Samantha Matt - Average is the New Awesome

A heartfelt pep talk of a book. A true reminder that when youre feeling average, you might just be extraordinary.

MEREDITH GOLDSTEIN , author of Cant Help Myself: Lessons and Confessions from a Modern Advice Columnist

Funny and strikingly honest, this book is one youll hold close and relate to in every way you need to right now. Average Is the New Awesome gives you an answer to that restless feeling you carry around with you, telling you that being average doesnt mean you have failed. Being average means youre doing just fine. Samantha Matts advice, juxtaposed with hilarious personal stories, makes you feel like youre spending the afternoon with a close friend who is setting you straight and changing your life.

JEN GLANTZ , author of Always a Bridesmaid (For Hire) and When You Least Expect It

Samantha Matt nails the unique concoction of concerns that plague almost all of usand even better, her wise, witty, warm advice offers practical solutions.

HANNAH ORENSTEIN , author of Playing with Matches and Love at First Like

Samantha Matts Average Is The New Awesome has struck a chord with me at exactly the right point in my life. Its clever and relatablewhich I guess makes me average. But you know what? After reading Samanthas book, Im okay with it!

CHARLEE FAM , author of Last Train to Babylon

A fun and refreshingly honest take on life for the social media generation. Holding yourself up to an impossible standard is so overrated, and Samanthas always (thankfully) quick to remind you of that.

SARAH SOLOMON , author of Guac Is Extra but So Am I

For Grandma and Poppop

My biggest accomplishment as a kid was showing up to dance class.

Im not kidding.

High atop the white desk in my bedroom stood a shrine of trophies, medals, and ribbons, all awarded to me for simply showing up to class, competitions, and recitals.

You must be, like, really good at dance, friends would say upon seeing my collage of validation. Often, my mom would ask me not to bring friends upstairs to my messy bedroom when they were over, but I had to neglect her wishes. There was no Instagram yet for me to post this glorious sanctuary to, and people needed to know my worth. I was successful! I was victorious! I had been taking dance class for a few years, and I hadnt yet quit!

Sure, these objects gave off the impression that I was an extremely talented dancer, but lets look at the facts. I was on the mid-level dance team at my studio, and I was almost always in the back row for routines. And this wasnt because I was tall. Ive been 52 since I can remember. It was because I wasnt as good as everyone else. ButI wasnt bad. I made the dance team somehow. I was just average.

Average. I was average.

Average weight, meaning my doctor always spoke to me about my BMI being overweight and a couple snacks away from obese.

Average student, meaning my 3.2 high school GPA was good, but nothing worth writing home about.

Average looking, meaning one time in the eighth grade, a guy friend told me, Some days, you look really pretty, and other days, not so much.

Average relationship history, meaning I had a two-week relationship in the eighth grade, went alone to my junior prom, had someone elses tongue in my mouth for the first time when I was seventeen, and found my first real boyfriend at nineteen.

Average social life, meaning I wasnt part of the high school in crowd, by any means, but I did weasel my way into a few house parties, woods gatherings, and parking-lot drinking extravaganzas. Even Mean Girls didnt acknowledge the table I sat at during at lunch, which was for girls not defined by being cool, nerdy, athletic, or sexually active band geeks. We were just a bunch of normal ladies living normal lives eating relatively normal lunches. Except for the year I decided it would be healthy to eat a bagel for lunch every day. Just a bagel. And a bottle of Strawberry Passion Fruitopia from the vending machine. Which did wonders for my BMI, Im sure.

But I didnt want to be average forever, and I didnt think I would be. After all, I still thought, deep down, that I was special. My grandparents told me this all the time. Youre so special! Youre so awesome! It was a parade of compliments whenever I stepped foot in their house. Even at home, my dad would tell me every day, Youre the prettiest girl in the world! My mom, however, did not play into any of this. She didnt want to inflate my ego. She didnt want to set me up to be let down. Because of this, I knew what I had to do: get out there and prove to the people who thought I was awesome that I was, and prove to the people who werent convinced I was special that they were wrong.

And so began a long journey full of trying to find purpose through validation. I worked my ass off for years, until I found myself one day in the throes of adulthood, trophy-less and unsure of whether I would ever get to the places I wanted to go. The places I thought I was supposed to be.

What life did I think I was supposed to be living, though? Well, one that made my parents proud. One that made my peers envious. One that elicited applause in the form of likes and comments online. One in which I could check off all the boxes on the life timeline that society had ingrained in my head.