I wasn’t quite sure what sense of ordinariness to expect from Robert J. Wicks’ The Tao of Ordinariness. I would say as a whole it is about becoming ordinary you. I found the whole interesting, but it was chapter four that really caught my attention. It’s here that Wicks starts to address those whose damaged childhoods have created a false (and frequently re-affirmed) sense of our ordinary selves. I’ve always known I have issues—it’s pretty obvious that I’m not quite like other people I know. I often lack confidence and, thanks to my career and publishing history, have had that sense pounded in even as an adult. (Poundedness is not a protected category, however, and it won’t get you any special consideration.) Up until that chapter I was thinking, “This is nice, but it just doesn’t match my experience of things.” Then I learned why.
It is possible to change your outlook, of course. It’s not an easy thing to do. Our culture isn’t set up to allow for it, what with 9-2-5s and all that. You see, my personality really fit the teaching mode and lifestyle. I loved the work, although it was hard. And I loved the fact that if you had free time during the day you could, if you needed to, run an errand or two. I guess I’ve never been one to invest in that capitalistic idea that your employer is buying your time. For some jobs, yes. In fact, my first employment experiences were of that sort. I started at nine, did physical work until five, with a lunch break in the middle. Now work begins early and doesn’t really end. Days off are few and they fly by quickly. Changing your outlook requires time to think. That, it seems, is what’s missing. It makes it difficult to find out what my ordinary is.
Wicks’ book is a hopeful one. His optimism comes through page after page. He gives practical advice. The subtitle reveals why the book is important: Humility and Simplicity in a Narcissistic Age. (That last adjective is so common now that spell-check completes it automatically.) Politicians have frequently been narcissists, but Trump has made it into a high art—care only for yourself and tell people the lies they want to hear. You can see the calculating cynicism in every glance and gesture. And yet, here we are. Books like this are important. We need to be told that there’s another way. If only it were also possible to get your horse to drink.
