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A man holding a cup of coffee while sitting with his cat โ€” a quiet morning that captures the warmth of ordinary life. ๊ณ ์–‘์ด์™€ ํ•จ๊ป˜ ์ปคํ”ผ๋ฅผ ๋งˆ์‹œ๋Š” ๋‚จ์ž โ€” ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•œ ์ผ์ƒ ์† ๋”ฐ๋œปํ•œ ์•„์นจ์˜ ํ•œ ์žฅ๋ฉด.

๐ŸŒฟ Why We Fear the Ordinary

์šฐ๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•จ์„ ๋‘๋ ค์›Œํ•˜๋Š” ์ด์œ 

We live in an age that worships the extraordinary.
์šฐ๋ฆฌ๋Š” โ€˜๋น„๋ฒ”ํ•จโ€™์„ ์‹ ์ฒ˜๋Ÿผ ๋– ๋ฐ›๋“œ๋Š” ์‹œ๋Œ€์— ์‚ด๊ณ  ์žˆ๋‹ค.

Everywhere we look, someone is achieving, shining, or becoming.
์–ด๋””๋ฅผ ๋ณด์•„๋„ ๋ˆ„๊ตฐ๊ฐ€๋Š” ์ด๋ค„๋‚ด๊ณ , ๋น›๋‚˜๊ณ , ๋” ๋‚˜์•„๊ฐ€๊ณ  ์žˆ๋‹ค.

Our screens glow with success stories,
์šฐ๋ฆฌ์˜ ํ™”๋ฉด์€ ์„ฑ๊ณต์˜ ์ด์•ผ๊ธฐ๋กœ ๋น›๋‚˜๊ณ ,

and the quiet rhythm of ordinary life fades behind the noise.
ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•œ ์‚ถ์˜ ์กฐ์šฉํ•œ ๋ฆฌ๋“ฌ์€ ๊ทธ ์†Œ์Œ ๋’ค๋กœ ํฌ๋ฏธํ•ด์ง„๋‹ค.

We scroll endlessly, searching not for joy but for proof โ€”
์šฐ๋ฆฌ๋Š” ์ฆ๊ฑฐ์›€์„ ์œ„ํ•ด์„œ๊ฐ€ ์•„๋‹ˆ๋ผ, ์ฆ๋ช…์„ ์œ„ํ•ด ์Šคํฌ๋กค์„ ๋‚ด๋ฆฐ๋‹ค โ€”

proof that we matter, that weโ€™re not being left behind.
์šฐ๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ์˜๋ฏธ ์žˆ๋Š” ์กด์žฌ์ž„์„, ๋’ค์ฒ˜์ง€์ง€ ์•Š์•˜์Œ์„ ํ™•์ธ๋ฐ›๊ธฐ ์œ„ํ•ด์„œ.

But the irony is this:
๊ทธ๋Ÿฌ๋‚˜ ์•„์ด๋Ÿฌ๋‹ˆํ•˜๊ฒŒ๋„,

in chasing the extraordinary,
๋น„๋ฒ”ํ•จ์„ ์ข‡๋Š” ๊ทธ ์ˆœ๊ฐ„,

we lose the simple miracle of being alive.
์šฐ๋ฆฌ๋Š” โ€˜์‚ด์•„ ์žˆ์Œโ€™์ด๋ผ๋Š” ๋‹จ์ˆœํ•œ ๊ธฐ์ ์„ ์žƒ์–ด๋ฒ„๋ฆฐ๋‹ค.


There is beauty in repetition.
๋ฐ˜๋ณต ์†์—๋„ ์•„๋ฆ„๋‹ค์›€์ด ์žˆ๋‹ค.

The way morning sunlight falls the same way every day,
๋งค์ผ ๊ฐ™์€ ๋ฐฉ์‹์œผ๋กœ ์Ÿ์•„์ง€๋Š” ์•„์นจ ํ–‡์‚ด,

the taste of coffee you donโ€™t even think about anymore.
๋” ์ด์ƒ ํŠน๋ณ„ํ•˜์ง€ ์•Š๋‹ค๊ณ  ๋А๋ผ๋Š” ์ปคํ”ผ์˜ ๋ง›.

These things hold the soul of our days.
์ด ๋ชจ๋“  ๊ฒƒ๋“ค์ด ์šฐ๋ฆฌ์˜ ํ•˜๋ฃจ๋ฅผ ์ง€ํƒฑํ•œ๋‹ค.

Yet we dismiss them,
๊ทธ๋Ÿฐ๋ฐ ์šฐ๋ฆฌ๋Š” ๊ทธ๊ฒƒ๋“ค์„ ๋ฌด์‹œํ•œ๋‹ค.

as if only rare things can be valuable.
๋งˆ์น˜ ๋“œ๋ฌธ ๊ฒƒ๋งŒ์ด ๊ฐ€์น˜ ์žˆ๋Š” ๋“ฏ์ด.

