five at the time. No one had ever suggested to me that I should be anything other  than what I wanted, but I was already particular by that age. Driven, always busy with projects of my own invention. (After all, you might remember that I dictated my first picture book to Mom when I was three. Two real books eventually followed, many years later.) “What if I’m famous some day?” I asked her.

“Well, you might be,” she said, in a tone that I now know meant she was thoroughly unconvinced. “But it’s more likely you’ll be ordinary just like everyone else.”

And she was right, of course. But the fact is, fame is never the goal I strived towards. What I wanted, what I still want, is an extraordinary, eventful life full of memorable moments and varied accomplishments. It’s that desire that causes me to make suggestions like, “Well, Ian, if you’re going to study to be a chef, where better to do it than in Paris? We could move there!” Granted, we don’t pursue every idea that I come up with – there are simply too many of them, and not enough time. But I’ve never regretted acting on an impulse to take the long road, the hard way or, simply put, to do something out of the ordinary.

That doesn’t mean I can’t, or don’t, find joy in the ordinary. I love ritual and routine. But I love them precisely because the ordinary acts that make up my daily rituals – waking up to the 6 am alarm, washing my face, doing yoga, making tea – are comfortable, like a warm blanket. A warm blanket is lovely, for a period of time. But then, inevitably, you get too hot and want to throw it off. Or, at least I do. I need special moments and unusual experiences to help me strike a balance. Extraordinary all the time would be too much, I admit – I’d be tired. But an ordinary life, entirely devoid of the extraordinary would be unbearably dull and, for me, not worth the bother.

I suppose what bothered me most, in reading Mr. Martin’s quote, was the suggestion that parents should impose appreciation for a particular type of life on their children. If my parents had done that, my life would undoubtedly be very different – I know for certain it would involve significantly less champagne and sequins. I’m grateful they didn’t. The freedom to choose my own path, to strive for the extraordinary because it was what I wanted, was a gift.

Note: As I wrote this, a group of Trump supporters stormed Capitol Hill and the Senate in Washington DC. It strikes me that perhaps I shouldn’t be so hard on Mr. Martin. Many North American parents have far more to answer for today than simply imposing values on their children.

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