On Being “Common”

The other day I referred to someone as being “common.” Okay, so that kind of sounds like a bad thing–to be common, I mean. But it’s not and I’ll tell you why.

In my little corner of the world we use the word “common” to describe someone who is down to earth, certainty not pretentious, someone who is just “everyday,” someone you can be yourself around, no matter who you are. No need to put on heirs when you’re around someone who is just plain old “common.” A “common” person has the ability to put others at ease no matter what the circumstance. I have some people like that in my life, and I think it’s a trul wonderful thing.

Sometimes people can feel a little awkward when they find out I’m a published author. I’ll admit that people have been nervous around me in the past, at least until they get to know me. That’s when they find out I’m just an ordinary person (no bells or whistles, no fancy clothes or jewelery) and, well, writing is just something I love to do. I don’t know why. I guess we all have to have something we’re passionate about and why we feel drawn to one thing over another will likely remain a mystery. Some things just are they way they are, no sense trying to analyze them to pieces. Acceptance is a wonderful peace-maker.

As a writer, I like to write about about ordinary people, those unsung people who perhaps never have their stories told, but nonetheless deserve to have them told. We’ve all heard the adage that everyone has a story. Most people seem to believe that about other people’s stories and not their own, as if their story isn’t one worthy of being told.

But we are all important, (and we all have a story, every one of us) yet unimportant at the same time. By that I mean, that not one of us is any more important than the other. What we do for a living isn’t who we are, but simply what we do. Perhaps that’s something we should keep in mind when we’re meeting someone whose work, or life we admire, someone we might even think of as being more important in the world. Deep down we’re all the same—common. What makes us different are our life experiences, and isn’t that absolutely wonderful? To be different, I mean, to be able to share with one another the things that makes us truly unique in the world.

And since words can have a different meaning for all of us, I’m a wee but curious. What are you’re thoughts on being common? In your world is it something good or bad or in between?

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