No, You Are Not Unique. You Pick Your Nose Just Like Everyone Else Does.

In an age where we’ve carefully constructed our public selves, editing posts and contemplating perfected 140 character statements and filtering instant pictures, we’ve forgotten how alike we really, truly are.

We aren’t the vastly complicated and wildly unique individuals we profess to be. And while we’re proud of our individuality, and rightfully so, we’ve forgotten that most of our day-to-day existence consists of profoundly mundane actions that, if shared publicly, would provide us with an embarrassing realization that we’re a) wonderfully odd humans and b) anything but alone in our oddness.

So while we may be walking different paths in different pants carrying different beliefs through amazingly different moments, we all share some fascinatingly simplistic commonalities.

1. We all pick our nose. Everyone. Whether it’s a three year old’s pointer looking for a snack or a twenty five year old’s index attempting to clean a piercing, our human fingers are drawn to our human noses like college students to a bottomless mimosa brunch. And whether we’re the three year old or the twenty five year old, we’ll inevitably look at the successfully picked booger as if we’re a scientist attempting to prove some mucus-ridden theory via close observation. Then we’ll look around to see if our almost involuntary action was witnessed by anyone. Because we don’t pick our nose. We swear.

2. We all imagine the absolutely horrific. Everyone. We drive down the highway and construct a possible five car pileup or stand in a crowded mall and envision a terrorizing gunman with endless ammunition. We contemplate the loss of our closest loved ones or visualize a painful ending fit for TV drama. Perhaps it’s our greatest fears invading otherwise positive consciousness or, perhaps, it is simply a morbid curiosity with a darkness most of humanity tries so desperately to avoid. Either way, we will indulge in moments of monstrous fantasy as our heartbeat races and our stomach tightens and our sweat begins to pool. Then we’ll look around to see if our almost involuntary action was witnessed by anyone. Because we don’t imagine the absolutely horrific. We swear.

3. We all scratch our asses. Everyone. We can be walking down a blistering sidewalk where trickles of sweat have become our worst enemy or sitting uncomfortably in a chair where a slice of thong fabric has gone from unnoticeable to devilishly haunting. We can try and fight the urge to let our either calloused fingertips or manicured nails travel south, under articles of clothing and into crevasses but, eventually, we give in. Our itchy derriere transforms into some elaborate Chinese torture device we’re powerless to stop using mental discipline alone. So we’ll ever-so-slightly position ourselves and our eager appendages for an undercover operation or we’ll abandon society’s expectations and release a full-fledged southern assault. Then we’ll look around to see if our almost involuntary action was witnessed by anyone. Because we don’t scratch our asses. We swear.

4. We all over-think the simplistic and logical. Everyone. The suave, self-professed ladies man and the hopelessly romantic single woman and the effortlessly beautiful serial monogamist have all spent endless evenings staring at unanswered text messages. We’re either dissecting sure-to-be-hidden syntax or sending screenshots to be analyzed by friends or constructing possible scenarios from perfectly placed commas. We mold transparent conversations into abstruse confabulations in the vein hope even the slightest possibility of future pain can be avoided. We’ll check our inbox every few seconds and hit refresh every few minutes and wait for composed hypothetical situations to become reality. Then we’ll look around to see if our almost involuntary action was witnessed by anyone. Because we don’t over-think the simplistic and logical. We swear.

5. We all put our hands down our pants. Everyone. Sitting on a couch or sinfully comfortable chair creates a persuasive vortex of luxury in which a hand between the legs delicately compliments. Perhaps we’re holding what’s most precious to us or completing a routine hygiene check or simply at a loss as to what to do with our northern appendages. Either way, sticking a hand between two stems is the only logical and appropriate response to a lazy morning or afternoon or evening.  Then we’ll look around to see if our almost involuntary action was witnessed by anyone. Because we don’t put our hands down our pants. We swear.

So when you’re carefully constructing your public self, editing posts and contemplating perfected 140 character statements and filtering instant pictures, remember how alike you and I really are.

When you’re in the middle of a seemingly endless debate of which middle ground seems like a fantastical concept, remember that amongst differences lie multiple shared commonalities. Profoundly mundane though they may seem, they are the tiniest reminder that a level of understanding is not so far away.

And when you meet someone who seems vastly superior, either by their own unending profession or your quick assumption, remember that last night they probably spent their time with a hand down their pants, staring at their cell phone, contemplating their horrific death while picking their nose and trying not to scratch their ass.

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