I suppose it’s time that I tell you a long-held secret about me. It will certainly surprise you; perhaps you will feel that I have duped you for these past seven months. I’m truly sorry, but it was something I needed to do. Now that I am coming forward with this admission, I can only hope you’ll understand.
I am a super hero.
If I could lower my head in shame for having withheld this from you for so long, I would – but then I couldn’t see the screen and would make too many typing errors. By day, I am a completely unassuming woman, hardly distinguishable from any other woman of a certain age. In this persona my height serves me well, for often I can go practically unseen (unless of course someone trips over me). The Sirs rest comfortably – the house is filled with that mellow glow associated with abundant calm. I walk gently through life – thankful, secure and full of granola.
As the sun begins its descent in the western sky, my synapses begin to fire with a fervency that is hard to control and my breathing accelerates. I feel my heart pumping with the intensity that Olive Oyl used to have when she would see Popeye (yes, I’m dating myself – but work with me). My thoughts begin to race as if they were competing in a track and field event. Yes, it is time. As the moon rises, I become
I use the nighttime to obsess and worry issues and potential issues to death. If there are no problems to be slain with my powerful concern, I will create some. After all, I consider it my duty to keep my little circle of friends and family safe from disconcerting ‘what ifs’ and ‘could bes’. I leap from one outcome to the next, determining options and exit strategies, potential routes to happiness and/or obstacles to success. Have a terrible boss? I’ll worry that one for you. Are you feeling flu-ish? Don’t fret – I’ll jump to pneumonia and back with the expectation that by the time I return you will be feeling much better. Kids plucking your very last nerve? Fear not, I can go from worst case diagnoses to kids just being irritating, before you can say “Mimi, put the DSM-IV down”. As you can imagine, these midnight meanderings are exhausting. I am probably the only person who is happy that Daylight Savings Time is over, because the sun rises earlier – shortening my super hero work schedule. Now you know why I post so early in the morning – it’s my way of capping off another fretful night of slaying imaginary scenarios and plotting the capture of one too many unpleasant outcomes.
As the sun comes up I return to my leggings and sweatshirt, take the Sirs out to commiserate with a tree or two and look up at the sky. And I become the person you have come to know. The person who literally thanks God everyday for the gift of the morning. The person who can’t yet meditate but can take up a small, easy space in this world and delight in doing so. The one who believes that miracles happen all the time if you keep your eyes open, so why the heck am I worrying anyway? At the end of the day, we are all contradictions in terms – super hero and every-man/woman; Broadway star and bathroom lounge lizard; successful professional and frightened sham; Big Kahuna and one who wipes out before even reaching the wave.
“To be alive, to be able to see, to walk, to have houses, music, paintings – it’s all a miracle. I have adopted the technique of living life from miracle to miracle.” — Arthur Rubenstein
Waiting for the Karma Truck 