A Hero for the Rest of Us
While Superman is out saving the world and dating incredibly attractive women, I’m covered in grime, decidedly without any lingerie models throwing themselves at my feet.
While Superman is out saving the world and dating incredibly attractive women, I’m covered in grime, decidedly without any lingerie models throwing themselves at my feet.
The people whom we admire immensely, whom we rely on earnestly, turn out to be merely people. They don’t know everything; they can’t do everything; They let us down.
I show you a hero and someone can find a fault; I show you an anti-hero and we see resemblance, some shared condition, a double bind that binds us yet. And yet.
It’s kind of odd to think about, actually. In the original Star Wars movies, the rebel forces are outnumbered and scrappy. They don’t have much hope or much of a chance.
“The Star Spangled Banner” is frequently a painful listen. At an octave and a half, the range is just a bit too wide to be comfortable for a typical singer.
This movie, and this blog, could be a testament to how much this all hurts: life, and time, and how they just refuse to stop moving on. We all have a time we’re trying to get to.
My life is just as real, just as full, and just as much mine as it ever has been and ever will be. I may not know what it will look like in a year, but I know that God knows.
I am a 5’6” (and ¼”) self-contained universe bumping against the fringes of being-hood. There is no purpose in questioning a slab of reflection for answers only found beyond it.
I have a tattered, taped-up copy of East of Eden that I’ve read somewhere around ten to twelve times. Whenever people ask me my favorite book, I’m quick and decisive.
We should vote and be thankful that we can, but we also need to ask: how can I regain a love of politics when politicians represent parties instead of people?