In search of Normal

When I started blogging just about three months ago, I  intended it to be a form of therapy, a solitary odyssey of understanding myself. I most definitely didn't expect the rest of the world to join my quarantine and obsessively self-reflect all over the internet. As with every other activity, I wanted this period to be mine and mine alone. Oh, well! Ironically, my view of humanity is infinitely more positive, while under house arrest. If this goes on, I will soon be a Humanitarian and be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, like Aung San Suu Ki. (And taken back soon after, like hers deservedly should be!)

...that trajectory probably would be to someplace beautiful. And that makes all the difference!

I had lived most of my mature years expecting normal behavior from myself and failing, and flogging myself for failing to meet my baseline for "normal". Normal is synonymous with Average in my mind, and Average is the minimum acceptable. So, now I wonder why would I expect myself to be the minimum acceptable in any form? Human Nature, even mine, wants the easy way: average way, average looks, average health, average thoughts, average life, average death, average legacy. Now when I realize that I was never "normal", I wonder why on earth strive for something so unremarkable for me and mine!

I am a mother of one special-needs child and another gifted child. Neither is 'normal'. Unfortunately, all three of us are from the human species and seem to need human interaction to survive. The first seven years of my son's life were defined by my expectations for him to be molded into a form approaching normal. Even after I sort of accepted him as his person, it seemed like I was giving up, on him. Where does one draw the line between reaching higher to 'normal' or traversing sideways to something extraordinary? More recently, I have decided I like me as I am and my kids are splendid as they are. It is indescribably liberating to accept that I am brain-damaged, in learning old skills like coding and communicating with people once again and discovering new skills like singing.

My daughter and I are training in Indian Classical music together now. She is a better pianist, and I am a better singer. Every song I like to hear and sing along is invariably about romance, which I don't like to dwell upon. When my daughter asks me the meaning of some song in Hindi, Tamil, colloquial English or Urdu, I have to explain that the guy/gal thinks his/her boy/girlfriend is like a flower, cloud, a breeze, a rainbow ... and she asks me "Why, Mama?". Why, indeed! And then, "Where is your boyfriend? If Papa is your boyfriend why aren't you singing and dancing with him?" If only she realizes how happy she ought to be that we are dancing around trying to avoid each other!

Why, indeed!

Post-op I find myself looking for quotes and pictures to explain myself to others. In the case of ideas, there are so many before me who explain my thoughts much better. I used to think that to quote others was not original. Off late, my changed opinion is that if I stand on the shoulders of giants of thought, I can build upon them and not be limited by them. If each generation had to rediscover fire and reinvent the wheel, we would still be at best, nomadic. So I tell my inquisitive daughter, learn first, then improve or look beyond. It is boring, as is all life, perhaps. But that trajectory probably would be to someplace beautiful. And that makes all the difference!