I grew up in a normal home in a normal town. I went to a normal school, had a normal upbringing, and attended a normal church. I went to a normal college, got a normal job, and went through a normal divorce.

In short, I’m a normal guy. And that’s the problem.

As early as I can remember I believed I was special. Not special like a mother tells a child when she’s young, but truly unique. I could bring healing to the world. I could be a famous musician. I could be the Iceman to the world’s Maverick. The older I got, the more I believed the key to that notoriety was hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered. If I could just obtain this… something… I’d be riding the rocket to fame and fortune.

In high school, I sought humanity’s attention by doing poorly in class, joining the Academic Decathlon team as a “C average” student, and cleaned up the competition. Then I started going on mission trips. And not just quick trips across the border, but overseas. Youth group friends admired me as a stood in front of “big church” and shared stories from Africa and Australia. At the very last minute I applied to a normal Bible college in a far off land known as Minnesota. I bid my friends farewell as I left California in search of a Bible degree so I could become a pastor.

In college I quickly found my identity in being a liberal in a sea of conservatives. I could be known for being loudly different. I could be known for switching to a philosophy major, something I viewed as far above the “normal” business and communication majors.

But by the time I (barely) graduated I had zero desire to continue full-time in school, let alone continue taking out student loans. So I got a temp job. I loved being the “corporate guy” with a Bible degree. “Truly unique” I thought. That led to a career in technology, and eventually product management.

I found an amazing woman, and she brought with her the most amazing stepdaughter I could have imagined. A year into marriage, she left, taking her daughter with her, leading to the dark season that, while slowly healing, I still find myself in today.

That’s a pretty normal story. A normal upbringing, with a normal job and a normal divorce. I’m a normal guy in his late 30s.

In the wake of the trauma of divorce and the loss of my daughter, I’ve been forced into reckoning the two sides of my life: the deep desire to be known and famous, and the reality of my normal life. During this period I’ve discovered the enneagram. I very quickly identified myself as a 4 and dove head-first into exploring the primary challenge/theme of a 4’s personality. I, along with most 4s, believe I am missing something. Everyone else in the world already has this “something,” and it alone is the key to realizing my deep, envious desire to be a famous person. Now, if only I could find that key…

The reality is, of course, this key doesn’t exist. It’s a fiction. The magic pill isn’t something I can find. As I learn to accept this reality, I’ve begun to deeply identify with a more positive statement of the problem: I am not missing anything. I already have everything I need to be known and loved by the people who matter to me.

In other words, I’ve accepted my normalcy. I’m not famous, and I don’t need to be, because what I’m really after is love and acceptance of who I am. I’ve unearthed a core belief that I’m not lovable as I am, so I must need that special something for people to love me. The “normal” abandonments one incurs as a result of failed relationships, family fissures, and divorce had solidified that belief. But the raw, vulnerable place in which the divorce left me pointed to that core nugget of belief. My friends came around me, beckoning me to pierce the thick layer of self-hatred protecting the belief that had become the essence of my identity.

And that’s where I’m at as I type out this story. My journal and thousands of dollars of therapy have me at a much better place, one of self-acceptance and love. Yet bitterness and anger remain to be rooted out, and, well, that’s normal. None of us is completely free from the impacts of our past. Nevertheless, the beauty and healing of the future is only possible because of the past. With this acceptance I am free to feel joy, and I’m also free to break down in the middle of Target because I hear a kiddo who sounds just like my daughter.

This is life; special, unique, and surprisingly normal.