This morning I crafted words in my head that attempted to capture the overwhelming sense of mediocrity that I was feeling. I was struck at some point in the middle of the night by the contradictory notion that I am, like most people, extraordinarily ordinary. Not straying too far to one side of any spectrum, I have safely occupied this space both in my personal life and in my professional world. (This, of course, makes me wonder if I have anything worth writing about.)
Tonight was our Synagogue’s Purim celebration (it really can only be described as Jewish Halloween, with less candy and more noise). Superhero was the theme. Mild mannered teacher by day, but at night…Normal Girl? The Average Avenger? Madame Meh? My husband was already off and running with his phenomenal depiction of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. My children had transformed themselves with old t-shirts, felt cutouts and random items from our house. But I spent far too much time wondering what alter-ego could possibly capture the essence of who I am by day; so I threw a scarf around my head, harnessed my inner hippie–not such a stretch–and told everyone my superpower was Flower Power.
When we finally left, exhausted and full of a bit too much white flour, I turned the corner to see just the tip of the giant super moon poking out from behind the trees. “Do you see it?” I asked my kids, excitedly. They did not.
We crested a small hill and the light brightened just a moment in the distance, this time sandwiched between two houses, and my daughter exclaimed, “Oh, there it is! It’s huge!” She helped her younger brother find it before it slipped away again.
“Should we chase it?” I asked them.
“Yes.” And we did.