We fear the ordinary because it reflects ourselves โ€”
์šฐ๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•จ์„ ๋‘๋ ค์›Œํ•˜๋Š” ์ด์œ ๋Š”, ๊ทธ๊ฒƒ์ด ๊ณง ์šฐ๋ฆฌ ์ž์‹ ์ด๊ธฐ ๋•Œ๋ฌธ์ด๋‹ค โ€”

unfiltered, imperfect, and real.
๊ฐ€๊ณต๋˜์ง€ ์•Š๊ณ , ๋ถˆ์™„์ „ํ•˜๋ฉฐ, ๋„ˆ๋ฌด๋‚˜๋„ โ€˜์ง„์งœโ€™์ด๊ธฐ ๋•Œ๋ฌธ์ด๋‹ค.


But peace is found not in spectacle,
๊ทธ๋Ÿฌ๋‚˜ ํ‰์˜จ์€ ํ™”๋ คํ•จ ์†์— ์žˆ์ง€ ์•Š๋‹ค.

but in the quiet understanding that โ€œenoughโ€ is not failure.
โ€˜์ถฉ๋ถ„ํ•˜๋‹คโ€™๋Š” ๋ง์ด ๊ฒฐ์ฝ” ํŒจ๋ฐฐ๊ฐ€ ์•„๋‹ˆ๋ผ๋Š” ์กฐ์šฉํ•œ ๊นจ๋‹ฌ์Œ ์†์— ์žˆ๋‹ค.

The world will always tell you to be more โ€”
์„ธ์ƒ์€ ์–ธ์ œ๋‚˜ โ€œ๋”โ€๊ฐ€ ๋˜๋ผ๊ณ  ๋งํ•˜์ง€๋งŒ โ€”

more productive, more visible, more special.
๋” ํšจ์œจ์ ์ด๊ณ , ๋” ๋ˆˆ์— ๋„๊ณ , ๋” ํŠน๋ณ„ํ•˜๋ผ๊ณ .

But maybe life is not about becoming more.
๊ทธ๋Ÿฌ๋‚˜ ์ธ์ƒ์€ โ€˜๋” ๋˜๋Š” ๊ฒƒโ€™์ด ์•„๋‹ˆ๋ผ,

Maybe itโ€™s about being โ€” simply, quietly, completely.
๊ทธ์ € โ€˜์กด์žฌํ•˜๋Š” ๊ฒƒโ€™ โ€” ๋‹จ์ˆœํ•˜๊ณ , ๊ณ ์š”ํ•˜๊ณ , ์˜จ์ „ํžˆ โ€” ์ผ์ง€๋„ ๋ชจ๋ฅธ๋‹ค.


The ordinary is not the opposite of greatness.
ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•จ์€ ์œ„๋Œ€ํ•จ์˜ ๋ฐ˜๋Œ€๊ฐ€ ์•„๋‹ˆ๋‹ค.

It is the soil from which all greatness grows.
๋ชจ๋“  ์œ„๋Œ€ํ•จ์ด ์ž๋ผ๋Š” ํ† ์–‘์ด๋‹ค.

And when we finally stop trying to shine all the time,
๊ทธ๋ฆฌ๊ณ  ์šฐ๋ฆฌ๊ฐ€ ๋Š˜ ๋น›๋‚˜๋ ค๋Š” ์š•๋ง์„ ๋‚ด๋ ค๋†“์„ ๋•Œ,

we begin to notice โ€”
๊ทธ์ œ์•ผ ๋น„๋กœ์†Œ ๊นจ๋‹ซ๋Š”๋‹ค โ€”

the world was already luminous enough.
์„ธ์ƒ์€ ์ด๋ฏธ ์ถฉ๋ถ„ํžˆ ๋น›๋‚˜๊ณ  ์žˆ์—ˆ๋‹ค๋Š” ๊ฒƒ์„.


โœจ wanderingJP / Philosophy of Emotion Series

โ€œOrdinariness is never a lack โ€” it is the very essence of being.โ€
ํ‰๋ฒ”ํ•จ์€ ๊ฒฐ์ฝ” ๋ถ€์กฑํ•จ์ด ์•„๋‹ˆ๋ผ, ์กด์žฌ์˜ ๋ณธ์งˆ์ด๋‹ค.

ยฉ 2025 wanderingJP โ€” Every step of the journey becomes a story.
์ด ๊ธ€์€ wanderingJP๊ฐ€ ์ง์ ‘ ์ฐฝ์ž‘ํ•œ ์ฝ˜ํ…์ธ ์ž…๋‹ˆ๋‹ค.
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