YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL

I turned 50 in April, and 50 comes with a free gift nobody told me about…

You start giving a fuck a whole lot less about what other people think.

Not everybody gets it. I think I finally did.

I’ve been thinking about this blog. Who the hell am I writing it for? Who am I talking to? Why am I doing this? Why am I putting my thoughts out into the world? Why am I looking for attention?

Then it hit me.

Maybe I’m not.

Maybe I’m just trying to help somebody.

That’s kind of been the whole point of my life, whether I realized it or not. My comedy special is going to be called “You’re Not That Special”, and the older I get, the more I realize that might be the most loving thing you can possibly tell another human being.

You’re not that special.

And neither am I.

There are more than eight billion fucking people on this planet.

Eight.

Billion.

That means whatever weird, fucked-up, heartbreaking, embarrassing, humiliating, confusing, lonely, frustrating, wonderful thing you think is happening exclusively to you?

It probably isn’t.

You’re gay?

Congratulations. There are a whole lot of us.

You’re left-handed?

Welcome to the club.

You talk too much?

Hi.

You’re annoying?

Get in line.

Your parents fucked you up?

Oh, honey.

Your best friend of 30 years suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with you because she married some MAGA asshole and apparently that was enough to make her entire personality completely disappear?

Yeah.

Somebody else is going through that shit, too.

Probably right now.

That’s the thing I’ve started realizing.

We have gotten so obsessed with identifying exactly what makes us different that sometimes we forget how fucking much we have in common.

Everybody has trauma.

Everybody has insecurities.

Everybody has something they’re embarrassed about.

Everybody has somebody who hurt them.

Everybody has somebody they miss.

Everybody has been rejected.

Everybody has been the asshole.

Everybody has been the victim.

Everybody has felt left out.

Everybody has wondered what the fuck they’re doing with their life.

Everybody has laid in bed at some point thinking, What is wrong with me?

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

You’re just a fucking person.

I think we’ve gotten really good at turning ordinary human suffering into a personal identity.

Everybody is bipolar.

Everybody has ADHD.

Everybody is a narcissist.

Everybody is “on the spectrum.”

Everybody is traumatized.

Everybody is triggered.

Everybody has some new label for why they behave the way they behave.

I’m not saying those things aren’t real. They absolutely are for people who actually live with those conditions.

I’m saying we’ve gotten so fucking comfortable throwing these words around that sometimes I wonder if we’ve forgotten the difference between having a real condition and being a human being who is having a shitty day.

There’s a difference.

Sometimes you’re not traumatized.

Sometimes you’re just an asshole.

Sometimes you’re not being gaslit.

Sometimes somebody just disagrees with you.

Sometimes you’re not being abandoned.

Sometimes somebody is simply tired of your bullshit.

Sometimes you don’t need a diagnosis.

Sometimes you need to take a fucking breath.

That realization has actually made me feel lighter.

Once you understand that you’re not uniquely cursed by the universe, you can stop treating every bad thing that happens to you like evidence that your life is somehow exceptionally tragic.

There are billions of people on this planet.

There are people going through things right now that I can’t even imagine.

People are losing their homes.

People are losing their parents.

People are losing their children.

People are fighting diseases.

People are sitting in hospital rooms.

People are sleeping on sidewalks.

People are escaping wars.

People are being abused.

People are hungry.

People are lonely.

People are dealing with shit so horrific that whatever I’m bitching about today would probably sound like a fucking vacation.

That doesn’t mean your pain isn’t real.

It means your pain isn’t proof that you’re special.

I think that’s fucking liberating.

I’ve spent a huge portion of my life thinking I needed what everybody else needed.

I wanted the things everybody wanted.

I wanted the clothes everybody thought were cool.

I wanted the things everybody else had.

I wanted to fit in.

I wanted to be accepted.

I wanted people to like me.

I wanted to be somebody.

If I could go back and tap little me on the shoulder, I think I’d say:

Stop trying so hard to want what everybody else wants.

Buy the ugly shit.

Wear the weird clothes.

Say the weird thing.

Like the stupid movie.

Listen to the music nobody else likes.

Be even more annoying.

Talk too much.

Be fucking different.

You don’t have to spend your entire life auditioning for a role in somebody else’s version of what a successful human being looks like.

Most people don’t care about you nearly as much as you think they do.

That sounds depressing.

It isn’t.

It’s freedom.

People are busy.

They’re worried about themselves.

