Applying to colleges has opened my eyes to one startling fact: everything I have done in my life thus far has been average. I’m not exceptional at anything. The good news is that I’m not terrible either. I am exceptionally average.

It’s not that I don’t have dreams. When I close my eyes, I hear starting for the Warhawks Varsity Hockey Team...number forty-nine, me. Unfortunately, while I do wear number forty-nine, the chances this phrase is announced is unlikely. You see, I started playing hockey at the age of four, and although I consistently made the teams, I rarely stood out. I’m just average.

I’m a satisfactory student, but not exceptional. I am constantly compared to my older sister, and not favorably. The UW Madison application I filled out last week asked, “Explain any circumstances that have affected your academic performance,” I had nothing. I had no excuses for my mediocre school performance.

The most traumatic thing that has happened to me was moving to Wisconsin four years ago. Compared to my friend, who lost his father to a two year battle with cancer, moving is nothing. Even the traumatic events in my life are average.

Is being average a horrible thing? I don’t think so. I embrace being average and hope to become increasingly average. Looking to the future, I hope to have an average life, in an average house, with an average family. I will continue to strive to become as average as possible, why? Simply because for me, being average means being content.