THE OUTLIARS

We keep lying to ourselves about what normal is.

Somewhere along the line, we bought into the bullshit from TED-talk lunatics and grind-bots. Like waking up every morning ready to conquer the world is what actual people do. Spoiler: it’s not.

Spoiler:
It isn’t.

Normal is waking up, muttering fuck under your breath, dragging your ass out of bed because you don’t have a choice.
Normal is making a plan, watching it blow up the second life throws a wrench in it, cursing again, and standing there wondering if you should even bother or just let the whole fucking day burn.

Normal is being tired. All. The. Fucking. Time.
Not because you’re lazy.
Because life is a goddamn endurance test. Nobody told you how long it would drag on or how much it would bleed you dry.

But we keep bullshitting ourselves. We look at the people who aren’t exhausted, who aren’t drowning, who act like they’re crushing it, and we pretend they’re the standard.
Like they’re the ones we’re supposed to measure up to.

They’re not.
They’re the outliers.
They’re statistical freaks. Yoga pants, ring lights, perfect teeth, influencer bullshit. Not real. Not us.
They’re the rare accidents capitalism parades around as proof that all this suffering is worth it. Like one asshole winning the lottery means the rest of us should keep buying tickets and pretending we’re not getting screwed.

We keep trying to join their side.
We try to copy their routines, their meal plans, their morning affirmations typed out like ransom notes.
We twist ourselves into knots, break our backs, just to pretend we’re getting somewhere. Just to keep up the act, like we’re not falling apart.

But maybe, just maybe, hear me out,
we should stop running toward their side, stop chasing a life that was never meant for us, stop pretending we even want it.
Maybe we should drag them over to our side. Make them see what it’s really like to wake up every day and not want to scream.

Our side is where the real people are.
The ones juggling grief, bills, health scares, cold marriages, kids melting down, aging parents, surprise medical debt, and the constant urge to just disappear. The ones just trying to get through a Tuesday without losing their shit.

Our side is full of people who show up to work every day, even when their guts are screaming, their brains splitting, their hearts still broken over someone they buried months ago.

Our side is the honest side.
The human side.

Every workplace in America pretends we’re all fine. Like we’re not all one bad day away from snapping.
that we can hold it together for eight hours, five days a week,
clicking the same soul-grinding button
that creates money for someone who isn’t us,
and feeding the same consumer habits we use to patch up the wounds the job gave us in the first place. It’s a sick fucking cycle.

We all show up with lives in pieces,
held together with caffeine, anxiety, guilt, and whatever scraps of hope we can find,
and then we lie to each other with forced smiles in the hallway. We say shit like:

“Doing good, how about you?”
“Hangin’ in there.”
“All good over here.”

Every single one of us is one missed paycheck, one sick kid, one funeral, one medical bill away from falling apart completely.

Maybe the real trick isn’t becoming an outlier.
Maybe it’s just admitting the truth.

We’re all barely holding it together. That’s normal. That’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud, but fuck it, I will.
We’re all carrying too much. That’s normal.
We’re all fucking tired. That’s normal. That’s the price of being alive in this mess.

Outliers aren’t the goal.
They don’t represent us.
They never have.

We’re the real majority.
The bruised, tired, stubborn middle. The ones who keep showing up, even when it hurts like hell.
The people who wake up every day, whisper fuck, and still put their feet on the floor, even when it feels impossible.
and still manage to keep going.

And maybe if we stop worshiping the outliers,
stop lying about how “fine” we are,
and start admitting that everyone around us is hurting.
We can finally build a world where exhaustion isn’t a moral failure
And the rest isn’t a luxury item.