Tirtha Writes

The Cambridge Dictionary defines being “average” as a standard or level that is considered to be typical or usual. To be average is to be a commoner – live an unremarkable, quotidian life. There is nothing majorly impressive about such a person; their existence does not demand great attention, admiration or applause. 

For much of the 90s, this kind of life was not only acceptable but desirable. A stable job, a comfortable home, a happy family and a secure retirement plan were widely seen as markers of success. Today, however, even these comforts seem insufficient. An opulent apartment, a rewarding career or two ski trips a year no longer satisfy the modern appetite. Suddenly, everyone wants to be exceptional – formidable, even. The question is: why? 

A simple answer lies in access. Today, nearly everyone we know – or don’t know – is available for public viewing and quiet judgement. Instagram, LinkedIn and even a basic Google search turn private lives into curated exhibitions. Our existence is displayed like art in a gallery, inviting commentary from an invisible audience. 

This access inevitably breeds comparison. Your childhood friend no longer plays football, they play paddle. Your neighbour doesn’t invest only in real estate, they’re diversifying into commodities and international debt markets. Your colleague didn’t go to Dubai, they discovered a wildlife retreat in a place few can pronounce. Each choice is subtly framed as more refined, more exclusive, more enlightened than the last. 

In this constant cycle of comparison, being average begins to feel like a failure. To be typical is to be invisible. And so, we strive to distinguish ourselves – not necessarily to be mentally fulfilled, but to be seen. To rise above the rest, to become the crème de la crème, even if the difference is only cosmetic. 

Psychologists call this the hedonic treadmill – the tendency to quickly adapt to new achievements, no matter how exciting they once felt. The first promotion feels thrilling; the next one feels overdue. The dream apartment eventually becomes just another place to leave your keys. As our expectations rise, satisfaction quietly slips away. We’re no longer chasing happiness so much as the next upgrade. When everyone’s highlight reel is always on display, standing still can feel suspiciously like moving backwards. Achievement slowly shifts from something we enjoy into something we feel expected to maintain. And somewhere along the way, being “average” starts to feel less like a neutral state and more like a personal shortcoming. But maybe the real question is – are we afraid of being average, or just afraid of not being seen?