I would dream as a child, that I was in the school yard, a larger playground than what my school actually had. It was filled with rolling hills. I would get to the top of one such hill and then I’d run, as fast as I could down the other side, only my feet wouldn’t stay grounded. No one else could do it, but I could. I could leap off of the hill and fly, soaring above the playground while all of the other kids looked up. In those moments I was something great, I felt like I could do things for others that no one else could. And then I’d wake.
There is this sense that comic book characters have the ability to bring hope to a world in turmoil. Glorified as Gods among us. Created without equal in terms of power, strength, and meta-physical ability, but still remaining like us in spirit, fighting for the same good things to ensure mankind looks towards hope. In effect, these characters serve as beacons to that very dream.
Countless times I’d pray of a night when I was young, that I’d wake up the next day as a different child, born not of this world. As the sun rose, I’d take a breath, close my eyes, and convince myself that ‘this time’ God answered my prayers and I’d be able to fly. To my painful disappointment my heels would crash back down into the floor and I’d have to find the confidence to be myself, again.
I envy those that have found their place on this earth, amongst society, doing something of worth, of benefit to others, staking their peg of legacy into the mantel of time. I envy the genius that is musical talent, a voice worth singing from, the artist that can paint or sculpt something that stops your world for a moment that lasts forever. I envy the professional that is revered by their peers for changing the course of mankind and contributing to its growth.
I often wonder, though, whether my thoughts are all in vain. Do these creative geniuses see themselves as such, or are they too just making do with what they have, placing one brick down at a time, each day, until a house is built that someone finds beautiful? Have they just weathered each day longer than the rest of us? Does the world intend on giving everyone equal amounts of reward if we are each willing to add our own unique piece of the puzzle to it?
There is a sense of hope that if we believe we each have the unique ability to give something special back to the place that gave us life, maybe it will give us what we hope and pray for when we are ready to receive it.
Maybe tomorrow we can fly.
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