Average.

 I am just an average. I’m not the most talented, the most successful, or the most remarkable person in any room. I exist in the quiet middle ground where expectations are neither sky-high nor rock-bottom. My achievements are modest, and my flaws, though not extraordinary, are plenty. Yet, there is a certain comfort in this place, a peacefulness in knowing that I don’t have to be exceptional to matter. I can find contentment in the simple routines of daily life, in small victories and setbacks that don’t define me but shape me. To be average is to be free from the pressure of perfection, a reminder that there is dignity in the everyday.

In a world that glorifies extremes, there’s a quiet strength in embracing the middle. Being average doesn’t mean being invisible or uninvolved—it means I am part of the crowd, experiencing life without the need for recognition. I don’t have to live for accolades or chase the highest peaks to feel fulfilled. There’s joy in mediocrity, in knowing that I’m just one person among many, contributing in my own way. The average existence is not a failure; it’s simply a reminder that life, at its core, is about living authentically, without needing to stand out or constantly strive for more. And perhaps, in embracing this truth, I’ve found my own version of success.