Likely Normal

Some of us didn’t just avoid the easy path in life, we actively dynamited it behind us and forged ahead with a butter knife and misplaced confidence. We’ve got instruction manuals so pristine they could be museum exhibits, yet we’d rather assemble furniture using vibes and the ghost of our uncle’s questionable advice from 1983. (“Pretty sure he said ‘lefty loosey’ applies to all life’s problems…”) Our phones? Oh, they’re right there, bursting with GPS and step-by-step tutorials, but where’s the drama in that? We’d rather march into dead-end alleys like explorers, fueled by the unshakable belief that this time, our gut instinct isn’t leading us straight into a parking garage.

This isn’t incompetence—it’s art. We’re the poets of unnecessary hardship, turning a 10-minute task into a three-act tragedy with intermissions for swearing and a climactic Google search when our pride finally buckles. And sure, the correct method exists, but where’s the story in that? The thrill of victory when you finally wedge that bookshelf into place (backwards, but hey, it’s structural now)? The serendipity of discovering your neighborhood’s worst café because you refused to ask for directions? These are the moments that build character—or at least give you a great anecdote for therapy.

So yes, we could follow the instructions. But then we’d miss the joy of standing triumphantly atop our lopsided creation, covered in sweat and regret, whispering: “I did it my way.” (And by “my way,” we mean “the way that accidentally created a new IKEA hazard category.”) Adventure awaits—usually where you least intended to go.