Have you ever had an earworm? A random song or melody gets stuck in your head on a continuous loop? Like Dancing Queen by ABBA.

Dancing Queen, young and mean. She was a dancing fiend – oh ohhh, yeah.

Or something like that.

Right now I have the equivalent of an earworm that is bouncing around in my brain much like a game of Pong. That word is Mediocre.

  • average: lacking exceptional quality or ability; “a novel of average merit”; “only a fair performance of the sonata”; “in fair health”; “the caliber of the students has gone from mediocre to above average”; “the performance was middling at best”

It came to me yesterday when I was leaving work, thinking about how there just went another whole day of my life I shall never get back, and I spent it doing…what, exactly? Tasks and duties assigned that no one will ever remember as being done by me. In a few months, after I’m gone, someone might say, “Oh, remember whatshername? She did X.”

You may feel obligated to try to make me feel better and say, They don’t know how lucky they were! and maybe you’d be right in this case, but it’s not just the work situation.

I’ve been mediocre – or average – all my life.

I’m not the first child or the last in my family. I’m not even in the middle. I’m second to last.

I don’t have naturally blonde hair and it’s not brunette. It’s mousy brown.

I’m of average height, build and health. In looks, I’m probably a “6”.

When I was a ballroom dance instructor, my students might have thought I was good. My 60 year-old students. But I wasn’t a natural dancer. I easily memorize complicated footwork but my execution was clinical and uninspiring.

As a kid, I use to think I was a really good artist. Until I went to college and realized that I was “OK”. Not good enough to be able to make a living creating art. I had good enough grades, but I was no 4.0 student.

Inside the little pond, I really could convince myself that I’m good or even excel at something. For example, when I started blogging, I thought I was good because I experienced so few. I’m not. Again, I’m not looking for stroking. I’m just being realistic. Even in relationship to my fertility, I was Mediocre.

Mediocrity is my norm. I’m definitely not a great mom (Color with you? Oh, as soon as ANTM is over.). I’m not a great wife (What’s for supper? I have some coupons from Pizza Hut.). I’m not even a great lover; and I always seem to be the third wheel in friendships, the tag-along.




I can’t shake this earworm in my head.

I am Mediocre.