Children understand that they are the lost princess, that the aliens will come back for them, and that their magic will be revealed on some dark and stormy night. I am no more willing to relinquish these dreams than the next guy – the simmering of potential just beyond my grasp is a fact of my life. It would be convenient for me to blame the impossibility of fully realizing myself on the ignorance of the rest of the world. Cycling taught me otherwise.
What an incredible gift I had been given – to do what I should not have been able to do. Back to back century rides at 11 years old – extraordinary. Learning to think of 25 miles as a casual outing for a 10 year old! There were no prizes, no medals nor Recognition. It was just done –a bit unexpectedly, perhaps, and not without effort, but we were not Hillary aiming for Everest. None of us had any pretention of elite athleticism. This was the normal state of affairs. Everyone around me did these things, not because it made them stand out or above, but rather for the joy of doing. What’s more, the simplicity of this common enterprise became the foundation of our union. The true gift was to behold the ordinariness of these extraordinary things.
I came into adolescence knowing that super powers exist. It is wrong to expect that others will understand them, and unwise to name them. In doing so they become mere powers. Magic and joy fade as they become just another cog in the engines of status that grind us against one another. Better to whisper. Better to write the secret letter in invisible ink. Better to mumble the sacred prayer under your breath…and find the surprise under your pillow in the morning.
I live with the enduring fear that once I tell someone about Narnia, I will no longer be able to find the door.
buy me a coffee
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