I am an escape artist. That is my superpower. I am able to escape any situation–not physically, but I leave with my mind.
I’ve always had the power to drift, to daydream, to imagine my way out of situations that are boring or stifling (I think it’s how I made my way through high school).
I tend to daydream more than I actually live in the moment. Whenever I’m bored, nervous, uncomfortable, or uninspired, I just imagine my way out of the situation. It definitely makes writing come naturally.
The other day one of my friends pointed out that I love extreme people. This is true. All of my best friends are on the extreme side. Extremely weird or extremely ambitious or extremely flawed or extremely inappropriate. I like that. It holds my attention.
But, lately I’ve had a problem escaping. It’s not that I can’t escape, it’s that, probably for the first time in my life, I don’t want to. I have two amazing balls of energy around me–a little girl that never stops smiling and a little boy that makes me laugh so hard I’m crying on a daily basis. I don’t want to mentally stray from them. I want them next to me every second. I want to strap them to me, like a second skin, like armor, like a shell or a nest.
It’s strange to want to be “here,” so much of the time, to rarely feel the pull to daydream. For mother’s day, I want to give my kids the greatest compliment I can offer: You make the moment greater than one I can even imagine. Thank you.