As I practice my fringe play, I’ve noticed two words keep floating around in my mind:
Normal.
Regular.
And lately, I’ve started questioning what those words even mean.
For most of my life, I think I’ve quietly wanted to feel “normal.” To think regular thoughts. To live a regular lifestyle. To react the way other people seem to react. To not overanalyze things. To not feel too deeply. To not carry so much noise in my head.
But the more I sit with those words, the stranger they become.
What is normal behavior?
Is it normal to work nonstop and ignore your exhaustion?
Is it normal to spend hours scrolling your phone feeling disconnected?
Is it normal to smile while silently burning out?
Is it normal to constantly compare yourself to strangers online?
Is it normal to hide your emotions because vulnerability makes people uncomfortable?
A lot of what society calls “normal” suddenly feels… unhealthy.
And then there’s the word regular.
What are regular thoughts?
Because human thoughts are chaotic.
One moment you’re worrying about bills. The next you’re replaying a conversation from 12 years ago. Then suddenly you’re wondering if penguins have knees while emotionally spiraling about your future.
The human brain is not exactly a calm and organized place.
So why do I still crave normality?
I think because underneath it all, “normal” often really means:
safe.
accepted.
belonging.
When you feel different for too long, normal starts looking like peace.
You imagine everyone else moving through life with stability and clarity while you quietly wrestle with overthinking, sensitivity, anxiety, creativity, sadness, burnout, or emotional intensity.
But I’m beginning to suspect most people are far less “normal” internally than they appear externally.
We’re all just better at hiding different things.
Some people hide loneliness.
Some hide anger.
Some hide fear.
Some hide emptiness behind achievement.
Some hide exhaustion behind humour.
And maybe what we call “normal” is simply the version of ourselves we think other people will accept most easily.
That thought has really changed the way I see people lately.
Because now, instead of asking:
“Why am I not normal?”
I find myself asking:
“Who taught us who we were supposed to be?”
Maybe there’s nothing wrong with having unusual thoughts, deep emotions, creative minds, sensitivity, or complicated inner worlds.
Maybe being human was never meant to feel neat and regular.
Nature itself isn’t regular.
The ocean changes every second.
Clouds constantly reshape themselves.
Bubbles wobble unpredictably.
Cherry blossoms bloom for only days.
Even our hearts speed up and slow down depending on what we feel.
Nothing alive stays perfectly consistent.
So maybe I need to stop chasing “normal” as if it’s some finish line where peace finally begins.
Maybe peace comes from accepting that being human is naturally messy, emotional, strange, thoughtful, contradictory, and unfinished.
And maybe the people we call “normal” are simply the ones who learned how to hide their chaos more quietly.
I’m still digesting all of this.
But I think I’m slowly realizing I don’t actually want to become regular.
I just want to feel understood.