I've had my fair share of writing about near-extinct half-blood elves and lost-royalty 'chosen ones.' I've had my fair share of writing dramatic blogger profiles in which I am profoundly unique. Granted, it's been a few years. Over those years, I stumbled upon something that reoriented the way that I view myself.
There is a power in being common.
I'm just guessing here, but from what I see of the world, the inside parts of most people seem to want adventure, love, truth. Gifted artists and gifted minds --when also gifted with commonness-- have the ability to tap into our common themes and form an understanding between men; highlight the shared blood pumping through all of us, intellectual or not, educated or not. I turn on a pop song and [provided it's not about clubbing] more often than not relate to the lyrics, regardless of whether I enjoy the genre [is that why we're so eager to share our music with each other? To find out if the others understand? Is that why I can write, "___ music group understands my life"?]. These are artists, harnessing what we all feel and putting it into words, or music, or colors on a canvas.
A good writer writes the things we've always wished to verbalize but can't. A good musician shares work that sounds familiar to our hearts.
The ability to impact the hearts of scores of mere men--- what more effective power is there?
That was what I stumbled upon. Our very humanity is our common factor. So why did I spend so many early adolescent days pushing for no common factors, when to do so would be to deny what truly makes me the being that I am?
Does a horse try to be different from all other horses? A horse simply is. The horse adds another beautiful presence to the world merely by being a horse.
If I am a wise little writer --no, just a wise person-- I will seek to understand the things that all men share inside of themselves, instead of the things that set them apart from each other. Why was my self-value wrapped up in the ways that I perceive myself differing from other men?
These "unique" traits are excellent identifying markers, but they are not what really matters inside of me. Granted, when you're making your foray into the world of young adulthood, you cling to what you must. That seems like a part of each person's psychological development. You have to be able to see yourself, those figuring-out years.
But I think maybe finally I am ready to stop clinging and face who I really am: that is....
What if it doesn't matter whether I can see myself in a crowd of people or not, if I understand the heart of the crowd? Now I have the power to move people's hearts, which, for myself, is vastly superior to impressing their brains.