They’re worried about their marriages, their jobs, their kids, their money, their appearance, their problems, their fucking Facebook posts and whether somebody saw them leave the restaurant with somebody they shouldn’t have been having dinner with.

They aren’t thinking about you.

They’re thinking about themselves.

Once you really understand that, you can stop performing.

You can stop trying to impress everybody.

You can stop explaining yourself.

You can stop needing everyone to understand you.

You can stop begging people to like you.

You can stop giving people that much power over your life.

I don’t believe in God.

I don’t think there’s some invisible guy in the sky deciding who gets cancer and who wins the lottery and who gets a promotion and who gets dumped on a Tuesday afternoon.

I think we’re here.

I think we’re human.

I think our brains are unbelievably powerful.

I think sometimes the only thing standing between us and completely losing our fucking minds is learning how to manage the shit happening inside our own heads.

That’s not always easy.

Sometimes it’s brutally fucking hard.

Still, I think we give ourselves way too little credit for how much strength we actually have.

People say, “Pray for me.”

I understand what they mean.

Sometimes what they’re really asking for is, “Please care about me.”

That’s different.

Your friends caring about you matters.

Someone sitting beside you matters.

Someone telling you that you’re loved matters.

Support matters.

I just don’t think you need to hand your power over to some outside force and assume that somebody else is going to come fix your life.

You are here.

You’re breathing.

You’re thinking.

You’re making decisions.

You’re getting back up.

You’re surviving shit you thought you couldn’t survive.

You did that.

Give yourself some fucking credit.

That brings me to the other thing I’ve realized at 50.

I’m not innocent in any of this.

I’m the asshole I’m talking about.

I’ve been the friend who didn’t care enough.

I’ve been self-absorbed.

I’ve judged people.

I’ve been wrapped up in my own shit.

I’ve expected people to understand me while not making enough effort to understand them.

I’ve cared about myself more than I cared about somebody else.

I don’t want to do that anymore.

I’m not suddenly going to become Mother Teresa.

Let’s not get fucking carried away.

I’m still going to talk shit.

I’m still going to be sarcastic.

I’m still going to make fun of things.

I’m still going to be me.

That’s not changing.

What is changing is that I want to have more compassion.

I want to judge people less.

I want to listen more.

I want to recognize when somebody is hurting instead of immediately deciding they’re just being difficult.

I want to stop assuming I know somebody’s whole story because I saw one chapter.

I want to be the person who actually gives a shit.

Not because everybody deserves my attention.

Not because everybody deserves my friendship.

Not because I suddenly love people.

Jesus Christ. Let’s not get crazy.

I still fucking hate people.

I’ve just finally figured out why.

People are messy.

People are selfish.

People are insecure.

People are scared.

People are desperate to be loved.

People are trying to figure themselves out while pretending they already have.

People are fucking complicated.

And so am I.

Maybe that’s the whole point of “You’re Not That Special”.

It’s not supposed to make you feel small.

It’s supposed to make you feel free.

You’re not the only one.

You’re not the first.

You’re not the last.

You’re not uniquely broken.

You’re not uniquely fucked up.

You’re not uniquely misunderstood.

You’re not uniquely unlucky.

There are billions of us wandering around this giant fucking rock doing the exact same thing.

We’re trying to figure out how to be alive.

Get over yourself.

Give yourself some credit.

Quit comparing your life to everybody else’s.

Quit trying to own the things everybody else owns.

Quit trying to become the person you think you’re supposed to be.

Find yourself.

Love yourself.

And for fuck’s sake, stop being such an asshole.

Whatever you’re going through right now?

Somebody else has been through it.

Somebody else is going through it.

Somebody else will go through it.

You’re not that special.

Neither am I.

At 50, I think that’s one of the most beautiful fucking things I’ve ever learned.

So that’s my new mission.

Not to be perfect.

Not to be nice to everybody.

Not to save the world.

Just to be a little less of an asshole.

A little more compassionate.

A little less judgmental.

A little more honest.

A little more willing to laugh at myself.

A little more willing to give somebody else a break.

We’re all just collections of matter, flying around on this giant fucking planet for a very short amount of time.

You’re going to die.

I’m going to die.

Everybody you know is going to die.

So maybe we should stop wasting so much of the time we have being assholes to each other.

You’re alive.

You’re breathing.

You’re here.

That’s enough.

Now go fucking LIVE.

Xoxo, AB 💅💄💋