According to the sign – I hope it’s readable.  It was when I took the picture. – a Village Ordinary was a place for horse-n-buggy travelers to find a fixed price bed and meal.  They were located at a convenient 15 mile intervals (remember, we’re talking Mr. Ed as the main means to move), provided a safe house, and the familiar comforts of home – hence, the Ordinary.

No matter how far the early people may roam, there was always someplace that was like home — and reassuring that, no matter how long the road is —  someone already went down the road less traveled – and established an Ordinary.

See the analogy?

We’re all on a journey.  The path is long, sure, and riding on a bumpy road in a coach that really doesn’t have shock absorbers sucks.  The horses can be fickle or unsure of the path.  The road, certainly not paved (even with good intentions) could cause travel to be mired in muck.  Our traveling companions, if any, may smell, leave, or join as they wish.

There’s really not a lot to rely on except everything is unreliable.  When our sanity currency is consistency, the only real consistent is to acknowledge consistency does not exist.  Every road is the road less traveled.

Still –  no matter – someone has been there before – and established an Ordinary. A place of warmth and, perhaps, provides solace that.  I think, in this day and age, the Ordinary taken for granted.  Maybe it’s fashionable to avoid the Ordinary.

Does it make since to  think that, at one point in everyone’s life, we’re all self-absorbed little pricks who believe, on some level, that we’re cutting the path through the forest for others?

We believe the story – the path – the journey is new and unique.  It’s “original” and never “ordinary.”  (That’s a lie — No — story is truly unique.  Don’t believe?  Check Vonnegut’s thesis on YouTube.)

Maybe – just maybe – during these times we’re our most selfish, think we’re the only one on the path, the ‘chosen one,’ is when we’re the most alone uncertain, and crave the Ordinary.

Courage is not found in loneliness.
A hero’s currency is not tears.
We’re unique in who we are – not what we do, where we’re going, or what we feel.

—  And the Ordinary travels with us.
That means we have to let people in to travel with us – to create the Ordinary.