An Average Girl Living in an Above Average World

the world is so completely and tragically expecting an above average you, but you can't see past your mind-numbingly average self.

[ladyknightrps]

a massively extended version of ruthlesscalculus’ post

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[averagegirl-aboveaverageworld]

Average.

I hold a common name and I rarely answer to it. Jessica.

I can hardly walk without tripping over flat ground and my body turns purple when it’s cold outside. I have a spotty complexion and ghostly white skin. My face is specked with a light spattering of freckles and my vision is a far cry from perfect, so my nerdy glasses demand a large portion of my features. My teeth are only this straight due to four years of metal work and my retainers cause my voice to gain a lisp and slur. My dark hair lacks shine and falls limp at any sign of damp weather. I have short, stubby hands and my shape is more like a deformed hourglass. Perhaps the only interesting aspect concerning my physical features are my blue eyes. I am average looking.

I lead a routine life consisting of college classes, volunteer work, and church services. I’ll never walk the red carpet unless it’s a hallway runner rug. I won’t be noted as a public figure because of my tendency to clam up and stutter at any sign of attention. I have three siblings and divorced parents. I’m the middle kid, misunderstood by most everyone in the family—even those outside my family. Perhaps the only interesting aspect concerning my life is the miscarriage of my twin. I lead an average life.  

But despite my average looks and average life, I have passions that drive me to become above average when I grow up and gain life experience. I have a passion for cooking and an insatiable appetite for literature. I spend my free time wandering the aisles of Barnes and Noble or the streets of Disneyland. I have a big heart and an even bigger imagination. I have a small group of beautiful (or handsome) friends, both inside and out. I’m overflowing with the grace of my God and I don’t let my imperfect past define my mysterious future. 

Even though I’m average in more ways than one, I have an above average relationship with the One who thinks that I’m beautiful for my my flaws and imperfections—the One who’s always on my side and will defend my spirit in times of struggle. I’m thankful for being an average girl because I’m accepted into the arms of an above average God, and there’s nothing more satisfying than that.

[averagegirl-aboveaverageworld]

below average

she's the girl who never says no. then again, she never really says yes either.  she worries about others more than herself. she wants everyone else to smile when she's only smiling on the outside. inside, she's falling apart. life started happening, and she wasn't prepared. she's fine until someone asks her otherwise. there's something about those three little words. no, not the one's you're thinking. the words, "are you okay?" trigger some sort of emotional warfare that is happening inside. it's then that she realizes that she's not okay. she's been layering happy thoughts over an unhappy reality. her escapes are now her new norm. she can't stand to talk to the same people anymore because they aren't really listening, so she sits silently or talks about petty things like the weather and how high fuel prices are rising.  all of the people she used to confide in only wait for their turn to talk. listening is acknowledging what she's saying with a simple nod of the head or look in the eye, possibly a few sporadic questions or the muttering of small words. she's tired of being the assumed perfect, but she's ever the perfectionist.  she wants people to see her flaws and accept them because she knows they make her so completely different from any other person out there. that's the thing about flaws, they make her beautifully unique.  she gives and gives and gives, but never takes. she gives her time to please others.  she lives for everyone else. maybe it's time she learned that she might be important too.  she's beautiful and everyone except her can see it. i think you know who this girl might be. she can't stand the word "me" let alone, an even smaller word: "I". she pours her heart into her writing, but cannot seem to say those same words out loud without stuttering. she spends her time wondering if all these things can be seen by those who she surrounds herself with. maybe she's less of a mystery than she first believed.  then again, maybe not.