Super Woman

A few months ago, I told Ashlea I was worried about life. I told her I worried about my endurance to keep up with its stamina and, even though, I have dreams, I worried how I would add just one more ball to the never ending sphere of balls I juggle, well drop, on a daily basis. Ashlea looked right at me and said, “Oh come on Sar,  you are Super Woman. Why can’t you see that?”.

I just kind of looked at her and thought, “Oh, right.”

My dad dropped off some stuff from my grandma’s house that my aunt collected for me. I dug through the age-stained boxes and cursive writing labeled vinyl picture books and I found this photo. A photo of me dressed as Wonder Woman - knee high socks, buckle shoes, wig, and all. I guess I did think I was Super Woman or Wonder Woman or some woman like that at some point in my life. 

I guess we all thought we were something special at some point in our lives. I guess we all think someone else is pretty special. I guess we all have something special. I guess we are all special. 

Tragedies remind us of humanness and sameness. Tragedies remind us of love and last moments and randomness. The brother and sisterhood we see in each other on days like today, should be the sameness we see in our fellow people every day. We can use this reminder to close our hearts or to open our hearts. 

We can use this reminder to see the dreamer, and the super hero, and the lawyer, and the artist, and the teacher, and the doctor that lives in each of us.  Or we can use this tragedy to build another wall and stop seeing and stop believing and stop dreaming. We each get to decide.