Normal is… whatever it is

 

The other day I was putting together a piece where for one segment, I was talking about moving around in a darkened house. And it occurred to me that for many people, what some consider challenges around the house are for others an everyday reality.

For people that are blind, or using a wheelchair, the idea of what many folks would consider normal movement isn’t that normal. Turn out the lights, and I slow right down, more or less believing I’m about to smash my face into a wall and honestly surprised if I find my way through the door I was aiming for. About five years ago, I needed to use crutches for an extended period of time, and we’ll just say it was not a great experience.

As I kicked around the idea, it became even more evident that my ideas of normal are not necessarily even close to your ideas.

Consider a kitchen.

If I asked you to find a spoon in my kitchen, you probably would be able to handle it pretty quickly. But, likely without thought, you cheated. You unconsciously and immediately decided we keep spoons in a drawer, and began with those. What if I asked you to find a plate or a coffee mug? Might take a few extra seconds. And if we move into cutting boards, lids for frying pans, or perhaps a mandoline, chances are good you wouldn’t even start looking before asking me where it is.

What makes sense to me as a perfect spot for a drawer filled with forks and knives isn’t necessarily the perfect spot for you. (For a full admission, I also have no clue where our mandoline is. Whenever I could use it, I often forget it completely as an option or decide it will be faster to just slice things another way rather than to look for it.)

Normal is whatever you believe is comfortable and obvious. Normal is the way things should be. And normal for one person is not necessarily even close to what normal is for someone else.

If you live in Arizona, come to the northeast, and think you are going to find quality salsa, you are going to be disappointed. Great salsa is normal in Arizona. It’s not that normal in the northeast. (And I am very sorry that’s true. Because if you are in such a situation, you are going to be saddened by what many think qualifies simply as good salsa in the northeast.)

Outside in my driveway, the cars are facing toward the road. They don’t face that way all year. But it’s winter. For one thing, because of where the sun rises, facing them in that direction points them toward sun and helps get the snow and frost melted off the windshield. And for another, it’s far easier moving across snow in drive than it is in reverse. As October arrives, it’s just the natural thing to begin backing into the driveway. But if I lived in Florida, I’d likely never consider doing it.

Normal is, at its most basic level, how you do things when you don’t think about doing them.

When I was younger, I enjoyed a lot of the video games for sports. Today, I can barely keep up. The controllers have multiple sticks, nobs and buttons. It makes the games more realistic, and the options for interaction more authentic, and it also drives me wild. Which darn button do I push to pass the ball? Which one to switch the player I’m controlling on defense? (Good luck. It’s thrills like this that led to the Wii exploding in popularity.)

But more to the point, when I was younger the buttons seemed far more intuitive. I recall playing a baseball game with a friend for the first time. I had a man on first and wanted to try to steal second base. I guessed, hit a button that seemed like the obvious choice, and the runner took off. That was a great game.

It’s not that obvious is preferred. But like the search for a spoon, obvious can be a good place to start. And, even more importantly, having the understanding and patience to deal with the idea that your version of obvious isn’t the same as another person’s is a great way to bring people together.

Embrace your normal. Cherish your normal. (And if you happen to spot a fondue set in one of the cabinets, would you let me know where it is? Thanks.)

 

If you have any comments or questions, please e-mail me at Bob@inmybackpack.com