I’d been thinking about writing this one for such a long time, but I don’t want the idea to go stale.

I could probably use the extra time to talk about all the places in literature/movies/TV/art/other where this trope shows up, but instead I’m gonna do it off the dome. By the end of this piece, you might think of another hundred, because seriously, this one is cliche as hell.

“All I want is a normal life,” whined a character, the millionth to do so. But what does that two-word thing mean? A “normal life.” What does that actually entail?

It depends on the character, for sure, but is there anything uniform across their definitions? Sort of. The common ones that come to mind are these, and in no particular order: 1) having friends, 2) a job they like, 3) a house they like, 4) less attention/no one out to get them, and maybe the most pressing desire, 5) for all their problems to disappear. Hmmm. Go ask a normal person if their lives don’t have problems.

Maybe the most desired condition of a “normal life” involves getting rid of the thing that makes you special.

The “normal life” trope is most prevalent (or most obvious) in superhero movies. They begin by getting superpowers, then they start to feel the heat, and then they start begging for this mythical “normal life” thing. Classic example is Peter Parker. He’s a nerdy kid who gets the strength of a hundred Flash Thompson’s and, yeah, at first it’s cool being able to stick to walls, but then Uncle Ben dies. Then villains start popping up, then people need to be saved, and then and then and then. He bears the weight of a city on his shoulders; wanting that “normal life” makes sense. But “with great pow…” yadayadaya.

We know why Peter can’t stop being Spider Man: his talent makes him obligated to protect others. My question is about whether characters like Peter Parker actually want a “normal life.” Wouldn’t it be boring? The more twisted way of putting it is this: wouldn’t you want problems?

“People want what they don’t have” blah blah blah, shut up. People want to keep what they have, too. I think what people chase isn’t peace, it’s quiet.

I’ve been reading a Japanese comic book series called Chainsaw Man for about two years now. It’s about a sixteen year old loser who gets superpowers and learns to take responsibility as he matures into an adult. Sound familiar? Instead of a radioactive spider, the protagonist gets revived by a devil and when he pulls the ripcord on his chest he grows chainsaws on his arms and face. Why are you looking at me like that?

It’s like Spider Man comics, but far more twisted. I bring it up because it dissects the “normal life” trope extremely well. He spends the first hundred issues wanting that “normal life,” and only the absolute basics: food, a home, and companionship. So in Part 1, he’s fighting hard to grab hold of that unambitious dream. Come Part 2, things change. As soon as he gets his wish, as soon as he gets his “normal life,” he doesn’t want it anymore. He admits he likes slicing up people with chainsaws. His admission was horrific, disgusting, indirectly got people killed, but also the realest thing I’d seen in a long time.

Another example I thought of now is Daredevil, if you prefer sticking to the superhero genre. Besides his exceptional hearing, the guy has nothing but impediments. TV show Matt Murdock is a struggling lawyer, usually lacks armor, and is constantly recovering from his previous injury. He is mortal, blind, and worst of all, Catholic. But deep down, he really likes beating the shit out of people.

I don’t wanna kill people, but (great start to the sentence) I don’t want a “normal life” because I’m not a normal person. No one is! So chasing a normal life is one of the worst things any of us could do. You’re sanding off the things that make you special.

Even your trauma can be a tool. I don’t always follow my own advice, but I try to use problems/illnesses/trauma as fuel.

As a writer, I am uniquely in touch with imagination, and by proxy, with hunger. Almost every piece, chapter, paragraph, sentence, word I write feels imperfect. Some sentences I’ve tinkered over several years. It will never be perfect. It will never be enough.

“Just accept it.” “Move on.” “You’ll drive yourself insane over that.” This is what most people tell you to do: they tell you to settle.

Fuck that.

Be obsessed. Lose some sleep. Let’s admit we’re sick and twisted and then get back to business. The problem behind perfectionism isn’t that people can’t reach it, it’s that they’ll waste their time. Why not reach for the stars? Why put a lid on what you can achieve? I’m never letting go of my obsessions. If it causes me stress, I say bring it on. And not in some heroic, Spider Man type of way, I mean to say that I have a sickness I refuse to cure.

And if more traumatic things happen to me, well, shit. I’m a writer, I use that! (Actually, I get stressed out when I run out of trauma because suddenly I have less to write about.) Material is material.

I hope this isn’t too preachy. If I sound insane well I agree. I have a healthy dose. Clearly I have a lot to say about this topic, but I think examining these fictional characters and their arcs has really helped me understand myself and the direction I’m headed. If I wanted a normal life I’d have to become a normal person. Yuck. I want to live my own way. Everyone should. And that’ll probably mean more suffering down the line.

Would you want it any other way?