Iâ€™m right there with him.
I still have that feeling: like one morning Iâ€™ll wake up and miraculously be able to live full throttleâ€”without the shredded edges of tiredness that come with staying up late and waking up early and doing a job that requires me to be one-hundred-and-fifty percent on every single minute of the day.
My secret inner superhero (who is tucked into the pocket of my heart, along with my first-star-of-the-evening wishes, and all the instances where find four-leaf-clovers, or cross my fingers for luck) is someone who doesnâ€™t hesitate, second guess, forget things, or feel totally scrambled and drained at the end of a week, and isnâ€™t prone to weird allergic reactions to any form of allopathic medicine (I totally am & am currently so disposed) or bouts of unnecessary snapping at the people I love.
My secret inner superhero can ski triple black diamonds, ride a mountain bike downhill without fear, run triathlons, contribute to magazines, publish a novel, do art, paint her toenails flawlessly, send packages to friends and loved ones ahead of important dates, show up early, hang glide at least once , travel to every continent, speak another language, spend a week a the Louver, actually reads all the books I should have read in high school, and meditates regularly.
The thing is, I attempt all of these things, but sometimes just feel so small, so fragmented, so insignificant, compared with what I dream.
I throw myself into the day, and then blink and itâ€™s over. I made a perfect latte this morningâ€”first time ever. During writing workshop at school, the classroom hummedâ€”pencils scratching, the chatter of kids reading their work to each other, the clack of the keyboard. In the afternoon I caught my breath in the cold, walking to my car. The sky was a frosty, pale orange. The sun was setting. Birds, quiet in the winter twilight, made black silhouettes along the telephone wires. I gathered Bean into my arms. Together we painted, and giggled, and read stories. Then in the dark, I pressed my head against his hair, and inhaled. Just that.
Maybe itâ€™s not so small after all.
(P.S. What is your secret inner superhero like?)